FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1)

by Lark McCaffrey

  These days shaved snatches were as ubiquitous as cell phones. But call him crazy… Tristan had always been partial to pubic hair. As a matter of record found it sexy as shit. Pubephilia. Arousal to pubic hair. Yeah, that’s a real thing, he read it somewhere. But shit, he didn’t have a “philia” for anything. He just loved the way a pussy looked. The way it felt against his face, bristly soft. Like a caress.

  Bare, there was no mystery. No discovering for himself what riches lay hidden between a woman’s thighs. Leave the hairless, sexless, Barbie crotches to the other guys. In his opinion, bush was what separated a grown woman from a little girl.

  Trying to dislodge the graphic pictures swirling around in his mind, the father clenched his eyes and whipped his head violently from side-to-side like a dog shaking off fleas.

  If your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.

  Droplets of water flew off in every direction while thoughts of a mons of honey-colored curls tenaciously clung on. He was seconds from jizzing the wall of pink tiles when he suddenly dropped his dick as if it were a firebrand. Bringing his hand up to his face, he stared at the offending extremity with an almost bewildered expression. What in holy fuck was he doing?

  If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.

  Tristan killed the hot water and cranked the cold. A harsh gasp discharged through clenched teeth as a deluge of icy water crashed down on him. His now flaccid penis looked as withered as a deflated balloon and he had good old Saint Matt to thank for it.

  It is better for you to lose one part of your body, than for your whole body to go to hell.

  Shutting off the faucet, he stepped out of the shower and cleared the sink mirror of steam. With his arms supported on either side of the basin, he leaned into his reflection. “What the fuck, Cleary? You really going to let that woman disrupt your life like this? Let her undo years of discipline? Restraint?” Facing off with the man in the mirror, he challenged, “What are you, priest or pussy?” He glared at himself another minute before dropping his head in disgust.

  It’d been years since he was tested like this. He knew he wasn’t having a crisis of faith but his faith was definitely in crisis. For days now he hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything, going so far as neglecting his responsibilities and duties as a parish priest. The endless mundane things like answering emails, sending tweets, filling out paperwork… He hadn’t even prepped this Sunday’s sermon.

  But the worst offence of all was allowing the tending to his flock fall by the wayside, all because he couldn’t stop thinking about a woman who didn’t merit a second thought. Kadence was like a metastatic tumor, resistant to chemo and too large to cut out. She was anathema to him and yet Lord above, Tristan Cleary wanted her like he never wanted any woman. Wanted her and wanted to do things to her. Hateful, hurtful things. Sexual things. He despised her and in the same breath desired her. Wanted to choke the girl as much as fuck her. God help him but he wanted to choke her while he fucked her. The thought of wrapping his hands around that slender white throat… plunging his cock into her hot honeyed depths… shooting his cum so deep she’d be able to taste him… God help him.

  Before he knew what was happening, the father’s hand was wrapped around his cock, working the shaft with renewed purpose. Each pull was full and strong, his rhythm slow at first but steadily increasing as his need grew. Every time he’d reach the fat rounded head, his thumb would slip over it spreading pre-cum along his length. It was so fucking hard and felt too fucking good that he knew this time there’d be no stopping.

  With his other hand he reached down for his balls, playing with them in his palm before giving a light squeeze. Grunting changed to groaning as his neck tilted back. “Fuck,” he cursed the ceiling.

  The pumping became urgent and rough as he fucked his hand the way he was imagining fucking Kady’s pussy. He felt his testicles tighten and his shaft swell to double its size. He braced an arm against the sink. “Fuck-fuck-fuck… ” His chanting in sync with his stroking.

  He was going to come. He was going to come from jacking off for the first time in half a decade. He was going to send his immortal soul straight to the fiery bowels of hell. But his soul was the last thing on Father Cleary’s mind as he filled his palm with spurt after spurt of thick white cum.

  Christ on the cross.

  Needing a moment to recover from the physical toll of his self-induced orgasm, he turned on the water and rinsed away the evidence of his sin.

  Damn the woman. His previous attempt to run Kady off had failed and he needed to do something short of murder to get rid of her for good. Yesterday in a moment of weakness he’d foolishly agreed to listen to whatever she was finally willing to tell him. He’d waited eleven years for that. Now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. She was likely only going to give him a half-truth, anyway. He hadn’t waited all that time just to have her offer him up lies like some starving dog getting thrown table scraps. Yet she’d unwittingly provided him with an opportunity to not only dispense a little rough justice but to exorcise her from his life.

  Tension melted from his face and the lost look present in his eyes moments earlier was now replaced with flinty calculation. He retrieved his razor and shave cream from the medicine cabinet and began slathering foam across his jaw. As his mind began hatching a plan, the corners of his mouth curled up—the end result baring little resemblance to a smile. If revenge is a dish best served cold, Kady Janacek’s tongue was guaranteed a nasty case of frostbite.

  Chapter

  “Your roll.”

  Kady sat cross-legged on the living room floor across from her father, a backgammon board on the coffee table between them.

  “Dad?” He was slumped in his recliner in the upright position but his head was arched back, his eyes closed. “Daddy?”

  Jerry Janacek’s lids opened to reveal bleary eyes as crystalline blue as his daughter’s. He gave her a blank stare.

  “It’s your turn. I just moved.”

  He kneaded both fists into his eye sockets. “Sorry, Mishka. Must’ve dozed off a minute.”

  “Maybe we should finish up the game tomorrow,” she suggested. “It’s getting kinda late.” It wasn’t even eight o’clock.

  “I am pretty tired.”

  “It’s been a tough day for you.” Kady began collecting up the dice. “Your body’s been going through a lot.” She dropped both pairs in the tumbler one die at a time, stalling. “Say, um… Dad?”

  Mr. Janacek had yet to bring up the matter of his daughter’s bout of brew flu but Kady had been prepared since dinner for a lecture. Public drunkenness would further prove her proclivity for making poor decisions. He already disapproved of the choices she’d made in her life, and even though she couldn’t disagree with him, the idea that she might be a disappointment in her father’s eyes hurt Kady like a lance to the heart.

  “I, um, just wanted to say that I’m sorry for… for not being… available to take you to chemo yesterday. It was my turn. I mean, I was going to do it. I wanted to do it.” Kady wasn’t aware that with every sentence her head had dropped an increment. She was now talking to the carpet. “It’s just that… well, you might have heard.”

  “Yes, Mishka, I heard.” With some effort Jerry scooted forward in his seat to address his daughter’s bent head. “Your mother informed me that you and Alex went out the other night. That you ended up getting sick as a dog.”

  Kady braced herself for the rebuke.

  What is wrong with you? Why do you do things to sabotage yourself? When did you stop caring what happens to you? Tell me, Mishka, why you are so damn determined to throw your life away.

  It never came.

  “You don’t have to apologize for that, don’t be silly.”

  Her head jerked up.

  “Your mother figured you must’ve eaten a bad piece of sushi or something.”

  Sushi?

  “But why you girls thought anyone could get decent Japan
ese food in this town is beyond me. Thankfully only one of you got food poisoning.

  Poison?

  “So don’t worry about missing my appointment. Besides, there’s always next week. And the week after that…and the week after that…”

  Jerry braced his hands on the armrests and tried to shove out of the recliner. His arms were too weak and they collapsed out from under him, causing him to flop backward into the chair.

  Kady scrambled to her feet. “Dad, let me help you.” Grasping his forearms, she pulled him to his feet.

  Frustrated by his frailty and resenting the need for assistance, he grunted his thanks. Jerry Janacek wasn’t a man accustomed to being helpless. But having little choice, he allowed his daughter to drape his arm over her shoulders and bear the brunt of his weight as she helped him up the stairs. Once they got to his bedroom, she sat him on the edge of the bed and pulled off his slippers.

  “You need help changing into your, um… your pajamas?”

  Jerry smiled grimly. “I can manage.” Too soon had parent and child reversed roles. Would changing his diapers be next?

  “Is there anything I can get you? Glass of water? Another pillow? Extra blanket?”

  “Got everything I need right here.” He patted the mattress.

  “Mom should be home soon.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Well… okay then. Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Goodnight.”

  As she turned to leave, he suddenly reached for her hand. Giving it a loving squeeze, her father told Kady something she hadn’t heard from him in years. “You’re a good girl, Mishka.”

  ~oOo~

  “How was book club?”

  By the way her daughter said book club, Silvie could practically see her fingers crooking the air. “Just fine, smarty-pants.” She took off her coat and hung it on the coat tree.

  “Thought you’d be home before nine. Must’ve been quite a discussion.”

  Silvie joined Kadence in the living room. “Well, you know how Carolyn Carsters likes to go over every chapter with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “And a glass or two of Merlot.”

  She chuckled. “I think tonight she managed to polish off an entire bottle by herself.” Flopping down on the couch, she kicked off her heels and began rubbing the soles of her feet.

  “Nicholas Sparks or Danielle Steel again next week?”

  “Victor Hugo.”

  “Seriously?” Kady’s brow rose in surprise. “As in Les Misérables? Thought Mrs. Carsters never picked anything but romance.”

  “It’s got romance,” Silvie defended. “Besides, this time we all took a vote. Turns out a lot of us had been wanting to tackle something challenging. A book we could really sink our literary teeth into.”

  “Isn’t that, like, one of the longest novels ever written?”

  “Some 1600 pages,” she proudly confirmed.

  “Yeaahh… Good luck with that.”

  Silvie beaned her with a couch pillow. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she laughed.

  “You’re welcome,” Kady smirked, flinging it back at her.

  “So who won?”

  She followed her mother’s eyes to the open backgammon board on the coffee table. “No one yet. Hopefully tomorrow night we can pick up where we left off.”

  “What time did your father turn in?”

  “I put him to bed about an hour ago.”

  “You tucked him in?”

  “He just needed a little help getting up the stairs. I think this latest treatment really wore him out.”

  Saddened, Silvie nodded. “The fatigue and nausea seem to be worsening with every passing week.”

  “At least he won’t have to worry about his hair falling out,” Kady quipped, attempting to lighten a heavy situation.

  Mother and daughter exchanged wan smiles. Jerry Janacek had been bald as a cue ball since his early forties. “Yes, at least there’s that.”

  After a moment. “Say, Mom… Why did you tell Daddy I had food poisoning?”

  Her shoulders hitched. “It seemed simpler.”

  Kady lowered her head. “Thanks for covering for me.”

  “I did it for your father. You didn’t do anything terribly wrong, Mishka. Except perhaps use poor judgment. But you know how he worries about you. And obviously right now he has enough on his plate. Lepší lžička, která uklidní než pravdu, která ubližuje.”

  Kady blew out a breath. She hated when her mother lapsed into her native tongue without translating. “Which means…?”

  “ ‘Better a lie that soothes than a truth that hurts.’ ”

  Kady blanched. The Czech proverb hit home. Hit her right in the solar plexus. “I get it,” she whispered, feeling her sinuses start to burn.

  Oh yes, she understood that to spare someone you love pain, sometimes honesty isn’t always the best policy.

  “Kadence?” Silvie noticed how quiet her daughter had become.

  “Daddy didn’t want me to marry him, did he?”

  Ah, she should’ve known her daughter’s melancholia had to do with Tristan. “Well, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, no. You were only nineteen. Still in school.”

  “But his objection had more to do with Tristan. How’d Daddy put it? He had ‘reservations’ about him.”

  “He liked Tristan very much, you know that. His concern had nothing to with him personally. It was just that… Your father would have preferred you falling in love with a plumber or an accountant. Someone, anyone who didn’t start out having his mind and heart set on the priesthood.”

  “That old argument.”

  “But a valid one.”

  When Tristan had asked for Kady’s hand in marriage, it had taken a lot of convincing before her father finally gave them his blessing. Never mind that Tristan had already popped the question and she’d already accepted, he still wanted Mr. Janacek’s blessing. Imagine his shock when Jerry initially refused to give it to him. Though he’d always been fond of Tristan—in fact admired and respected the young man—he wasn’t convinced he was son-in-law material. How could a man suddenly go from wanting to be married to the Church to wanting to be married to his daughter?

  As much as Kady hated to admit it, her father had a point. Despite her continual passionate defense of Tristan, even she at times had to question his one-eighty. No, she never doubted his love for her, but neither could she completely let go of the fear he might one day come to regret his decision.

  Far back as middle school she’d worried about how his religious beliefs would affect their future relationship. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel pressured into giving up the priesthood for her. God was Tristan’s first love and she’d accepted that. Since she didn’t want it to become a source of contention between them, it was a topic they rarely discussed. But just because Kady never brought it up didn’t mean it wasn’t constantly on her mind. When Tristan mentioned in passing once about doing missionary work in South Sudan, she recalled feeling angry and resentful.

  Why couldn’t he be like other boys? What was wrong with wanting to be a firefighter or even POTUS? In light of the Church’s sex abuse scandal, what kid in this day and age dreamed of becoming a Catholic priest?

  In the end, knowing how much his daughter loved him, Jerry had reluctantly conceded but with a stipulation. If he wasn’t able to prevent them from marrying, the one condition he wouldn’t budge on was that Kady had to obtain her college diploma before getting her marriage license. If the lovebirds couldn’t wait three more years to tie the knot then maybe their love wasn’t as strong as they thought. Jerry had said it more as a challenge than an argument, and in the end the ploy worked. The wedding was scheduled to take place two weeks after her graduation.

  Turned out her father got his wish, after all. His original wish.

  Kady got up and drifted to the bay window. She looked outside but it was too dark and the only thing she could see was her own reflection staring back at her. “Some things
just aren’t meant to be,” she murmured.

  “God has a plan for all of us, Mishka. Only it may not necessarily be what we think, or even want it to be.”

  “Apparently not when, either.”

  “Boží mlýny melou pomalu, ale jistě.”

  She turned to her mother, a frown marring her face. “Which means…?”

  “ ‘God's mill mills slowly but surely.’ ”

  “Which means…?”

  “It means you need to have faith and patience.”

  Kady shook her head as if her mother was full of it. “Can faith and patience turn back time? Give me back the last eleven years of my life?”

  “No, Kady,” she said gently. “Only you can do that. Only you have the potential to turn your life around.”

  Her mother’s cryptic statement lost on her, Kady whirled back to the window. But not before Silvie caught the look in her eyes. She noticed that same forlorn emptiness in Tristan’s the other day. Pain and desolation could be hidden behind an emotional veneer of steely indifference but the eyes never lie. If truly the windows to the soul, then what Silvie saw, or rather what she didn’t… made her heart ache for them both.

  seventeen

  For the tenth time in as many minutes he checked his watch. Where the hell was she? It was eight thirty-three. The possibility she might not show up at all suddenly occurred to him, spawning a scowl.

  The church had emptied of people an hour and a half ago. Saturday evening Mass was long over yet Father Cleary was still wearing full liturgical vestments. It wasn’t an oversight but intentional. If tonight wasn’t about dispensing penance so much as collecting personal reparations, then it was important the sacred vestures serve as a self-reminder. Despite his need for payback, Tristan knew he couldn’t allow it to turn into blood sport, causing him to forget who and what he was. It was imperative he avoid a repeat of that reprehensible moment in the confessional last Friday when he’d come close to losing control with her.