The music stopped.
She bit her lip and looked at me, a question in her eyes.
I simply nodded at her. I wanted more. I’d fucking pay for it. Whatever she wanted, but I wasn’t ready for her to stop yet.
She nodded and pressed the button. The music started up again.
But this time she picked a different song, and when she came back over she straddled my lap her breasts inches from my face. Her hips pulsed back and forth with the beat, and she dropped her pelvis lower and began to grind against my lap. She raised her hands over her head and shook her hips so that her pussy brushed against my cock.
Making eye contact again, I could see by her half-smile and that knowing look in her eye that she’d felt it, and she was pleased by my reaction.
Of course there was no other possible response. She was literally sexy as sin. More than anything I wanted to unzip my pants, grab those voluptuous hips of hers and pull her down onto my cock, bury myself inside her and bob her up and down until she came all over my stiff rod.
My lust raged for this girl and she knew it.
It seemed to amuse her, and that irritated me.
But what sort of reaction did I expect from a woman whose job was to arouse every Tom, Dick, and Harry? Only the most foolish men imagined that the strippers they admired actually desired them back.
I exhaled, closed my eyes, and tried to get my mind right.
Then I opened my eyes to see if Chloe had noticed my internal struggle.
Nope. She wasn’t even looking at me. Her heavily mascaraed lids remained half-closed and she seemed to be almost in a trance as she rocked her body close to mine, occasionally touching, but more often teasing.
I took a deep breath and settled back in my seat. The best thing I could do was relish every second of this. I promised myself I could revisit my neurosis later. But for now I needed to commit this scene to memory. Something else I could return to later, when I was alone and the only person I was in danger of defiling was myself.
Chloe twerked the lower half of her body over my lap, her hands purposely caressing those delectable breasts of hers, cupping them in her hands, practically offering them to me. My libido was on fire, and I was thinking I was going to need another beer to cool off after getting so worked up. If it weren’t so seedy, I’d find the bathroom and finish myself off in there, but I needed to retain some semblance of decorum. When the song was over she lowered herself onto my lap, put her arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek.
It took every ounce of restraint I had not to wrap my arms around her and crush those luscious lips of hers to mine. I wanted to kiss her hard and deep, to drink her in like a thirsty man after long days in the desert.
I didn’t have long to think about it before she untangled herself from me and stepped back. She bent to pick up her bra.
“Can I help you with that?” I asked, painfully aware of the naked desire in my voice.
“Sure,” she said humoring me, and she covered her breasts with it then turned to let me fasten the back. She appeared to be as comfortable without her clothes as with them, and for some reason that made her even more attractive. Perhaps it was because it was so different from most women I knew, particularly the ones I came into contact with on a daily basis.
Her back still to me, she spoke. “So, you didn’t really come here for a lap dance. I feel bad for corrupting you like that.” She spun around. “What did you really want, Father?”
“Reverend,” I corrected. “And I wanted to get your number.”
“What for?” She looked confused.
“So I could call you. Ask you out. Or maybe text . . . Do people even call each other anymore?”
She ignored my question. “You want to go out with a stripper? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“Well . . . I didn’t know you were a stripper. See, I thought you were a waitress.”
She shrugged. “And now? Now, that you know sometimes I’m also a ‘performer,’ you’re not interested anymore.”
She started to walk off, but I reached out and grabbed her arm. I had to stop doing that.
“No, now I think I’m even more interested.”
She laughed harder. “You are some kinda fucked up priest. You know that?”
I nodded. “Yeah. So, what do you say? Can I take you out for coffee after you get off work?”
“You’re for real? You want to have coffee with me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I can’t. I go from here straight to another job, and if I’m late my boss there pitches a fit. She’s already cut back my hours which is why I’m dancing again in this shithole.” Then she realized she’d cursed and put her hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.
“Okay.” She looked towards the front of the bar. “I gotta get back out there.”
I pulled out my phone and handed it to her. “Your number.”
She fumbled with it and started punching in what I hoped was her real phone number. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. I don’t date much. I’m very focused on my career.”
I must have unintentionally raised my eyebrows because she said, “Not this one. My other one. I’m a pastry chef. Trying to get my own shop . . . it’s just, oh never mind.”
“No, I’m really interested. See? You can tell me about it over coffee. When’s your day off?”
“The next one is Tuesday.”
“Great. So, I’ll take you somewhere for coffee Tuesday. I’ll text you and you tell me a time that’s good for you.”
She nodded, handed me back my phone, and looked ready to flee.
Instead I pulled her in by her wrist and enveloped her in my arms. I hugged her tight. Her head fit just perfectly under my chin, and I pressed her small frame against my chest. At first she remained rigid, but as she realized I wasn’t going to kiss her or grab her ass, that I was only holding her, she relaxed. I’d surmised that she didn’t get a lot of hugs—plain, old, affectionate hugs—the kind that made us feel human, like someone cared. I expected that she got a lot more ass slaps, groping, and sloppy kisses than simple affection, and I thought she could probably use one. Slowly her arms came up behind my waist and she hugged me back.
I won’t lie and say it felt as good as the lap dance, but it was a close second. The more time I spent around this irrepressible girl the more connected we felt.
After a few moments I kissed her on the top of the head and whispered, “Thank you for the dance, Chloe.” Then I turned and walked out.
As I walked to my car, I was so overcome with infatuation that it didn’t occur to me to notice if anyone had seen me leaving the strip club.
6
Chloe
Reluctantly, I set the book back on the little table next to the toilet. I’d always been a reader, and now my life was so busy that the only way I’d found time to read was a chapter here and there when I stopped long enough to relieve myself.
Pulling up my pants, I leaned over the sink and turned on the tap to wash my hands. My bathroom was tiny. There was barely enough room to take two steps in there.
Now that Tami was sleeping on the couch and we had to share it, I felt an almost constant sense of claustrophobia. Even when she wasn’t home. Fortunately, she’d taken up with a bartender and only slept at my place a few nights a week. I was crossing my fingers they hit it off and he asked her to move in with him.
Maybe I should make a point to put in a good word for her. Might not exactly move things along between them, but it couldn’t hurt.
I stared at my reflection for a brief moment, applied some under-eye concealer to cover the telltale dark circles that came with my no-sleep lifestyle and added some lip gloss. That was all I could bring myself to do. I wore so much makeup at Lulu’s that I relished going without while I worked at the bakery or had a day off.
Satisfied, I darted through living room/kitch
en, grabbed my bag, and set off to meet Revered Soto.
Today I was having coffee with a priest.
My life was so fucking weird.
I couldn’t get a date with a normal guy. Nope, I had to get an admirer with a savior complex or some kinky fetish that sent him out crawling in seedy nightclubs when he should be kneeling beside his bed chastely saying his prayers.
Why couldn’t I meet a billionaire like the girl in my book? She’d been a hooker before she’d met her Daddy Morebucks. Sure, he was a bit kinky, but with a sugar daddy like that, I’d be willing to do some weird shit.
Money and love—that would be the ultimate. I practically sailed down the steps daydreaming about it.
But when I hit the ground floor, the stained yellow-brown carpet in the hallway brought me back to reality. I was meeting a priest. He probably wasn’t kinky, and I’d bet a chicken dinner he didn’t have any money.
I sighed.
At least he was interested in adult women rather than the choir boys and girls at his church like some fucked-up priests. I shuddered. At least I hoped he wasn’t. I’d learned not to underestimate the depravity of men.
Pushing the door to the outside open, I felt a gust of moist air hit me in the face. I smelled rain; the air was even wetter than the usual humidity. Yet it was warm outside. I wriggled out of my sweater now that I realized I didn’t need it.
I preferred winter, and after we hit November I was always optimistic about cooler weather. Mother Nature often had a different idea about how it should go in South Louisiana. She liked it warm, with only a handful of chilly days, while I could use a snow day every so often.
After walking a few blocks I started sweating, and I was really regretting my choice of long sleeves. But if I turned around and went home to change, I’d be late.
A pang of guilt twinged in my chest. I couldn’t do that to the guy. I was already being too hard on him. If you took away the whole halo thing, he was quite attractive. I recalled the way his dark eyes sparkled as he watched me dance. It seemed like there had been something there besides lust. It felt like he was really seeing me. Probably a priest thing, like he had a gift for finding the good in people.
Whatever it was, it made me feel good for a man to look beyond the T&A, if he’d even done that. It might have been my wishful thinking.
But that was why I’d agreed to the date.
Plus, it was only coffee. How bad could it be? I wondered as I pushed open the door to Kraven’s Diner.
I scanned the room for the reverend but, according to plan, I was the first one here.
I liked to be the first one there when I was meeting someone I didn’t know that well. It gave me the opportunity to scout out the exit doors and get settled. Not that I was a control freak or anything, but I didn’t like to be the one being seen for the first time. I preferred to be the one waiting for someone to arrive.
I was like that about airports too. I would much rather be the person waiting to greet an arriving passenger than to be the person getting off the plane and not knowing where the person meeting you was going to be. That always made me anxious.
The rev. must have a thing for promptness because he arrived at exactly the time we’d agreed upon. He wore that damn collar with an ease that was almost irritating. On him the dark shirt and collar along with his slim-cut jeans looked almost sinful. But it was his killer smile that really had me breathing a sigh of relief. I’d worried this was going to be awkward, but something about his presence just put me at ease.
“Hey,” he called, sliding into the booth across from me.
“Hey.”
“I know I said coffee, but I hope you don’t mind if I get some food too. I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m starving.”
I laughed. “That’s funny, because I was just thinking the same thing.”
“That you are starving?”
I nodded my head. “What’s good here, do you know?”
“They have a great sub sandwich, and I also like the chicken fried steak if you want to be daring.”
“Sounds good.” I pulled one of the laminated menus from behind the napkin dispenser and perused it. Focusing on my food choices proved difficult because my eyes kept being drawn to him.
“Have you ordered anything to drink yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
As if on cue, our waitress came over to take our drink order.
I ordered a soda and the bishop requested water.
“Y’all ready to order or you need a minute?”
He nodded to me, indicating I should go first.
I was kinda digging his old-fashioned manners. Guys these days were not usually so chivalrous.
“I’ll have the chicken fried steak,” I said raising an eyebrow at him.
“Make that two,” he said.
“All righty then. I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drinks.” The waitress tucked her pen behind her ear and her pad into her apron pocket and scurried towards the kitchen.
“So, you went for the chicken fried? I like a girl who is willing to take a risk.”
“Really? That doesn’t seem like a priest kind of thing to say.”
He nodded. “Don’t tell me that you think that just because I am a priest I would only like boring women.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what the life of a priest is like. Or what sorts of things would interest a guy like you.”
“First of all, I don’t think you can really generalize about priests any more than you can generalize about doctors or mechanics. All sorts of people do the same job I do.”
“That’s a good point.” The waitress set our drinks down in front of us and I took a sip of mine. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Most people don’t. But back to the risk thing, most people don’t expect a priest to be asking out a stripper either.”
Usually my hackles went up when someone called me a stripper. I preferred the word dancer even though I knew the distinction was negligible. But instead of calling him to task over it I said, “Yeah. It was kind of a surprise. I guess there’s a lot more to you than Bible verses and preaching sermons.”
He grinned. “Exactly. Just like I’m sure there’s a lot more to you than dancing at Lulu’s.”
“You can say that again.”
“So, what do you do besides that? I mean, what is your passion?” Then he looked embarrassed and tried to backpedal. “I mean unless dancing is your passion. You’re very good at it so that would make sense.”
I touched his hand. “No, no. It’s not that. Actually, my passion is baking.”
“Like, making bread and cakes and stuff?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I work another job at a bakery after I get finished with Lulu’s. But what I’d really love to do is to have my own bake shop.”
“That sounds awesome, but I guess you’ve got to get up pretty early for that.”
I shrugged. “I guess. But comfortable hours have never really been in the cards for me.”
He nodded.
“My mom got sick when I was finishing up culinary school, and I’ve been having to send money to her for a while.” I wasn’t sure where that came from. I didn’t tell anyone about my mom, but there was something about this guy that had me babbling like crazy.
“I’m sorry. What’s the matter with your mom?”
“She has early-onset Alzheimer’s. She lives in Phoenix with my aunt.”
“That’s terrible. I will pray for her, and your family if that’s all right with you.”
Normally I didn’t put much stock in religion, but when he said it, I believed his prayers could only help. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
About that time the waitress brought our food to the table. I must have looked at it like it was poisonous or something because after the waitress left he whispered, “It tastes better than it looks. I promise.”
I cut my meat with my knife and fork meticulously and before I put the first bite to
my mouth I noticed he had almost finished his. That was a good sign.
As soon as I put the first bite in my mouth my taste buds exploded. This had to be one of the tastiest chicken fried steaks I’d ever eaten.
“How is it?” he asked.
When I finished swallowing I answered. “Oh, my God, this is delicious.” As soon as the word God left my lips I wondered if he would be upset. I mean technically I had just taken the Lord’s name in vain, which I knew from my limited religious training was a sin.
“I promised you it was good. Stick with me, Chloe. I won’t steer you wrong.” The earnest way he looked at me told me he was talking about more than simply what to order off the menu.
After we were finished eating I asked him the thing I was most curious about. “So how did you become a priest?”
“I guess it started with me going to an Episcopalian boarding school when I was young.”
“Boarding school?” You must have been one of those rich kids.”
“Far from it. My mother worked on a ranch in Southern California where we lived, but as I got older she sent me away to school telling me I would get a better education that way. She did what she thought was best.”
“How did she afford that?”
“I had some sort of benefactor. Someone paid for my education. I always assumed it was the ranchers she worked for. They had a ton of money, and they were very kind that way.”
“Lucky boy.”
“True. Then my mother passed away while I was away at school and there was a couple there—he was the head of the school and he and his wife had never had any children. They kind of took me under their wing. I ate dinner with them, spent a lot of weekends with them, and stayed at their house during the summers. You might say they kind of became an unofficial adoptive family for me, more or less.”
I smiled. I liked stories like that, those about people who made their own family when something happened to disrupt their original biological family.
“And so you became a priest . . . ? ’Cause your surrogate father was one?”
“Yeah. At first I wanted to be a basketball player, but I don’t think that’s what God wanted me to do because he stopped me growing at about six foot one. I was a bit directionless for a while. Went to college, had some fun, but when life got serious I decided to go into the seminary. And so that’s how I got here.”
Bishop's Desire Page 4