“Ah, Claire-bear. For as long as I've been a Dom, there has been nothing as fucking hot as a woman who knows her body ans can come on command-- and holds on until her boyfriend is ready is ready.”
“I love coming with you. It's a connection on another level.” She stopped and leaned up to look at him. “Wait. Did you…”
He smirked. “I was wondering if you'd catch that.” Dox ran a finger down her nose. “Two weeks of dates, all but two nights and some quite amazing sex, inside and outside The Club. Would you like the title?”
“Yes, yes I would.” Claire grinned. “Very much. But you've picked the wrong day because I can't stay and celebrate. I have to get home. I promised Gramma I'd give a new church a try. She's hell bent on me finding Jesus. Is that even Kosher to say?”
Dox laughed. “I think you just offended three different religions at the same time.”
“Well, keep tabs. I'm good for all of them.”
“You're not religious?”
“I don't believe in churches. I guess you could say I'm Wiccan. I guess. I'm not sure, but wicca feels the closest to right for me.”
“From mamere?”
“Yes.”
He ran his fingers up and down her back. “I think I would love to meet her.”
“Maybe… over the winter holidays.” Claire glanced at the clock. “Damn. I have to go, Dox. I'm sorry. Mamere is right; if Gramma's biggest price is going to church, I should happily pay it. I just have to find one that I can somewhat relate to. If I leave now, she'll only think I was out sinning against her with drink.”
He smiled. “I should go, too.”
She sat up, facing him, letting the cover slide off. “Tomorrow night, dinner?”
“Alas, no, Claire-bear. I have some obligations. How does Tuesday sound?”
“You know my schedule already.”
“Of course.” He gently caressed her breast as he spoke. “Tuesday night I have a sub at the Club. Would you like to watch? She's very into that.”
Claire shivered a bit. “The voyeur room?”
Dox shook his head. “Private.”
“Shit. Really. Yes. As long as you take care of me after.”
“She likes it when you take care of yourself.”
Claire felt a pull of desire at that. “Yes. Okay. I still want you after, Sir.”
He sat up and gave her a deep, penetrating kiss. “Anytime, mon oisillon.”
* * *
Gramma Bitsy yanked the windows open, pulling her usual Sunday morning bullshit. Claire had gotten smart. She had a sleep mask on this time, and it didn't bother her nearly as much.
Until Gramma yanked off her head, taking several strands of hair with it.
“Ouch! Gramma!”
“Out carousing until the wee hours, Claire?”
“No! Damn it, Gramma. You pulled out my hair!” She massaged her head.
“No less than you deserve.” She held up the mask. “No more of this. Don't try to out smart me, girl.”
Claire sighed, and tossed her feet over the edge of the bed. “I just didn't want to get my eyes assaulted by the sun again.”
“You're lazy. You should have been up already!”
“Not everyone is a morning person.”
“Learn.” She threw the mask on the bed. “Now get up. I'm leaving for church in ten minutes.”
“I'm not going with you.”
“What?!”
Claire held up a hand. “I'm going to try a different church. Please don't yell at me. I am trying to find a church I like.”
“What on earth is wrong with my church?”
“It's too Armageddon-ish. I'm not into the whole end times thing.”
“Church isn't something you--”
Claire held up her hand. “Gramma. Please. Try and work with me on this. I think of church as more of a celebration of God, not a threat of damnation. I'll refuse to go if it's like that. Let me find a place where I don't mind getting out of bed to hear the Good Word. Is that fair?”
Gramma folded her arms, then nodded. “If that's what you want, fine. We'll work with that. But once you find a place you’re comfortable, you must go every week.”
“That's fine.”
Gramma seemed to want to argue or find fault, but she eventually nodded and walked out satisfied. Claire ran a hand down her face and scrubbed the sleep away. She grabbed her phone and saw a text from Dox.
DoxSir: morning, sexy. I'll be thinking about you today.
ClaireBird: you're better off thinking about chickens or sausage, because when you think about me, you insanely get hard.
DoxSir: good point. I'll think about sausage. Of course, then I'll want Italian.
ClaireBird: sorry, I'm Irish and Creole.
She chuckled as she showered and dressed for church. She had picked a Presbyterian church, about half an hour east from Gramma Bitsy's house. She had been asking around, and it seemed that the Grace and Faith Presbyterian congregation was one of the most open and welcoming. They'd had some trouble with the synod of late in that they were pro-same-sex marriage and promoted equality in the home. The new minister hadn't helped the matter either, with his progressive stances on hot button topics.
Her kind of place.
So, Claire slipped into the car and backed out of the driveway, heading east for the small church that seems to celebrate instead of looking for the end times. It was a good half an hour drive, but it meant she didn't have to listen to the end of the world as they all hoped for it, she was okay with that.
The parking lot was mostly full when she got there, and she wound up parking about a quarter mile from the actual front door. There were a few tinkling chimes, and she picked up the pace to get there before the mass--Lutherans held mass she discovered the other day--started.
The adorable little brick church from the 1830s was crowded. It made her happy; all these people sided with the semi-rebellious reverend, and that meant good things.
The doors were open, and the congregation was in the pews beyond. There was a middle aged woman standing just inside the vestibule, smiling.
“Welcome! I haven't seen you here before!”
Claire smiled at her. “Just trying on some churches before I decide where I want to spend my Sunday worship.”
“Always have to find the place where the Lord speaks to you the clearest!” She stuck her hand out. “I'm Doreen, the church secretary.”
“Claire Roberts.” She shook the woman's hand politely.
“We have breakfast after mass if you're interested in joining us. Are you married? Kids?”
“No, none of the above.”
“Well, if you do ever have need of it, we have a services care, so the little ones can play while the adults pray.” She giggled at her own joke.
“Well, I hope you find our little congregation inspiring. We're about to take start--oh, here's the Reverend now! Reverend Devereaux, I'd like you to meet Claire Roberts. She's here to try you on for size.” She giggled again.
Claire shook her head and turned to greet the reverend.
Dox was standing there in his vestments.
Claire fainted.
Chapter Four
“…probably take her to the hospital.”
“No, Doreen. Doctor Turner said she just passed out. I'm sure she'll be fine. Thank you.”
“You know, it's not seemly for a man of the cloth to be with a woman unchaperoned. It's probably better if I--”
“Doreen.”
There was no mistaking the tone in the name as it snapped off Dox's lips. It was his Dom tone, the one that brokered no argument. But Claire kept her eyes—and mouth—shut.
“Yes, reverend. If you need anything, I'll be at the church cleaning up.”
“Thank you, Doreen.”
“Of course.”
There were brisk steps out of the room, and the quiet click of the door. She heard a great, heaved sigh from across the room, and finally dared to open her eyes.
M
addox was sitting across the room, holy garments draped over him, head in hands.
“You're fucking kidding me with this, right?” Claire sat up slowly so she wouldn't pass out again.
Snapping his head up, Maddox stared at her, clearly at a loss for words. His look was one of a shattered man, unable to deal with the blow he'd just just been dealt. “Shit. Claire. I…”
“Such language from a man of the cloth.”
He stood. “Please. Claire, give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain.” Claire couldn't keep the sardonic tone out of her voice. “All the filthy shit we've done together, and you're a parson at a church. You preach the word of God for a living and then fuck me five ways to Sunday in your down time?”
“This isn't that simple.”
She stood, feeling better while her blood pressure rose from her anger. “I guess I should be glad you were just a plain hetero and not some pedophile.”
He stood, his hands out. “Please--”
“Please, what?” The words were snapped and brisk. Still, she wasn’t cruel and keep her voice low so they couldn't be overheard. “Please let me tie you up and fuck you one last time?”
“Claire--”
“No. No, Dox. You are an ordained minister. And you're playing in the BDSM world. I'm not playing along with this.”
“This is so complicated, Claire…”
She stepped up to him and whispered in his ear. “The submissive is always in charge.” She stepped back. “Serenity. I've called my safeword. This is over.”
She turned smartly on her heel and headed for the door, but Maddox's hand caught her elbow. There was a desperate sadness there. “Don't go, Claire. I had no intention of deceiving you.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Maddox.”
He grabbed her other arm and pulled her in, slamming mouth over hers, possessing her. She could feel her whole body betraying her as they stood pressed against each other. His body betrayed him too.
She pulled away. “No. No, for God's sake no. I will not be part of this!”
This time, Claire made it to the door. She yanked it open and headed in the direction she thought was the front, and was speed walking by the time she found it. She was down the driveway and headed back to her car when she heard the crunch of loafers on the gravel.
But they didn't last, and Claire knew Dox had stopped chasing her. He could stand in the sun and rot for all she cared at that moment. The car was just a little further, and she almost wanted to run so he didn't have any chance to catch her. But the little beige Focus was waiting, and she dove into the safety of the interior.
Without thinking, Claire put the car in gear and rolled away from the curb, and the church, and the man she had been falling in love with. There was only one place she wanted to go at that moment, and almost by instinct, the car headed for Mamere's house.
Less than a heartbeat later, she started crying.
* * *
God, what had he done.
Maddox couldn't even bring himself to chase her. He had fucked up so bad. The gravel he knelt on wasn't sharp enough, painful enough to even begin to make up for his sins.
He watched as Claire's long, gorgeous legs carried her out of sight. She was furious--and achingly beautiful in that fury.
He couldn't even blame her.
When she turned around in the vestibule, he knew it was over. He knew she would walk away. What had he done?
He covered his head, with his arms, ashamed that even God could see him like this.
“Reverend!”
It was one of the acolytes running from the church. He looked up and shook his head. “No, James. I'm fine. I'm okay. Just… please. Finish up in the church.”
The young boy slid to a halt near him. “What happened? Are you sure you're okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“I'll be okay. Thank you, James.”
The boy seemed confused, but nodded and headed back to the church. Maddox knew he couldn't stay there. Too many people would start asking questions in a moment. It was bad enough he’d ran after Claire.
The house he lived in, the one supplied by the church for him, was dark and cold. Even in Texas. That took a great measure of work to achieve, and now it seemed even darker and colder.
And as he walked in, he was confronted by the crucifix that hung in the hall. The figure of Christ had his head bowed, and Maddox couldn't help but think it was avoidance and shame of him.
Why was this happening? Why did he get tested so? Why had ever gone to that damned dungeon when he started school?
He fell into the chair there, staring at his shoes. This had to be the end. He'd lost something that was more precious than gold to him, this time.
There was an easy way out--but being a Dom had become so much a part of him, he knew denying it and putting it away forever would kill him.
The other way out saw him walking away from his church, his flock, his life since he was a child. To never help inspire another mind, to never help another soul, to never touch another life again would render him useless in his own eyes.
There was no victory to be had.
Unless he gave up everything and tried again.
But, that was what had ended him here in Texas, here with the Club. Trying again. Trying to get away from the sin he craved.
And now, that sin had a face, a body, a name.
…Claire.
Chapter Five
“How are you, cher?”
It was wonderful to hear mamere's voice on the phone again, even though she had been calling Claire every day for over two weeks.
“No better than last time, mamere.” It was the sad truth that her heart hurt as much as the moment she found Maddox standing in his vestments. Nothing seemed to be helping her 'get over' her Sir. Even the four days she had taken to hide at mamere's deep in the bayou had done little.
His betrayal ran deep, but she had not realized she'd fallen in love with him and that ran deeper.
It made sense that she'd fallen in love. Sexually perfect for each other, and then a quirky personality that had jumped to the forefront when they started dating. They matched.
Except, he was ordained.
A fucking holy man. She shook her head again. “I'm a fool.”
“Oh, cheri, we are all fools when it comes to love. Our hearts want to be filled, and we trust blindly. Have you spoke to your maître?”
“No. He's called, but…I can't talk to him. If I do, I'll be suffering heartbreak all over again.”
“Don't you think he's suffering too?”
“He played the game, mamere. I was played. I have to protect me.”
“That is not the sweet girl I know.”
“I hurt, and I don't want to any more. I am not going to speak to him. He can leave as many messages as he likes on my phone. His atonement for fucking with my emotions will be only hearing my voice on the voicemail.”
“You are bitter.”
“Oui. Bitter. And broken.”
“I don't think you should brush him off like that, cher. But it is not my decision to make.”
Claire stopped pacing the parking lot outside of Bitsy's church. “Why not? You must have a good reason to say that, mamere.”
“He's probably torn in half, cher. He's a man of God on the one hand and a man of the flesh on the other. I'd love to know why and how someone who attended Princeton Theological was corrupted into the filthy world of dominance and submission. I'm sure there are many nights he's gone to bed alone, torn asunder by the thoughts that haunt him. He wanted you as more than just a little soumis on the side. He was seeing you, as a girlfriend. He's a fascinating man to me, Claire, and I've never even spoken to him once. Brushing him off is crushing him.”
“Mamere. I'm not a religious person. You know that. How could I ever think about being with a minister? And I know this is far more than you need to know, but there is not a church on the planet that would approve a BDSM relations
hip in it's congregation-- and certainly not the minister and his wife.”
“I’m not saying you're going to marry him. What I'm asking you to do is to think about him as a human. Think about the fact that he's probably trying to suffer through this alone and in silence. As a fellow human, couldn't you considering giving him just an ear to talk to?”
Claire stared up at the doors of the white chapel where her Gramma was sitting, listening to the gloom and doom of the preacher. She didn't want to be told about the world was going to end. She wanted to know how to celebrate life, and lift up those who needed it most.
And wouldn’t a man of God need that help when the doubt was the strongest?
“Damn it, mamere. Do you know how much he's hurt me?”
“Probably almost as much as he hurt himself. Give him an ear, Claire. Just an ear. You don't have to see him again.”
Letting out a huge sigh, she sat on the steps of the building. “Alright. I'll call him when we get home.”
“And cher?”
“Oui, mamere?”
“Stop going to Bitsy's church.”
Claire laughed. “Oui, mamere.”
* * *
The bottle of tequila was empty. He wasn't quite sure if he was sinning by drinking that much, but he was sure he was drunk and didn't know how much he cared.
Doreen had been convinced he was suffering from pneumonia and checked on him once a day. He didn't know how much longer he could carry on this ruse before she called the doctor to the parsonage. He had to get himself together, but every time he tried, every time he passed a crucifix, he just felt the burning disapproval of God.
Was this what they called the Long Dark Time of the Soul? Or was this just that he was a fucking idiot?
The phone next to his bed vibrated, and headed for the floor. Tequila is damned, he grabbed it as it cascaded off the nightstand. He'd managed to get through a few phone calls with a few congregants, but the rest of the time, he was in the dark bedroom, wallowing in self-pity, confusion and being completely pathetic.
Claire's number flashed on the front.
Fumbling for just a second, he managed to swipe it open. “Claire?”
“Hello, Dox.”
The Fire Saga (The Club) Page 20