desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  Right after another school visit to James Fredricks with my mom, we drive home. Mom talks excitedly about driving me to college next fall, how happy she is that I’ve finally found what I want to do in college. For just a moment, my disappointment about Sol is pushed to the back of my mind, and I choose to enjoy this time with my mother. We’ve gotten so much better at communicating since we started therapy, so we’re in a good place. She has been organizing a food drive with Luke for the past month or two. She seems to thrive on it.

  Later on at home, I’m lying in bed in the dark, waiting for my mind to finally shut down so I can get some much-needed sleep, when I hear my phone beep with an incoming message. I fumble around in the dark and flip on the lamp. Squinting at the screen, my heart starts racing inside my chest as I sit up on the bed and read the words again.

  I miss you.

  I stare at the screen for a long time, a smile curving across my lips.

  Me: me too

  It takes a while for his message to come through. I start thinking he isn’t going to respond when a message pops up on my screen.

  Sol: Can you get away on Sunday during the food drive? Meet me?

  Me: Where?

  My weakness and love for this boy has no bounds.

  Sol: Capper’s Harbor Inn at Portsmouth. On Maplewood Ave. The room will be under Thomas Schuster.

  Me: What time?

  Sol: 2 p.m.

  Me: Ok.

  Sol: Ok.

  I hug my phone to my chest, my eyes closed as I plot how I’ll sneak away to meet him without raising any suspicion. I have a feeling my mom will be busy at the food drive, so everything might just work out to my advantage.

  My phone vibrates against my chest. I pull it up to check the screen.

  Sol: I can’t wait to see you.

  Me: Me either.

  And that seals the deal. I turn the lights off and lay my phone on my pillow just in case he texts me again. My heart is so full, and the elation thrumming through my veins softens my body, warming me all over. It’s the sedative I need to calm my chaotic thoughts.

  I close my eyes, smiling, and let sleep pull me under.

  Tomorrow, I’ll hold Grace in my arms. I just have to be careful with the way I handle myself and not raise suspicion. The thought of someone finding out turns my blood to ice. But the thought of letting Grace go, especially after Thanksgiving, makes my stomach clench painfully.

  I shift on the bed and lie flat on my back, my gaze trained on the ceiling. It’s after eleven. It’s dark, and everyone has already gone to sleep.

  I’ve barely been holding on by a thread since Thanksgiving.

  Why am I still struggling? Should I be pushing Grace away?

  I keep asking myself these questions over and over, every single day. I wish I could talk to my uncle about it, but I’m scared of what he will think of me. Especially after the talk he and I had before I left for Boston.

  I told him I had made my choice.

  He doubted me. I could see it in his face, which only made me more adamant about it. Plus, I’d just left Grace on her bed, looking brokenhearted and so lost. I have never felt so confused in my life. If I was meant to be with her, then why had I felt so miserable at the thought of not serving God?

  The past few weeks, I tried my best to hide the state of my mind. Classes went well, and I made sure to interact and participate in class, but I hardly ever hung out with the other guys during our free time. If anyone noticed how much of a wreck I had become, no one mentioned it. And I knew if the rector knew everything I’ve been up to since I started the seminary, I would be liable for disciplinary action. Even suspension.

  I wonder what she’s doing right now.

  What if one day she meets someone who can give her everything I can’t? A family, children . . .

  Jealousy burns through my veins at the thought of a faceless dude touching her like I want to, like I’ve done. Kissing her, making love to her. Then guilt pours through me, dousing the fire in my veins, leaving me cold. I mutter an apology to God and ask for guidance.

  I don’t know what kind of answer I’m expecting from Him because nothing happens. No illuminations as to which path I should follow or voice in my head telling me to obey the vows I made, only the sound of blood rushing in my ears and the feel of elation at the thought of seeing her tomorrow.

  And I need to see her. I need to feel like I’m flying and soaring and whole, just like I did two weeks ago.

  I have no idea when my thoughts stop taunting and torturing me, but when I wake up at seven o’clock the next morning, I realize I fell asleep somewhere between midnight and three o’clock.

  Just one hour until Mass begins.

  I leap out of bed and dash to the bathroom, glad to have it all to myself. I wouldn’t want anyone getting nosy and asking me about the tattoo above my heart because it only belongs to me and Grace.

  Lunch is served in the main dining room at twelve. I’m so nervous, wondering if my fellow seminarians can read what I’m planning by just looking at my face. I force myself to eat my food, then excuse myself and tell Gerry—one of the guys I’ve gotten close to the past couple of weeks—that I’m heading out for my pastoral assignment at the local children’s hospital.

  Sitting inside the Toyota I rented for this purpose, I tug the white collar from around my neck and shrug the black shirt off. It’s a warm, sunny autumn day outside, so I choose to leave my jacket in the car.

  Dressed in the customary black pants, a white T-shirt, and a baseball cap pulled low on my forehead, I stroll inside Capper’s Harbor Inn.

  Is she already here?

  What if she doesn’t show up?

  My heart is in my throat as I head for the reception, tugging my cap much lower to partly cover my eyes. My body is on high alert. Whenever someone stares in my direction for longer than three seconds, I break into a sweat, feeling as if they know me and what I’m doing here.

  The receptionist looks up and smiles. “Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?”

  I clear my throat and smile at her, throwing a little charm in that smile. She practically melts, blinking several times before looking down at the keyboard in front of her.

  “I booked a king yesterday under Mr. Thomas Schuster.” The lie comes out so easily, it startles and worries me.

  Her fingers fly on the keyboard as she checks my details. “Yes, Mr. Schuster.”

  She looks up, her cheeks red as her eyes wander down my chest and over the span of my shoulders. I’ve been working out at the gym at school, mostly to purge out my frustration, and my body has been filling out quite nicely.

  When her gaze meets mine again, she coughs a little, then twists around to grab a key card from a drawer to her left. She hands over the room key and informs me of the room’s whereabouts.

  “Have a nice stay, sir. And please let us know if you need anything.” She stresses the last word, then scampers away, rubbing her red cheeks.

  I turn and head toward the stairs.

  Inside the room, I kick off my shoes and send Grace a text with the room number, then start pacing to ease the nervousness clinging to my body.

  Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I practically lunge for it and yank the door open. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the woman standing in front of me.

  Lips slightly painted in red lipstick, long lashes made even longer with mascara, her curly hair falling around her shoulders down her back, and a pair of silver hoop earrings in her ears. She’s wearing a knee-length black trench coat, black knee-high boots, and stockings.

  Grace.

  “Lord help me,” I murmur under my breath just as she steps around me and heads inside. My mind goes wild, imagining what she’s wearing under that coat.

  She throws her purse on the nightstand and takes off her black coat, then tosses it on the nearby chair. I’m still standing at the door with my hand around the knob, watching her when she straightens and spins around to face me.
She clasps her hands in front of her and shifts on her feet.

  “How long do you have?” she asks.

  I close the door and look at my watch. “A little over one hour.”

  “Good.” She walks toward me, her hips swaying, and good Lord. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my pants. “One hour of you to myself.”

  I swallow audibly, my mouth dry, unable to get any words out.

  This is what I wanted, yet I’m too distracted by her scent, her effortless beauty, and the sexy way she carries her body.

  Tentatively, she puts her palms on my chest, then meets my gaze as if to check I’m okay with what she’s doing.

  I nod once to encourage her, and at the same time, I let my hand fall away from the doorknob. I bring both hands to her waist and squeeze, wanting to make sure she’s really here.

  Her fingers slide up and sink into my hair and tug.

  “We have sixty minutes all to ourselves.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you so badly,” she murmurs as she pushes herself to her toes and kisses the side of my mouth.

  Those words unlock the craving that has been building up for the past two weeks. I hoist her up and cup her ass as my feet swallow the distance to the bed and lay her down. My mouth is on hers, kissing her like I haven’t been able to. Like I’ve wanted to do every single night when I lay alone in bed, jerking off to the memory of her.

  My hands push up her dress until they find her bra and unclasp it. I bury my face into her chest.

  “I’ve missed these babies,” I murmur into her skin as I take a nipple into my mouth and suck it hard.

  She gasps, and her legs wrap around my waist, holding me prisoner.

  Her back arches.

  I groan, grinding my hard length on the mattress. My fingers caress her body and push down her stockings along with her black panties. I kiss a trail down her stomach, brushing her navel along the way, to her inner thighs. I have never done this before, but I want to taste her now.

  She sucks in a deep breath as soon as my tongue brushes her clit. I push a finger into her, working her until her whimpers turn into deep moans—music to my ears.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  “God, yes!” she screams.

  I feel her hand in my hair, and just when I think she’s going to pull me off her, she presses me down. With one hand under her ass, I lift her up and consume her. Taking in each of her little cries, her essence.

  Then her body is trembling as I hold her firmly, my tongue and finger pulling the climax from her.

  “Sol!” She shouts my name on a sob, and her tight body locks up and then loosens as she slumps down on the bed.

  “Come here,” she orders softly as soon as she comes down from her high.

  I climb up her body. I’m so hard in my pants that I wince as my front presses down onto her stomach.

  “I want to feel you inside me,” she whispers, her hands sliding between us and fumbling with my belt.

  Breathing hard, I watch her as she unzips my pants, then pushes them and my boxers down my thighs. I love seeing her like this, wanting me. As soon as her hands touch my stomach, all bets are off. I’m kicking my pants and throwing them on the floor, then grasping her arms in mine and pressing them to the mattress. She gasps in surprise, but her eyes are dark with need. I lower my body, and her legs fall wider to accommodate me. I release one of her arms and glance down where our bodies almost connect. Grabbing my dick, I align myself at her entrance, then meet her gaze with mine again.

  Slowly, I push inside her, watching the way her eyes widen as I fill her. A moan slips out of her mouth when we’re completely connected. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I collapse on top of her, making sure to angle my body to the side to avoid crushing her, then press my forehead against hers.

  “You feel amazing,” I murmur, pressing my mouth on hers.

  “Move, please,” she begs on a broken whisper. “I need you so much.”

  And I do, our breaths mingling and our gazes holding. I don’t want to miss a thing, and from the looks of it, she doesn’t either.

  And when we come, it’s explosive and earth-shattering. She calls out my name, and I shout hers. I roll to the side, taking her with me, and pull the sheets to cover our sated bodies.

  “I’ve tried staying away from you, Gracie,” I murmur against her head and kiss her hair. “I’ve tried so hard, but I’m physically incapable of letting you go.”

  She’s quiet; the only thing that lets me know she’s listening is her rapid breathing and the tightening of her hands around mine on her waist. Her heart is racing so fast I can feel it pounding through her back.

  I check my watch for the time, then quickly set the alarm to go off in thirty minutes. I pull Grace flush against my body and circle my arms around her shoulders and waist. We spend the next few minutes chatting. I tell her about life at the seminary, and she tells me about going off to college. She’s also thinking about taking a trip to see her grandparents to try to build a relationship with them before it’s too late. Eventually, our time together runs out. We stand from the bed and straighten our clothes. We agree that I should go first, so after a scorching kiss to tide her over until the next time we meet, I leave the room.

  Outside, I head for my truck. Guilt and resignation are my travel partners all the way back to Boston.

  After that first meeting at Capper’s Harbor Inn, Grace and I have been meeting mostly on Sundays whenever I could sneak out. God’s day, ironically enough. It’s the only day of the week where we didn’t have a lot going on at the seminary, but I had to make sure I was back by six o’clock in the evening.

  Today, though, I feel antsy. She seemed down the last time we met, so I promised her we’d do something fun together. And as usual, like every other time we meet, we choose a town that’s far from Boston and Portland.

  Grace and I spent an hour at a Christmas Market in Concord, which was fun and very addicting. By the time we are sitting down in a diner to grab some coffee, we only have about forty-five minutes to spare. We spend that time with her sitting next to me, her head on my shoulder, sipping coffee and eating apple pie.

  When our time is up, I walk her to her car and wait until she’s fastened her seat belt before leaning inside and taking her mouth in a fierce kiss like I always do. Lifting my head, I tell her I’ll see her when I come home for winter break in two weeks.

  I pull back and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear when I feel like we’re being watched. I’ve had this same feeling every time, but it usually turns out to be nothing. I step back and glance around. As always, there’s no one watching us. I shake my head and step back, then close the door. I wave at her as she drives away, then shove my hands inside my pants pockets and head toward my truck.

  Two days before Christmas, I drive to Portland for winter break. It’s twenty degrees outside. We had a light snowfall last night, and given the cold temperatures, the snow turned to ice. So the drive home takes almost three times.

  I arrive in Portland at almost eleven o’clock and drive to the rectory. Luke is already asleep by the time I get there. I send a short text to Grace to let her know I arrived safely, then hop in the shower. When I get back to my room, I find her message waiting for me with a lot of smiley faces. After texting each other for a few minutes, we say good night and plan to meet tomorrow at St. Peter’s Church for midnight Mass. The thought of seeing her excites me and scares me at the same time. This is the first time since I became a seminarian that we’ll meet in public.

  As soon as my head hits the pillow, sleep claims me, and I’m pulled under.

  The church is already full by the time Mass starts. I’m sitting on the sixth pew from the front, and Grace is two rows behind me. I know this because I felt the exact moment she entered the church; I felt her eyes on the back of my head as she slid onto the bench. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw her sitting next to her mom. Our gazes met and held. I felt high from the way she was wat
ching me before she dropped her eyes to her lap. Dressed in a red dress, her face moderately made up, she looked stunning. I had to rip my gaze from her before anyone could see how much she affected me.

  Throughout Mass, my thoughts remain on the girl sitting behind me. After Mass, everyone files out, and I join them, making sure to linger until Grace and her mom step into the aisle. After saying hello to Debra, I glance at Grace with a hello, hoping my face doesn’t show what I’m feeling. As we fall in step, the crowd engulfing us, I let my hand move to the side, seeking her smaller one. Our fingers brush against each other, and I have to bite my bottom lip to stop the groan.

  Before we walk out the door, she tugs my finger and whispers quickly, “Meet me here in thirty minutes. Driving my mom home first.”

  I nod subtly, then say goodbye to her and Debra. Shoving my hands inside my jacket, I take off toward the rectory to bide my time.

  Inside my room, I can hear Luke moving around in his as he prepares to go to bed. And as soon as the house falls quiet, I slip out the front door, returning to the front of the church fifteen minutes later, unable to stay still. The grounds are deserted; the only movement is the slight sway of leaves as a cold breeze sweeps through.

  Standing in the space draped in darkness on the left, I watch Grace as she walks along the line of the trees, making sure to keep her movements hidden by the shadows. She’s changed into a black dress with a red jacket over it, the hood pulled down her head to cover her face.

  She reaches the end of the line of trees, looks right and left, then dashes up the steps. I quickly grab her arm and yank her into the dark shadows where I’m hiding, spin her around, and crash my mouth on hers, swallowing her squeal.

  We break apart and gulp for air, and I feel her shiver beneath my arms. “I’ve missed you. I want you so bad,” I say, my voice rough.