IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT HE’S SHROUDED IN THE shadows and his face is hidden by the brim of his hat. I still see him as clearly as if I conjured him up from my thoughts.
Maybe I did.
Father Cade is standing right outside my window in the freezing cold, looking at me…watching me, his eyes burning me from the inside out.
I should be revolted. Disgusted. Freaked out. Screaming from the rooftops and calling the cops.
But I’m not.
Instead, I feel a jolt of power, something I’ve completely lost my grip on since being dragged into a precinct and questioned about a man’s murder. I wonder what he’s doing here and how many nights he’s stood in the bitter cold and watched me. Instead of the revulsion it should send whipping through me, it has me vibrating with a heady type of power.
I have control over this man. This intimidating man who’s supposed to be beyond reproach. And maybe it’s because I’ve just been in the shower trying to wash away my own thoughts of him, or possibly it’s because I have no say in any other area of my life, but I like that I make him weak. That he’d be so perverse in his want for me, he’d do things like stand outside my window or finger fuck me against his door, despite who he is and what he’s vowed.
And right now, I’m too tired from another day of sitting in a lawyer’s office and being assured everything’s fine and too turned on to pretend I feel about Cade any other way.
I keep my eyes locked on him, my heart slamming against my chest as I straighten from where I’m hunched over my dresser, heat swimming through me as I bring my hand back up and glide it from my hip slowly, moving my fingertips over my skin until it pebbles beneath my touch. I can’t see anything except the sharp angle of his jaw and the way his mouth parts, but I can feel the way he’s staring. My breathing shortens when I remember him being the one who touched me, the spark of wrong that heightened my arousal, knowing I had the priest of this shitty town doing very bad things to me because I’m a very bad girl. I continue the exploration of my body, the way I imagine he’d be roaming the dips and curves if he were touching me, until I reach my breasts. I grab one, squeezing the flesh tightly, the skin molding beneath the palm of my hand, and when I tweak a nipple, it sends a sharp shot of desire through me, like there’s a string connected from the tip to the nerves in my clit.
If he were in this room with me, I’d ask him to make it hurt. To press his touch deep enough to leave a mark. One that I’d feel every time I took a breath, a secret no one else would know.
But I’d know. The priest sent to save Festivalé, sinning just for me.
The witch everybody loves to hate.
My other hand trails down until I’m ghosting across my pussy, my fingers gliding effortlessly over my clit. I move farther down, circling my entrance and dipping two of my fingers in to the first knuckle, a moan pouring from my mouth because of how good it feels.
He moves closer to the window. I bring my wet fingers up to my mouth and slip them between my lips, my tongue circling them like I would his cock…if only he’d open the window and come inside.
He licks along his bottom lip, like if he tries hard enough, maybe he could taste me too.
I move the hand manipulating my breast up until it skims across my collarbone, lightly wrapping my neck the same way he did when he pinned me next to his front door and let me ride his fingers while he rubbed his cock against my ass.
Oh God.
His gloved hand presses against the window, and it sears through me. It would be so easy to let him in, to sink to my knees and guide his hands up to my head, coaxing them to thread through my hair while I asked him to fuck my face, but I won’t do it.
This is all that it can ever be. I’m with Parker now, and I need to stay with him to make sure Quinten and I are safe.
And Cade doesn’t belong to me. And after what he’s said, I’m not sure I’d want him to.
But I’ll take this moment, just for me.
My thighs tense as I slide my hand back down to my clit, starting a slow, torturous circle, enough to ramp me up and keep me just beneath my peak.
His head cranes to the side, and I think maybe he’s checking his surroundings before his attention is back on me, his arm moving to the front of his pants.
My stomach flips when he unbuckles his belt.
My breathing stutters when he pulls down the zipper.
Wetness leaks from me, making a mess on the insides of my thighs when Cade pulls out his hard cock and glides his gloved hand slowly up the length. The dim, yellow streetlight hits him just enough to let me see his movement without allowing me to take in any details, and I ache to get a better look.
I want to watch the vein on the underside of his shaft thicken and pulse as he works himself up and down. I need to see the moment his balls tighten and draw up inside him, making him grow even harder, signaling he’s about to come. I want to take in the way his head tilts back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows around the blinding pleasure.
My fingers dip back inside me with urgency, and I lock my eyes on the speed of his arm, matching his rhythm. It might be my own hand making the motions, but it’s Cade who’s going to make me come. It’s Cade’s name slipping off my lips as I explode into a thousand pieces.
Cade. Cade. Cade.
The filthiness of him creeping outside my window when he should be at the church, of him touching himself while he watches me, is too much, and my muscles coil tight, white heat growing like an inferno between my legs and bursting through my limbs. My mouth parts on a silent gasp, and I throw my head back, slamming my eyelids closed as I grind my pulsing clit into my palm harshly, dragging out the orgasm.
When I open my eyes, sated and spent, he’s gone.
I lie in bed the next morning for a long time, trying like hell to come to terms with what happened the night before and with what my life will be like going forward. I search for the guilt or the disgust at knowing I had a man peering in my windows, but all I feel is a sense of security that wasn’t there the night before. Like I’m in control for the first time. I know something about Father Cade, something that he can’t barter or steal back.
Everyone already thinks the worst of me, but if people were to find out about him…
My momentary feeling of power is doused quickly when I realize that I do actually have something to lose now. If Parker finds out, then he’ll no doubt abandon me, leaving me to fight against a potential murder charge on my own and leaving Quinten without someone who can care for him.
Which is why I’ve decided that ignoring it entirely is best. I’ll see Cade again at some point, most likely sooner rather than later, and I’ll just have to pretend that nothing is different. That he’s nothing and no one. Just bland paper on the wall, blending in with the scenery.
The rest of the week moves by slowly. I put off telling Quinten about my upcoming nuptials, and I meet two more times with my new lawyer, Jason. I watch the news every single day, like I can’t wait for Andrew’s murder to drop, but it’s still silence.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Jason told me the authorities were keeping it quiet, not wanting to cause upheaval in the area.
And then at night, I sit and I wait, my insides tense with anticipation to see if Cade will show.
He always does.
Watching me like it’s his God- given right to do so.
And now it’s Sunday, and a town car’s just picked me up, right after I’ve set Quinten up with Dalia for the morning and dressed in a muted green long-sleeve dress. It’s a little tight around my middle and a little low on the top, but it’s the most modest outfit I have that’s appropriate enough to be seen in church.
Parker made it very clear he expected me there this morning, and while I thought about bringing Quinten along, I can’t imagine he’d do well in a long service where he’s expected to conform to what everyone else is doing.
Sliding into the car, I beam at Parker, part of me worried he’ll be able to look at me and see what’s been happening late at night for the past week straight.
“Hello, fiancé,” I say, trying to lay it on thick.
He leans across the seats and presses a chaste kiss to my cheek before pulling back, his eyes scanning my outfit as he slips the phone that he’s always on back in his pocket.
“We’ll need to get you a new wardrobe.”
I rear back. “I’m sorry, what?”
He waves his hand up and down my form. “This is too risqué. You’ll be lucky if they let you step foot in the cathedral, looking like a done-up whore. That was your mother’s job, not my wife’s.”
His words would sting less if he had slapped me with them, and I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms, feeling insecure about my outfit. I had thought it looked okay. “That’s not fair,” I murmur.
Sighing, he reaches out, rubbing a thumb down my jaw, his gaze softening. “Sweet girl, don’t look at me with those puppy- dog eyes. We’ll take care of it, okay? Just…try not to do anything that brings you attention while we’re there.”
“Of course not,” I bite back. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
“Right.” He smiles. “That reminds me.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small blue box, and then grips my hand, pulling my fingers toward him, his thumb rubbing over the back of my third finger. “We also need to take care of this.” He opens the box and pulls out a gigantic rock the size of the fucking state and slips it on, then holds it up between us and grins. “You’re improving already.”
I bring my hand back once he drops it and stare down at the diamond ring as it sparkles and shines. For some reason, this makes it feel more real. More final.
The weight of reality drops in my gut like lead.
I close my eyes, willing away the tension suddenly pulling between my eyes, and don’t open them again until we pull up to the side parking lot at Notre- Dame. My stomach flips, knowing Cade is inside, and my mouth goes dry and my heart stutters.
Is Cade having trouble focusing too? Or maybe this is par for the course for him. Being under the guise of a priest and then creeping on unsuspecting women.
Jealousy stabs my chest at the thought of him sharing what we have with someone else, and for the first time since all this started, I finally feel disgust.
But I’m disgusted with myself for wanting to feel special. For wanting to be the only one. For lusting after a man who is the actual definition of forbidden and no better than anyone else in town who calls me names.
The car door opens, and a hand appears, helping me out. And then Parker’s fingers grip my waist and I follow him inside, wondering just like when I was a little girl if God will smite me down.
