by Skyla Madi
“It’s my response to anyone that asks what my favorite passage is. You don’t know any passages? Not even one?”
I shake my head, dropping my stare to my hands. “As you’ve already heard, I’m not exactly a Catholic girl my parents can be proud of.”
I catch my lip with my teeth and release it. What do I mean by that? Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything...or maybe it means everything.
“I noticed.” Caleb states, flicking the lollipop stick across his full bottom lip. “Your father isn’t exactly subtle.”
I swallow as his lips curve.
“What’d you do?” He asks.
Searing hot embarrassment prickles along the back of my neck, drawing out my defensive side.
“What makes you think I did anything? Maybe my father is just protective of his only daughter.”
His green eyes, now a dark shade of emerald, rake over me in one overt stroke and my stomach tightens further, forcing me to press my thighs together.
“Somehow, I doubt that. Your mother told me your family recently moved here from Bismarck, North Dakota. That’s a pretty big move for no reason, don’t you think?”
“Well...”
“And judging by the obvious disappointment that exudes from your father, and the tight leash he keeps you on, I’d say you’ve done something incredibly uncatholic.”
I splutter…and it’s embarrassing. Is it that obvious? Have I been branded with a very bright, very obvious scarlet letter? More importantly, is that the only reason he’s talking to me? Because he thinks I’m a whore? Because he thinks I’ll put out?
I grit my teeth and muster all of the fake confidence I can before I launch myself to my feet. He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer to me.
“You’re wrong.” I snap, squeezing the Bible in my hands.
Caleb scoffs, pulling the thin, white stick from between his lips. “Oh, I highly doubt that.”
His green gaze falls to my breasts, causing complex hormones to stir between my thighs. He makes me feel naked. He makes me wish I’d worn a bra today.
“I think you’re naughtier than you let on.”
I cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Or maybe I’m cold.”
Subtly, he shakes his head. “Not my first rodeo, Cassia. Nipples only get that hard when they know what an attentive mouth can do to them.”
My lips part in offense—or arousal. Damn. At this point, I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling.
“You told my father you were trustworthy.” I point out, raking my teeth over my bottom lip.
He steps closer, close enough to suck the air out of my surroundings.
From a foot away, I can smell him and he smells goddamn amazing, like earth, sin, and the clean pages of a paperback. “I lied.”
I want to ask him if he lies to all of the parents he meets, but I’m sure the question answers itself.
Of course he does.
“You’re not supposed to lie.”
He shrugs. “I’m not supposed to do a lot of things.”
“And you do them anyway?” Curious, I tilt my head to the side. “What does your father say?”
His irises flare. “My father doesn’t know. Yours won’t either.”
Pulled in by his arresting magnetism, I inch closer. Why should I be good if my parents refuse to forgive me for what I did? Why try to be someone I’m not?
The oxygen in my lungs becomes thick and heavy, causing the sensitive tissue to burn. Anticipation, in the form of tingling goosebumps, prickle all over my body, a condition that can only be cured by the dangerously sweet touch of male flesh. I’ve suffered through the disorder for months. I'm certain a few moments with Caleb will cure me…but that’s not what good Catholic girls do.
I can’t win back the pride of my parents by making the same mistakes that disappointed them in the first place. I have to become someone else for them. To make them happy.
“Cassia?”
I jolt away from Caleb, clasping my Bible against my chest. Caleb tightens his jaw, his muscles ticking under his skin, and clenches his hands at his sides. With an impatient exhale, he turns around.
To my surprise, my father wears a wide smile instead of his usual disappointed frown. He’s eerily pleased with himself…and me. What did Father Andrews give him and where can I get a regular dose?
“Are you ready to go?”
I blink at Dad, confused. “Uh…go home?”
“I was thinking we could stop off and get a milkshake. Like we used to after church.”
When he says, “like we used to” he means before I fucked everything up. Emphasis on the “fucked.”
“Um. Okay.” I step forward and my arm brushes Caleb’s as I pass by him.
Like the good old days, Dad extends his elbow to me and I slip my hand around it. Am I in some kind of alternate universe? What the hell happened inside Father Andrews’ office?
Dad pulls me along and the further I get from Caleb, the easier it is to breathe—the easier it is to think.
“See you Friday, Cassia Claire.” Caleb calls out after me as Dad leads Mom and I down the stairs.
I glance over my shoulder as he leans back against the church and slips the thin, white stick into his mouth. I swallow for the one-millionth time as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, looking all menacing and naughty. I peer up at my father and analyze his smile. It’s a genuine smile. One I haven’t seen in a long time…and I hate it.
I hate it because on Friday I’m going to destroy it all over again.
The rubber band ball hits the wall with a thud and bounces back into my hand. I shift my feet on the desk, accidently kicking off the thick stack of Bibles. They hit the floor with a thud.
Cassia’s late.
It did cross my mind a few times during the week that maybe she wouldn’t show up, but I squashed the thought as soon as it sprung. The way she responded to me, the way her nipples strained against the fabric of her dress, and her thighs…pressing together whenever I spoke…
I was certain she’d show.
Catching the ball for the one-millionth time, I throw my legs off the desk, pull open the empty drawer and dump the ball inside. Sighing, I slam it shut and more Bibles fall as I push myself to my feet.
What a waste of a good Friday night. I blew off that Asian stripper for this? Fucking bullshit. And now I’m going to go home and jerk off to the same girl who stood me up? It’s a sad, sad night.
I step around the desk chair and saunter over to the window. Small, white lanterns light up the lawn, casting an ominous glow over the various flowers. My mother had landscaped the grounds of the church on her own. She was a remarkable woman. Negativity couldn’t touch her...and it didn’t...not until my little sister was taken. It destroyed her. The grief ate at her and the blame was pushed on to me. Then she destroyed herself.
I close my eyes and shake my head, desperately trying to force the memories from my mind. The blood. The blade. My father crying. It wasn’t my fault. I was a child myself. There was no way I could’ve fought them off.
“Caleb?” A soft, light voice echoes around my skull. It’s pretty, like budding flowers on a fresh, spring morning.
“Caleb?”
I open my eyes, realizing the voice isn’t in my head. I glance over my shoulder...and there she is. I drag my sights from her white, high top sneakers onto her tight, black yoga pants that cover three quarters of the beautiful, long legs I was exposed to on Sunday. Draped across her torso is a loose, gray tee that hangs off of one shoulder, exposing the upper portion of her bicep and the soft curve of her shoulder.
I skim over the black bra strap that sits flush against her skin and follow the rigid line of her collarbone until it leads me to her throat. A throat I would love nothing more than to shove my cock down. I wonder how deep she can take me. Is she a seasoned professional? Or is she a newbie? I don’t know which excites me more.
“Sorry I’m late.” She states, sheepishly reach
ing across to hold her elbow with the opposite hand. “Is it over?”
Slowly, I turn the rest of my body around. Suddenly, tonight doesn’t seem like such a waste.
“No.” I say. “Not yet.”
Her large, blue eyes scan over the empty hall. This hall is where I hold my Bible studies.
“Nobody is here…”
I can’t help it, I smile. “Are you expecting anyone else?”
Subtle panic flickers over her face before she catches it and smooths her features out. I can tell she thinks she’s unreadable. I can tell she thinks I have no idea what she’s thinking. She’s wrong. Every thought she has materializes on her face before she realizes it. Words can lie, but the human body cannot.
“Your father wouldn’t approve?” I ask, stepping out from behind the desk.
“Absolutely not.”
“And why is that? What did you do?”
I have an idea. The girl has been letting the boys play hide the penis with her body. Why else would her father feel uncomfortable about leaving her with me? She’s only here because her father trusts me. He’d never take her word.
I sit on the edge of the desk, crossing my legs at my ankles.
“It’s a long story.” Cassia states, sounding nervous and uncertain.
I glance up at the clock. “Is thirty three minutes enough?”
“It’s a private story.”
Her tone lights up with aggression and I grin. Okay. So her story is a no go zone for now. All right. I can play that game.
“So, you’re really here for Bible study? Only Bible study?”
Hesitation flickers over her face before she masks it with a frown. “What else would I be here for?”
What a fucking tease. Poor little needy girl, trying so desperately to impress her father. I can see her struggle so plainly on her face and in her body language. The unsteady rise and fall of her chest, the tremble in her thighs and the clench of her hands...she’s either extremely eager to study the Bible or fighting the urge to milk me with her tight pussy for all of my cum.
I know which one I prefer.
“Sit.” I tell her, flicking my head toward a lonesome table in the corner of the room. “Let’s spread your Bible open.”
He drops puns like he does panties, each one making my breath hitch in my throat. This is painful. Excruciatingly painful.
I woke up this morning convinced I was going to let Caleb fuck me until I no longer wanted to live, but then I went downstairs and there were pancakes waiting for me with crispy chunks of bacon and maple syrup—fucking maple syrup! Do you know how long it has been since my mother has made me pancakes with the lot? Not since I ruined our lives and forced us to move entire states away from Bismarck. They’re finally coming around and I can’t screw it by screwing him. We are in a good place—a strangely good place since Sunday Mass last week.
Surprisingly, Caleb is really good at teaching and explaining the Bible. If I’m being honest, I was expecting more of a chase on his part, maybe a little more bickering, but, besides his suggestive puns and the inappropriate look he gets in his eye whenever I adjust my slipping shirt, he’s doing well.
“What’s your favorite passage?” He asks. “Do you have one now?”
“I guess.” I flick back a few pages, to the part where I left my little pink sticky notes. “Be clearheaded, be watchful; because Satan himself walks about, seeking whom he may devour.”
This book is dramatic as hell. I glance up at him from the passage on the paper in front of me. His green eyes, dark and curious, flick from my lips to meet my gaze.
“How fitting.” He says, his mouth tugging at the corners.
I drag a subtle inhale in through my nose as his attention falls back to my lips. Now that I think about it, he’s really close, choosing to sit adjacent to me, instead of opposite.
My attention zeros in on my knee as his brushes against mine underneath the table. Has he been this close the whole time? Or has he only just moved closer? God. Why is this so hard? Bible study shouldn’t be this difficult!
“Have you ever sucked cock before?” He asks casually, as if the question is as polite as asking how my day was.
Fire as hot as the sun floods into my cheeks, setting them alight. “Excuse me?”
“Have you—”
“I...” I shake my head. “I heard you.”
“Well?”
Gripping the corner of my Bible, I slam it shut and pull it close to my chest. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
Caleb shrugs, pulling a lightly chewed lollipop stick from the small pocket on the breast of his crisp, white tee. Carelessly, he slips the stick between his lips and waits patiently, watching me with amused eyes.
“I’m not answering that.” I tell him with absolute finality. “We barely know each other.”
“You have a beautiful mouth.” He states, ignoring me. “That bottom lip of yours is making me curious.”
Damn. Good line, you beautiful motherfucker.
With smooth indifference, Caleb reaches out for the thick Bible in front of me and flicks through the pages, his judging eyes scanning every word. I swallow hard. I can’t believe I’m about to tell him this.
“Yes. I…I have.”
His eyes flick to mine.
Oh, fuck. My lungs stop working.
The lollipop stick jutting out of his mouth ceases to swirl and the green in his eyes brighten, flashing like a bolt of lightning at the peak of a summer storm. He closes the Bible with a subtle slap.
“You sure?”
I scowl at him. “You know what? Now that you mention it, I might have blown a zucchini. My mistake.”
“Did you like it?” He asks, his gaze falling to my lips once more.
I glare at him. I want it so bad. Here. Right now. Screw him, his green eyes, sexy voice, and nice tan for making this so difficult for me.
I inhale, subtly. I can handle this. What’s a few personal questions between acquaintances? It’s no big deal. All I have to do is steer the conversation away from sex. How hard can that be?
I clear my throat. “Can we talk about something else?”
Caleb sits back in his chair, fighting the devilish tug at the corner of his lips. “Sure.”
Fantastic. Crisis averted.
“Have you fucked?”
Nope. Can’t do it. I drop my hands against the table. “I’m done here. I want to go home.”
Caleb tilts his head, pleased by my announcement. “No, you don’t.”
No, I don’t and that’s what I’m worried about. It’s not worth it. Sex with him can’t be worth it. His prowess, his confidence, he’s has to be compensating for something. With trembling knees, I push myself to my feet.
“Yes, I do.”
Caleb slips his lollipop stick into his shirt pocket and stands up. I gulp as his smell overwhelms me, crisp and fresh, and his chest brushes against mine. I gulp again. He knows how to get a girl going, I’ll give him that.
My lips part as he reaches for my exposed bra strap. The very tips of his fingers brush against my flesh, causing electricity to zap along my skin. Casually, he slips the thin fabric between the pads of his fingers and pushes, straightening it from the twist I didn’t know it was in. His skin feels like fire against mine.
Fire isn’t good.
Fire is what Hell is made of and an eternity in a cave of fire is where I’m headed if I don’t get out now.
“What’s got you so nervous, Cass?” He utters, oozing all of the confidence in the world. “You a virgin?”
I shrug my shoulder, freeing my strap from his tempting clutches. “Definitely not.”
With his free hand, he snags the hem of my shirt and tugs me close. I squeak as my body bounces against his hard torso and he catches me on the rebound, his firm hand at the small of my back. It steals the air from my lungs—he steals the air from my lungs—from this room. I'm not going to lie, with him here against me Hell seems like a good compromise.
>
“My dad is waiting in the car downstairs.” The logical part of my brain forces me to blurt out.
Good. My brain needs to wrestle the steering wheel from my vagina and take control of the situation. This has to end before it becomes something I can never take back.
“Don’t tell me that. Now I have to bend you over this table.”
“I’m not that kind of girl.” I state, my brows pulling together.
I am. Fuck. Yes, I am that kind of girl. I’m just trying so hard not to be.
I press a firm hand against his chest and try to push away.
“Deep down every girl is that girl. You just need the right man to awaken her.”
“And you’re the right man? The one who’ll awaken my inner whore?”
Little does he know he’s already awoken her and she’s going stir-crazy, banging her head against concrete walls and running her tin mug up and down the bars of her cell. How am I going to ignore her forever?
I’m pulled from my thoughts as Caleb’s warm hand slips between my legs. I gasp and clamp my thighs shut, trapping his eager fingers an inch away from my wet, pulsing core. Caleb smirks and I remain still as he lowers his forehead to mine.
“You can answer that yourself, after you’ve let me between these thighs.” He utters, his voice a heavy whisper.
God. He’s perfect and manly—like a blond G.I. Joe. I was going to go with Ken initially, but no. He’s not like Ken. The difference? Ken brings cheesy smiles and beautiful flowers. G.I Joe brings beards and orgasms...and fucking thunder.
“I’m a good Catholic girl.” I say, my tone just as quiet—just as heavy—as his.
“No one is saying you’re not.”
Involuntarily, my thigh muscles loosen and his stunning, green eyes dance with victory.
“What’s one little orgasm, hmm? Live a little. You don’t even have to return the favor.”
He slips his hands a little higher, watching me closely for a sign to say I don’t want it. I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him.
I surrender.