Blessed: A Bad Priest Romance

by Alexis Angel

  That isn’t hard to do; after what happened between Connor and I, it’s really easy to distract myself. If only I could have these lips all to myself… God, I could kiss him all day long.

  I start imagining how it’d feel to have him by my side right now, to feel his breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine… Before I know it, my pussy starts growing wet, the fabric of my thong sticking to the skin.

  Pursing my lips, I slide one hand down my chest and hook my fingers on the hemline of my dress; hiking it up to my waist, I flatten the palm of my hand between my thighs and arch my back, a soft moan climbing up my throat as I press hard against my wetness.

  I run the tip of my tongue between my lips and, before I even know it, I’ve flicked my thong to the side. I run one finger up the length of my wet pussy lips and, doing it fast, I slide that finger deep inside me while I press down on my clit with my thumb.

  Closing my eyes and breathing hard, I let my mind weave all kinds of sinful scenarios while I work on my pussy, images of Connor’s naked body flooding me. Time seems to dilate all around me, and all I feel is that sweet tension building up inside my muscles.

  "Oh, God," I groan, pressing my legs together as I feel a bolt of lightning climbing up my spine, a violent orgasm exploding inside my skull.

  Oh, if thinking of Connor is this good, I can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel to really have him.

  11

  Clarise

  After enjoying that little private moment, I jump out of bed and take a quick shower. Hoping to see Connor again at dinner, I rummage through my wardrobe for a long time, trying to find something I know will grab his attention.

  I settle on a tight skirt, one that hugs the curves of my ass perfectly, and on a red blouse that somehow makes my breasts look even bigger than they are. Satisfied with my choice of clothes, I take one spin in front of the mirror and then put on some vibrant red lipstick, one to match my blouse.

  Checking the watch on my phone, I realize I only have five minutes to be down in the dining room. Not wanting to get on my mother’s bad side (more than usually, I mean), I hurry out of my bedroom suite and make my way downstairs, carefully balancing myself on my favourite pair of Jimmy Choos.

  By the time I get to the dining room (which takes me almost two minutes, that’s how big my house is), everyone’s already sitting at the table. Everyone but Connor, that is.

  As I take my seat right next to Earl, my father nods at the two servants standing close to the door and they push their food trolleys toward the table, ready to start serving us. I never really felt comfortable with having servants and maids, especially when they simply stand around and watch you eat, but what am I going to do? That’s how I was brought up, and I don’t really want to start acting like a rebellious teenager again.

  "Where the hell is Connor? Too important to have dinner with us?" Earl asks suddenly, raising his voice and being as subtle as an elephant in a china house.

  "Connor is skipping dinner today. He wanted to spend some time in the chapel," my father tells him, his tone of voice firm and commanding. "You should try and respect him, Earl. He’s going to be helping this family and, besides, the man just lost his father. Have some compassion, will you?"

  "Compassion," Earl scoffs, lowering his gaze toward his plate. Then, as if deciding he doesn’t really care for the food, he nods at one of the servants, whom immediately reaches for the bottle of red wine sitting in the middle of the table and refills my brother’s glass. "I doubt compassion will help any of us. We’re the Donovans, for God’s sake! Not Buddhists or whatever."

  "Can you shut up just for a minute?" I snap at him, offering him a death stare. "He’s just praying, you don’t have to be an asshole about it."

  "He’s probably praying for you to leave him alone," he mutters under his breath, but he does it loud enough for everyone at the table to hear it. Yeah, thanks for that, my lovely brother, really kind of you.

  "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I tell him, raising my voice loud enough to grab his attention. "If there’s something you want to tell me, just do it, Earl."

  "Tell you what? I don’t need to tell you anything. But it’s obvious to everyone what you’re trying to do."

  "Which is?"

  "You’re trying to fall on Connor’s good graces so that he’ll help you into the business. Am I wrong? Huh? That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Running our whole fortune just so you can feel all important?"

  "Alright, enough! The two of you!" my father says, slamming his fist down on the table and making all the silverware jump up. He looks from me to Earl with a disapproving stare and a heavy silence falls around us. "This is a family dinner, and you’re family. So behave accordingly. And more than that, I don’t want any conversation about business. Can’t we just be a family for the night?" he asks and, even though he’s being stern, there’s a slight note of sadness in his words. It probably isn’t easy for a father to see his two children at each other’s throats all the time.

  My father’s words work, but probably not in the way he expected them to. Both me and Earl fall into a sullen silence and, even though there’s no more fighting or snide remarks around the table, we’re not really "being a family for the night," as my father put it. Unless what he really meant was for us to act like a family slowly falling apart, because that’s the one thing I’d say we’re really succeeding at.

  Earl’s right, though. Even though me being attracted to Connor has nothing to do with my family’s business, it’s pretty obvious that Connor can help me get a foothold in the business. I mean, he’s our family adviser, and my father always cared a lot about the way Edward helped guide our family… So it’s pretty much a given that Connor will establish the same kind of relationship with my father, which means that he’ll be able to help me become more than just the Donovan troublemaker.

  And if Earl already thinks I’m doing that … why not really do it? I want Connor in my bed, but I can also enlist him as an ally against Earl. Now, you’re probably thinking that this makes me some kind of sociopathic, manipulative bitch. And that’d be a fair assessment if Earl was a good guy, but Earl’s none of that and, from what I know of him, he only cares about himself.

  So, more than wanting Connor as my ally to serve my interests, I need Connor to help me because that’s the only way I can protect this family from my deranged brother.

  I need Connor, and I need him on multiple levels.

  But first, I need to break him. I need to make him succumb to temptation, and I need him to see that sin can also be fun. That’s going to be a challenge, yeah, but trust me on this: I always get what I want.

  12

  Connor

  "Get your shit together, Connor," I whisper to myself, the sound of my voice crushing the eery silence inside the chapel. I’m sitting on one of the front pews, staring at the cross over the altar as if it could provide me with the mental fortitude I need.

  I’ve been sitting here for more than an hour now, but that strength I need so much is nowhere to be found. My thoughts always run back to Clarise, to the taste of her lips on mine… Jesus, just one kiss and she left me in disarray. How the hell am I supposed to be the Donovan’s adviser if one kiss is enough to leave me like this? I even skipped dinner with the Donovan’s because I wasn’t sure if I could be in the same room as her tonight.

  Getting up to my feet, I run one hand through my hair and amble down the chapel aisle, making my way toward the door. Stepping outside, I lock the door behind me and start walking down the cobbled path toward the guesthouse.

  Then, without even knowing why I’m doing it, I turn around and look at the Donovan mansion, a full moon glowing over its roof like a chandelier. Even though it’s already late, there are two lights still on in the Donovan house. One is on the first floor, in Jonathan’s office, and the other one is on the top floor… Clarise’s bedroom.

  I stand there, impervious to the night chill, staring at that rectangle of l
ight in the wall. I imagine her lying in bed, her silky blonde hair cascading over her pillow, a short nightgown embracing her skin…

  "Get your shit together," I repeat to myself, but the words sound too hollow for me to take myself seriously. Pursing my lips, I force myself to look away from Clarise’s window, and I go down the path once more.

  Locking the door to the guest house behind me, I make a beeline toward the bedroom and get in bed as fast as I can. I throw my clothes over the chair I have in the corner, and I crash on top of the mattress wearing only my boxer briefs. Even though the night’s cold, the walls around me seem to push it away while keeping the warmth inside.

  I close my eyes, trying to surrender myself to sleep, but that feels like an impossible task. My mind insists on working at full speed and, every time I look at the clock on my bedstand, one more hour seems to have passed. By the time I drift off into sleep, it’s already 1 am.

  "Connor…" I hear her voice then, sweet and seductive, like honey and wine. "Connor…" It’s only a whisper, but one that shakes me to my very core. I toss and turn, dreams of Clarise tormenting me mercilessly. I wake up drenched in sweat, and the clock reads 1:47 am.

  It seems that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  She’s like a virus, and I’ve been infected. If I’m awake, I think of her; if I’m sleep, I dream of her. How the hell am I supposed to forget about the taste of her lips when my mind is being this rebellious?

  No matter what I do, images of her keep assaulting me.

  And these images… they make me rock hard.

  Stop, I tell myself, but it’s already too late. I’ve slid one hand down my naked chest, and now my fingers are going over the fabric of my boxer briefs, curling themselves around the thick shape straining against it. Grabbing my cock, I imagine Clarise’s small and delicate fingers around my shaft, and my blood feels as if it’s boiling.

  I can’t do this, I continue to admonish myself but, at the same time, I push my boxer briefs down my legs. My cock springs free fast, and I grab it again, my grip tight and hard. Laying here, completely naked, I allow that need for Clarise’s body to wash over me. I’d give everything - everything - for her to be with me right now, laying by my side.

  I want to feel her lips on mine again. I want to undress her, to peel her dress off and take my time with her underwear. I want all these things, and I want them so bad that I forget all about vows, honor, and duty. Right now, my mind is working on fumes - and they’re toxic fumes.

  "Oh, fuck," I groan, slowly moving my hand up and down the length of my shaft. With each stroke, I sink lower and lower into the depths of an ocean of lust, imagining how it’d feel to have Clarise’s naked body pressed against my own. I imagine my hand going down the side of her body, feeling her perfect curves, savoring the warmness of her skin…

  I’m an experienced man. I’ve fucked so many women I’ve lost count, and I’ve lived that life for so long that sex became… routine. Even though women still throw themselves at my feet, I don’t even glance at them twice. But with Clarise… Ah, fuck, it’s different with Clarise. There’s something about her that strokes my primal side. Whenever I’m close to her, I feel like a wild animal, restlessly pacing around its cage as it tries to figure out a way to break free.

  Stroking myself harder now, I let all kind of dirty thoughts parade behind my shut eyelids. I think of Clarise on her knees, her parted lips reaching for my cock, her tongue brushing against my shaft… I imagine her wet, and I can’t help but wonder about how she’d taste, the wetness between her thighs against my lips…

  I don’t even know if I’m awake or dreaming. All I know is that, in my mind’s eye, Clarise is right here with me. I can almost feel the warmth of her body, the beat of her heart. And, Jesus, as I imagine the tightness of her pussy around my cock… I almost lose it.

  I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her so bad. I want to do it until we’re both covered in sweat, exhaustion gripping both our souls. I want to do it until both my lungs collapse, until my heart simply gives in.

  And, more than just fucking her, I want to make her mine.

  That final thought sends me over the edge and, before I can even prepare for it, ropes of cum shoot up from my cock. They fall on my naked chest, crisscrossing over my abs like a web. I remain still for a long moment, my chest rising and falling at a steady pace as I try to catch my breath.

  What the hell am I doing? This isn’t right, I think to myself, sprawled on the bed and staring at the ceiling. I have to be strong. Or, at least, stronger than this.

  Yes, I might want Clarise… But that doesn’t mean I have to succumb to this hunger inside of me. I can fight it. I will fight it.

  No matter what happens, I’ll resist.

  13

  Clarise

  It took me one month, but I finally mustered enough courage for this.

  "Dad," I start to say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I wait for him to look up at me.

  "Yes?" He simply asks me, not bothering to raise his eyes from whatever document he’s reading. He’s hunched over his walnut desk, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and I’m not sure if he has registered that I’m inside his office right now.

  "I’ve been thinking a lot about, uhm, taking a more active role in the company," I force myself to say, even though there’s a tight knot in my throat.

  "Is that so?" He continues in that casual tone of his, and I know for a certainty that he isn’t listening to me. That was to be expected - whenever my father’s working, his whole focus is dedicated to the task at hand.

  "Dad, listen to me," I push through, taking one step toward his desk and sitting in front of him. At last, he raises his eyes from the folder in front of him and looks up at me, an expression of surprise in his face, almost as if he didn’t expect to see me here.

  "What is it, Clarise?" He asks, taking his glasses off and setting them on the table. He leans back against his chair, folds his hands over his chest, and I know I have his full attention.

  "I want to take a more active role in the company," I repeat, looking straight into his eyes while Connor’s words replay inside my head in a loop: you can do anything. The expression on his face remains unreadable for a long while, and so I find myself looking for something to justify my request. "I’ve proved myself at Wharton, and I’ve been working hard to learn about all our investments… I have a good grasp of the business, and I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines. I want in."

  "You want in…" He whispers, and then his expression lights up as his lips curl into a smile. A good sign. "That’s good, Clarise."

  "Yeah…" I mutter, not really knowing how to react. After pissing off my parents with my crazy antics all throughout college, I wasn’t expecting my father to react this well.

  "Of course, don’t expect to be assigned an official position right away. You’ll sit in at meetings, learn the ropes, and then we’ll go from there… Keep your eyes peeled, pay attention to what your brother is doing, and soon enough you’ll have a more active role."

  "Thank you," I tell him, even though I’m not so sure if I can learn anything from Earl. Even though he’s been working with my father for the past four years, I doubt my brother has anything to teach me. Sure, he was a star student at Wharton, and he also proved to be a brilliant investor during his first years working at the company… But lately, it seems that he has become too bold, and too reckless… I’ve been pouring over our financial statements for the past few weeks, and I can’t really vouch for the decisions my brother has been making. If I were in his position, I sure as hell would be doing things differently. If I had to sum it up, I’d say that Earl got too greedy, too fast.

  Of course, it’s not like what I’m telling you matters much. My brother has successfully entrenched himself in the company, and I’m just a mere outsider as of now. Even though my father always told us that, if we wanted, we both could run the company one day… Well, that seems more like a pipe-dr
eam nowadays. Earl acts as if he’s the sole heir of the Donovan business, and my antics in college didn’t exactly help my case.

  But it’s time for me to change that. Specially now that Earl seems to be acting like a loose cannon.

  "Thank you, Dad," I tell him, getting up to feet. "I won’t disappoint you."

  "I know you won’t," he replies kindly, acting more like a father than a CEO. Feeling lighter than I’ve felt in months, I stroll out of my father’s office.

  "So, do I have a target on my back now?" Earl asks as he sees me come out of the office. He’s standing up in the hallway, facing one of the large paintings we have hanging there, a replica of the Battle of the Gettysburg. The Civil War - how fitting.

  "Were you listening in?" I ask him, but I don’t need him to answer to know that eavesdropping was exactly what he was doing. "Look, Earl, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye," I continue, trying to build a bridge between me and him, "but that doesn’t mean we can’t get along. I know you’re working hard under Dad, and I can help you to --"

  "Please, Clarise," he scoffs, never taking his eyes off the painting. "What exactly do you think you can help me with? If I were you, I’d just stay home and enjoy myself. Party around - you’re better at that than managing a business."

  "No," I tell him, a cold tone to my voice. "This is going to happen, whether you like it or not."

  "We’ll see," he says, finally turning to me and smiling. It’s a crooked smile, one brimming with unspoken threats.

  "Yes, we’ll see," I whisper, my eyes locked on his. I tried to bury the hatchet and he has spat in my face. Now, more than ever, I need to step up my game. And there’s only one way for me to do that.