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“It’s a pleasure, Father Reid. I wasn’t sure you liked chocolate, but I figured you’d give them to someone if you didn’t. I mean, it—”
“Thank you,” he says again, halting my rambling. His hand on mine sends a jolt of want over my skin, making everything more sensitive. My nipples harden, my core pulses, and my stomach twists in knots at his nearness.
“Can we talk?”
He doesn’t respond. instead, he turns and heads for his office. The same office where his fingers brought me to orgasm. As soon as we step inside, he makes his way across the room and settles in his chair. Lifting his hand, he gestures to the visitor’s seat opposite the large wooden desk, but I ignore the offer. With the anxiety swirling in my stomach, I can’t sit. I’m nervous because as much as I want to be here, I know I’m not supposed to. I like him. I want to know him. Learn who the man is that hides behind the white collar. Something tells me he’s not as righteous, and it isn’t because he finger-fucked me yesterday.
I make my way to the bookshelf, running my fingers over the spine of each book. Bibles, encyclopedias, books of reference. “Do you read these?” He’s silent, probably wondering how to handle me being here. I saw the war raging in his eyes when he looked at me. Perhaps he wants me, but can’t find the strength to tell me. To confess that deep down he’s just a man who has normal desires.
“Sage,” he sighs, but I don’t look at him. I walk along the wall, touching each leather-bound tome. “What do you want? You can’t be here,” he says, want and hunger dripping from his tone. I want to tell him I’m here for him. I also want to tell him the memory of what we did yesterday has been replaying in my mind all night, all morning. It’s like a loop of debauchery. And as much as I know I shouldn’t, I want it again.
“I thought we could have coffee, eat those muffins together. Talk.” My voice is unsure, nervous even. And I don’t blame myself. I should be nervous. I should be petrified because I’m trying to taunt a man of the cloth. A man who’s already married.
The thought sends more desire coiling through me. It’s a serpent. Temptation. A viper tightening around everything south of my belly button, and it’s about to attack.
I turn to face him, his green eyes holding me hostage with a look so smoldering I can’t move. I think he’s about to chase me from his office, but instead, he crooks his finger, calling me over to where he’s sitting.
“Come here,” he orders gruffly. His voice is sex, his body is sin, and the way he makes me feel is wicked. And that feeling has my feet moving forward.
When I stroll over to him, his green eyes darken, resembling a dark moss similar to that covering the ground of the woods behind our house. There’s depth in them that makes my heart flutter. I want him to corrupt me as he devours my body inch by inch like it’s a sacrifice. I reach his desk, and the spicy scent of his cologne intoxicates me, warming me like a fire on a cold winter’s night. Only, it’s not cold; it’s hot, boiling, and I feel like taking my clothes off. Not to tease him, but to feel his heated gaze on me.
Father Reid is everything you could want in a man. Handsome, rugged with stubble darkening his chiseled jaw. Sharp features look severe when he’s serious, but it’s when he smiles and those dimples peek through that he’s a temptation for any woman who walks through the doors. His tall, lean, yet muscled frame is hidden in black, and each time I see him, I can’t help but want to know what he looks like out of uniform.
“Sit on my desk,” he grunts—rough and husky. I hop up, feeling the smooth, cool wood below my ass as I scoot beside his notebook, which has a pen engraved with his name. Reid Hale. “Look at me,” he orders, causing my gaze to snap up to his.
“Father Reid—”
“Listen to me, Sage. You’re too young for me. You’re innocent, sweet. I’m a bad man for even thinking about you. What happened yesterday . . .” His words trail off. His eyes drop to my dress, the hem slipping up my thigh as I swing my legs. The way his gaze burns through me tells me everything he’s saying to me is a lie.
“Aren’t priests meant to tell the truth always?” I ask.
“What?”
“Well, you keep denying this”—I gesture between us—“but I can see you want me. I mean, it’s so clear you’re dying to see what’s under my dress right now. Isn’t that right, Father Reid?” I question him, tipping my head to the side to regard him. Nothing can prepare you for desire. For need and want. It happens. Nothing like this is planned.
