by Dark Angel
"Maybe I should put an apron on you as well," I tease him, curling my fingers around his cock.
"Starting without me?" I hear Colt’s voice then, and I turn to look toward him. He’s standing by the kitchen door, leaning against the counter, lust and desire taking over his face as his eyes roam over my body and then focus on Daniel’s cock, my fingers wrapped around it. Without saying anything else, he walks up to us and kisses Daniel on the lips. Then, turning to me, he smiles and does the same. My skin prickles as his lips linger on mine, and I realize that I won’t finish washing the rest of the dishes anytime soon. "Let’s take this upstairs, shall we?" he asks, and I just nod in silence. Upstairs sounds perfect.
Picking me up from the floor and into his arms, Daniel laughs. "Upstairs it is," he says, and then both men walk out of the kitchen and up the stairs. It’s like this every day. And when I say every day, I really mean it.
Do you want to know how many times I have sex during a regular day? Three. Okay, perhaps four or five. Or maybe seven. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s impossible to keep a count. Whenever I’m alone with Daniel, we always end up fucking… And the same goes for when I’m with Colt. And when the three of us are together, it’s pretty obvious what happens, isn’t it?
We get to the room as fast as Daniel’s legs can carry me and, once inside, Colt slams the door behind us.
This time you stay outside, though. Don’t take it the wrong way, but this is where we draw to a close. I have everything that I’ve ever wanted—love, and the most perfect men to ever walk the face of the Earth—and so it’s time to wrap this up.
I know, it sounds so easy, doesn’t it? But it wasn’t, and you were with me every step of the way. And, because of that, you know what I know: love and happiness don’t come easy, but they’re always worth it.
Even if the whole world tells you ‘no’, remember that sometimes the most appropriate response is to shout a ‘yes’ right back. Especially when hot men are involved, of course.
Blessed
A Bad Priest Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
Connor
"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" The young stewardess asks me, and I shake my head politely.
"I’m fine, thank you, Lisa," I say, reading her name from the tag on her breast.
"Let me know if you need anything," she continues, looking straight into my eyes. "Anything," she adds, stressing the word in a way that’s almost too forceful. Keeping a serene posture, I look back at her and just give her an acknowledging nod.
"Thank you," I repeat, making sure that my words are polite but curt. Her eager smile fades slightly and, even though she bats her eyelids at me a few times, she finally turns on her heels and struts back to her seat at the end of the cabin. Of course, she sways her hips lewdly as she walks down the aisle, her round ass cheeks flexing under her tight stewardess skirt.
We’re alone in the small cabin of the plane, just the two of us, and that’s definitely helping her being this brash. Even though I’m looking out the window right now, the United States coastline is already shaping up in the distance, I know that if I turn around and look at her, she’d look right back at me with a devilish stare.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like she isn’t a beautiful woman, because she definitely is all that and then some. Full lips, long brown hair down to her shoulders, and a figure capable of driving any man to the brink of insanity… She’s everything a man wants in a woman, at least when it comes down to our most primal instincts.
If this little scene happened a few years ago, I’d be telling you a very different story right now. I mean, me and a beautiful woman inside a private jet? It isn’t hard to figure out the consequences of that. But, unfortunately for our friend Lisa, I’m not the same man I used to be. But, of course, it’s also possible that the kind of man I am right now is also what’s making Lisa so interested.
You see, even though I’m wearing a black tailored suit right now, I’m not like other handsome men my age. I’ve devoted my life to a higher purpose, and this young stewardess knows that.
No, I’m not a priest, if that’s what you’re thinking.
I’m part of what’s called the Order of the Temple, a community of men who have devoted their lives to the betterment of the world. We’re not exactly priests or monks, though; we’re secular men, pooling our knowledge and resources to make the world a better place. We work under the tutelage of the Catholic Church, and we have our origins in a story from the Gospels: it’s said that when Jesus visited the temple in Jerusalem, the place was packed with merchants. In a bout of righteous fury, he kicked them all out, accusing them of turning the temple into a "den of thieves."
The Order of the Temple emerged as a secretive branch of the Catholic Church, and our purpose is to guide the most powerful and wealthy men in the world. No, we’re not some kind of Illuminati society. It’s nothing like that; we don’t seek power or control. All we want to do is guide those with the most power in society toward the greater good.
Of course, most people have a hard time accepting the fact that I’ve devoted my life to such a mission. That’s only normal, I suppose—after all, I’m not exactly the kind of guy you’d believe to be spiritual or religious.
I’m 6’1, as ripped as an Olympian, and I’ve got the looks to back it up, at least that’s what the women I come across insist on telling me. I think that most people just can’t accept the fact that a guy like me could have a higher calling. And, to be honest with you, I used to think the same.
Back when I was just an eighteen-year-old, making my dent in a D-I school as a football player, I had everything a guy my age could’ve wanted, which of course, means that I had women throwing themselves at my feet every single hour of the day.
Somehow, that got old fast. There was a certain hollowness inside me, and that hollowness kept on growing with each time I succumbed to lust. The way I see it, I was a young weak man and, above all things, I wanted to be strong.
Most guys my age would be lost if they felt like I did, but I knew exactly the one person who could help me out: my father. Just like me, he was a loose cannon throughout his twenties, going through girls faster than he would go through a shirt. That changed when he met my mother; he knocked her up and, one month later, they got married. Despite her pregnancy being the reason behind their marriage, I think that they just wanted to make it formal; their love was genuine.
I was just two when my mother passed away. Car accident. Those were some hard times for my father; he lost his job as a financial trader, got into drinking for awhile, and… Well, things were going in a downward spiral fast.
But he didn’t want to be that kind of man; he wanted to be a strong man. And so, in a moment of both lucidity and desperation, he turned to God. Since he was already a well-known name in the financial community, he rose through the ranks of the Church quickly, and it was only a matter of time until he became part of the Order of the Temple. Shortly after, he was appointed as spiritual adviser to one of the most powerful families in the United States: the Donovans.
More than guiding the Donovans, though, my father guided me through my most turbulent years. And so, I ended up following his footsteps, becoming a member of the Order just like him.
Now, I wasn’t satisfied with just that; instead, I also made a vow of celibacy. Why would a guy like me do that? It’s crazy, right? Well, not exactly. After all, I’ve already had more sex than anyone should have, and what better way to become a stronger man than to fight against my most basic instincts? It hasn’t been that hard, though. Even though women still throw themselves at my feet, I’ve never come acr
oss someone capable of rattling me. And I honestly doubt that’s going to happen, especially now that I’m about to embark on a very special mission.
You see, just like my father, I’m about to become an adviser to the Donovan family.
If you were wondering why a guy like me would be aboard a luxurious private plane, that answers it. Even though I don’t care much for luxuries, and would have preferred to book a commercial flight, this time it couldn’t be helped.
A flight from Rome to New York takes, usually, more than half a day, and with a private jet plane, I can travel that distance in under nine hours. And why am I in such a hurry?
Because of the funeral.
Two days ago, my father passed in his sleep, and I was quickly tasked with taking over his role inside the Donovan family. I’m much younger than he was when he accepted that responsibility, and I’m not really sure if I’m ready for it. That uncertainty, coupled with the way grief has been clawing at my very soul since I found out about my father… Well, it hasn’t been easy.
But life isn’t supposed to be easy, is it?
And so, despite all hardships, I will do my job. I’ll follow in my father’s footsteps, and I’ll make him proud. Which isn’t going to be an easy task, mind you. By now, the two Donovan children, Earl and Clarise, are all grown up; I met them just once, but I remember the heated rivalry between them.
Something tells me things haven’t changed.
Well, that’s my responsibility now.
Clarise
Black dress, black heels, black shades.
I take a spin in front of the full body mirror, watching as the fabric of my dress clings to my curves, and I sigh heavily.
Usually I enjoy dolling myself up, but there’s nothing fun about getting ready for a funeral. Specially when it’s the funeral of someone who was very dear to you. I can’t even begin to imagine how life will be now that Edward’s gone. He’s been with the family ever since I was a small girl, and I thought that he’d always be around ... of course, life always has to throw you a curveball, and now the house seems more empty than ever.
It might sound a bit stupid to say it, but in a sense, I considered him part of the family. More than an adviser, he was like that uncle who always knew exactly what to say when trouble reared its head. And, oh, how I pestered him with my teenage girl problems. More than wise, Edward was definitely a very patient man. Even more patient than my own parents.
Not that I can blame my parents; I’ve always had a reputation as a party girl, and you know how that plays out with powerful families, don’t you? Bad press, tabloids, and whatnot … my parents hated it, especially my mother. Only Edward seemed to be kind toward me, even when I was at my worst.
But now he’s gone, and at a time our family needs him the most.
Ever since my brother started working under my father’s tutelage, being groomed as a possible heir to the Donovan empire, things have started to become hard. Now, I know… I’m a privileged child. I shouldn’t be telling you about how life’s hard when I live in one of the most expensive mansions in the world and have all the luxuries that come with it.
But having money doesn’t mean that you’re happy, you know? Sure, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not a guarantee of anything … Sometimes I even think that I’d be much happier if our family was just a normal one, no business empire or legacy to worry about.
There’s a silver lining to all of this, though.
I know, I know… It’s a bad thing to say! Well, but there really is a silver lining… Shortly after Edward passed away, we received notice from the Vatican that they’d be sending a replacement: Edward’s own son, Connor. And, there’s no other way to put it, I’m a little excited with the prospect of seeing Connor again.
He used to visit Edward in the summers, staying at the guesthouse with him, and those were always fun times. I mean, Connor was handsome and charming… He was just a few years older than me, but he dazzled me all the same. Nothing ever happened between the two of us, though, and I suspect that was because he saw me as both too young and as someone under his father’s responsibility.
I was a bit surprised when I got word that he had become part of the Order of the Temple, though. Just like me, he had a reputation as a party beast, and every time he came here he left broken hearts in a thousand-mile radius. But, somewhere down the road, he changed. And now he’s coming back as our advisor. It’s almost funny to think about him in such terms.
Yeah, okay, I’ll admit, I always had a bit of a crush on him. But it’s not like that’s a surprising revelation or anything. I mean, every single one of my friends (or pretty much every girl I know) had a crush on Connor. So, yeah, forgive me if I’m a bit anxious with the prospect of seeing him again.
"Clarise?" I hear my mother say from the other side of the door, and then she raps her knuckles against it. Before I can say a thing, I see the handle turning and, one second later, she steps inside my bedroom suite. Although the dress I’m wearing is as fit for a funeral as it is for a boardroom, my mom’s definitely dressed for a funeral. She’s even rocking one of these dreadful veils. Still, she’s a lucky one; despite being in her mid-fifties, she remains as beautiful as when she was twenty. It’s kind of a cliché, but it’s true—some women don’t age, they mature.
"I’m almost ready, mom," I tell her offhandedly, turning my attention back to the mirror and running one hand through my hair.
"Maybe you’re too ready?"
I turn on my heels to meet her gaze, and her judging smile tells me everything I need to know. It’s pretty obvious actually; while she’s wearing a modest black dress, something that’d be appropriate anywhere in the world, the one I’m wearing pushes the envelope a little bit because of my cleavage.
"What?" I ask her, pursing my lips and sighing. "I’m not that bad."
"Ah, God, Clarise," she sighs heavily, her gaze going straight to my cleavage, and then she shakes her head disapprovingly. "You’re lucky we’re already running behind schedule, or else I’d make you change that dress."
"Yeah, thanks for the compliment, mom," I shoot back at her. In a sense, I know she’s right; it isn’t exactly in good taste to show this much cleavage, but I let my unconscious mind pick the dress for me. Just like I told you, Connor’s coming back to town and, deep down, I want to show him that I’m not a little girl anymore.
Does that make me bad? I think it does. But I’m not afraid of being a bad woman. This world needs more bad women, don’t you think?
And so, as I walk side-by-side with my mom, making our way down the main stairway of the mansion, I can’t help but let a slight confident grin creep up on my lips.
"There you are," my father tells me impatiently, running his fingers down his tie and then waving at the limo waiting for us. "Let’s go, we’re already late."
"Thanks to Clarise," my brother mutters, looking at me sideways with an annoying grin. He doesn’t waste an opportunity to jab at me, and why would today be any different?
But I won’t let him rattle me. No, today’s a day of mourning…
And it’s also the day I see Connor again.
Connor
I’ve never been a fan of huge churches, particularly one as big as the one in which I’m sitting right now. According to a brochure I read before arriving, this particular congregation is big enough for more than fifty thousand souls. Can you even imagine a church this big? And, more than being just big, it’s also a luxurious one. It must've cost a fortune to erect these walls, and that’s probably why the Donovans were one of the main donors when it came to building.
It’s kinda fitting, in a way; a family as powerful as the Donovans always swing for the fences when it comes to occasions like this. I don’t think my father would’ve enjoyed a service this big, though, and if it were up to me, I’d have chosen somewhere more intimate. But I didn’t have a choice; I was in Rome when my father passed away, and the Donovans kindly arranged everything.
So, if it seems that I�
��m complaining, rest assured, I’m not.
Of course, I know that Jonathan Donovan wouldn’t mind going for something more intimate as well. After all, he knew my father better than anyone. But according to what my father used to tell me, Jonathan’s wife, Carolyn, cares about appearances as much as she cares about the air she breathes. Not that my father said that in a derogatory manner; according to him, keeping up with appearances was part of being one of the Donovans. After all, with the amount of money and power they have, they’re always under the public eye.
Not that everyone in the family follows these guidelines, particularly Jonathan’s daughter. She was always the rebellious one, partying hard as she made her way through college. Even though I spent the last few years in Europe, I always made sure I kept up with the news coming out from the States… And, sooner or later, there’d always be an article about Clarise, one of the heirs to the Donovan empire. Even though she was top of her class at Wharton Business School, the tabloids didn’t cut her any slack with her ‘party-hard’ attitude.
"What can I say about Edward?" Jonathan says, speaking into the microphone as he gazes down toward the thousands of people hanging on every word of his. He’s in the pulpit now, my father’s casket just a few meters away from him, and every set of eyeballs is trained on the leader of the Donovan family. His voice booms through the dozens of speakers mounted throughout the cavernous room, and I feel the air on the back of my neck standing up as I listen to him. "More than just a good man, he was an outstanding man. It’s no secret that he was one of my closest friends and, more than that, he also helped my family throughout the years."
The crowd remains silent at his words, but I can feel that some people are feeling the itch to start clapping. No wonder, I feel the same as well. But out of respect for my father, everyone remains solemnly silent.