He trailed his index finger across Kady’s entire back as if subliminally staking out his territory. “You know what I think?” His rasp was low and seductive. “I think you don’t really want to leave at all.”
She swallowed. “I don’t?”
“Nope.” His finger circled her shoulder blades. “I think you’re right where you want to be. Want to know something else, Kadence?”
Kadence. She couldn’t hear him say it enough. “Yes?” she whispered.
“You’re exactly where you belong.”
He hadn’t put any emphasis on belong yet the verb reached out and grabbed Kady like a giant hand. But no, it couldn’t possibly mean what she thought it did. What she foolishly hoped it meant.
Then he said the one thing she never would’ve expected. “Stay.”
Kady’s lungs stopped taking in air at the same time her heart started pounding double time. It wasn’t until Tristan brushed his lips across her ear did she resume breathing, and only because the sensation jolted her like a defibrillator.
Stay. As her universe narrowed to that one little word, the joy it created was trampled by a crushing epiphany. He wanted her to stay because he hadn’t finished what he started. She wasn’t bruised enough apparently. With as much bravado as her battered heart could muster, Kady told him, “I can’t be your punching bag, anymore, Tristan. I won’t do it. So if that’s the reason you—”
“It’s not,” he returned fiercely, grasping her shoulders.
If Kady noticed the desperate, almost painful clutching of his fingers she didn’t acknowledge it. “If this isn’t about payback… Then for what?”
The next thing she knew she was being whirled around and dragged up into Tristan’s embrace as his head swooped down to claim her mouth in a kiss. A borderline brutal, soul-bearing kiss made of one part hunger, two-parts anguish, and eleven years of unrequited longing.
“For this…” he muttered against her lips. “God help me, but for this.”
Twenty-one
It took only a moment for the shock to wear off and the realization to sink in before Kady was fervently kissing him back. She burrowed herself into his body trying to get closer, moaning like she’d been long deprived of water and was finally getting to drink.
Dear God, please don’t let this be a dream…
The arms that had been crossed over her chest were now snaked around his waist, leaving her breasts unprotected but Kady no longer cared. She liked the way they felt sandwiched between their bodies. She also liked feeling the steel strength of his erection prodding her belly. Liked it very, very much.
The years separating them evaporated into the ether as if they’d never existed. After all that had happened between them, after so much time lost, kissing him again should’ve felt awkward at best. To her amazement, it was like coming home to a place familiar and comfortable and safe. He was right. She was exactly where she belonged.
Please don’t let this be a dream…
The only thing strange and new to her was the tongue teasing the seam of her lips. Tristan’s tongue, begging entrance to where it had never before gone. He was giving Kady her very first French kiss. Something he maybe should’ve done years ago but she wasn’t about to quibble. Without hesitation her mouth opened, allowing him in. Inviting him in. Welcoming him.
If this is a dream… Please don’t let me wake up.
His first time tasting her and Tristan intended to make the most of it. Leisurely but thoroughly he visited every corner of Kady’s mouth. Swept every warm, wet surface… glided over teeth and gums… engaged her in a sensual waltz of tongues that drew deep moans from each of them. His exploration seemed to go on forever yet the longer they locked lips the more he wanted.
He wasn’t just kissing Kady, he was consuming her. Affectionate nipping turned into passionate biting. Licking into ravishing. Like a man starved of food he couldn’t get enough of her. It wasn’t just the woman’s mouth he wanted to feast on, it was all of her. Every sexy, beautiful inch. His hands roamed her body. Her back, her waist, her hips… Touching and feeling everything he could reach including places previously denied him. Her ass, her tits… God, those fucking amazing tits. And yet still he hungered.
He groaned inwardly. How could he have allowed this to happen? Allowed it? He fucking instigated it. Touching Kadence, let alone kissing her was the last thing he wanted or expected. Now that he’d done both, he couldn’t imagine going another day without doing either.
Filled to bursting, his cock was pushing against the flap of his trousers demanding to be set free. He’d never shot his wad just from kissing a woman but there was a first time for everything. His testicles were so tight they ached. Actually ached, for chrissake. He hadn’t experienced a case of blue balls since— Well hell, since the last time he was with her. Fucking decade ago!
Kady wasn’t faring much better. It felt like she’d peed herself her crotch was so wet. Dear God, how could she have lived this long and not felt a man’s hands all over her? (The repulsive mauling she got at O’Malley’s didn’t count. Nor did that other time.) When Tristan had touched her breast the other day, it felt incredible. Tristan touching her entire body while kissing her was a bajillion times more so.
As if he wasn’t already one Hail Mary from coming all over himself, he tore his mouth away and spun her around so her back was again to him. Before his brain could count all the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea, he slipped his hands underneath her armpits and cupped the undersides of both breasts.
The unexpected move pulled a soft gasp from her. Which she followed with a moan when he began weighing them in his palms, gently squeezing the creamy flesh as if testing the density and buoyancy. Her nipples had long turned to pebbles and she thought they’d reached their threshold for stimulation. When he captured the taut buds with his thumbs and forefingers, she was proved blissfully wrong. Rolling them between his callused pads, the light abrading tightened them further, almost painfully so. The sensation made Kady shudder, as did the light pinching and plucking that followed.
Just before her head dropped back against his chest and her eyelids slid shut, she glanced up at the crucifix hovering before her. Kadence imagined she struck quite a pose standing there like Lot’s wife, a pillar of salt before the altar of Christ wearing nothing but a pair of damp panties and a maidenly blush while a holy father in ceremonial vestments fondled her tits from behind.
That’s it, she’d fallen into some parallel universe. How else to explain the bizarro events of the evening? Tristan had never done anything close to this before. Had never groped her like a horny adolescent even when he was a horny adolescent. Now here he was, doing things to her as Father Cleary that he never would have as Tristan Cleary. And by the confident and skillful way he was playing her body, she could tell he wasn’t sexually ignorant. As she was. The thought that Tristan may not be a virgin surprised her. Disappointed her. Crushed her. She assumed he would have wanted to enter the priesthood pure and unfettered of sin. She assumed wrong, apparently.
While his hands were occupied with her breasts, Tristan’s lips resumed sending shivers up and down Kady’s spine by kissing her neck and shoulders. How they got to this point he had no fucking clue. In all honestly, he didn’t fucking care. Never could he have imagined the evening ending up this way but he sure as shit wasn’t complaining about it. The woman who starred in all of his mind’s midnight movies was in his arms—flesh and blood, practically nude, moaning with pleasure—and damn if that didn’t beat any script he ever could’ve written in his head.
He was teasing her nipples, wondering if those perky pink buds were as tasty as they looked when a black thought like hot tar oozed into his mind. He’d forgotten there were other guys out there who already knew the answer to that. Fuck, how many?
Overcome by jealousy and resentment, he thoughtlessly pinched a nipple a little too hard. Kady’s breath caught but she didn’t protest. In fact, didn’t seem to mind at all and even moaned a little
louder.
“You liked that, did you?” His purr had an edge, sharp and jagged as a tin can lid.
Kady’s brain had long turned to mush and all her limbs to liquid. She couldn’t think, couldn’t talk. “Uh-huh,” was about the best she could come up with.
Tristan twisted it again. Rougher. “How’d that feel?”
She whimpered.
“Good?”
“Gooo…” she breathed.
“Am I doing it right?”
“Mmm…”
“The way…” Your lover did it? “You like it?”
“Uh-huh…”
While she was swimming in some private pool of delirium, Tristan slid a hand stealthily down her torso. Past her waist, to her upper abdomen, advancing on her pussy in fractions so tiny she didn’t even notice. The closer his hand got, the farther his anger.
His cock was throbbing against her backside and the only thing filling his head at the moment was how good it would feel throbbing inside her hot channel. Christ on the cross, his hand really was an inch away from making his fantasy a reality. Of course he knew this was wrong, he wasn’t a moron. Just weak. And it wasn’t helping that the shoulder-Satan’s voice had gotten louder. Try as he might, short of puncturing his own eardrums Tristan wasn’t able to tune out his narcotic narrative.
Just do it, priest.
Slide your hand down. Slip it under those appalling cotton panties. Palm that hairy little pussy like you’ve been aching to do ever since catching a glimpse of it. Find out for yourself if it’s as warm and soft as you imagined. Come on, you were doing so well. Why’d you stop? You want to finger-fuck that tight wet hole, am I right? You’re thinking three, maybe. The number of fingers you’d use. And four. Number of minutes you’d need to set her off like a Roman candle. Five. The number of times you’d like to do it. But you have to start with the first step. So go on. You know you want to.
As Father Ryan was well aware, giving into desire wasn’t as egregious as not asking for the strength to combat it. The bigger sin was apathy, the sepsis of the spirit.
Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.
Yet he didn’t turn to his Lord and Savior for help. Instead, tried rallying his own resistance which was about as unshakable as a straw hut in a strong gale. Temptation was proving too sweet, too powerful. Far worse, he was complacent. This truth the holy father shamefully recognized and painfully accepted as his hand began to move. Slowly. Incrementally. Downward. To hell and damnation. To wrack and ruin.
To heaven and salvation.
Brought back to earth, Kady’s eyes fluttered open. “Tristan?”
“Shhh, it’s okay. Let me.”
Tristan’s hand slipped to that place burning with an indefinable need and she realized she was tensing, anticipating not only the physical encroachment on her body but also the inevitable assault on her senses. A broken gasp caught in her chest as his hand breached the waistband of her underwear. She tried telling herself this wasn’t really happening, that she was in the middle of one of a dream. The deft digits combing through her damp curls convinced her otherwise. Oh it was happening all right.
Momentarily suspending his hand’s descent, Tristan’s middle finger lingered at the top of her cleft just north of the feminine folds already thick and swollen with Kady’s arousal. Time seemed to be standing still as she waited for the callused pad to advance on her clitoris quivering a mere fraction away. Her sex felt uncomfortably full, congested, and she knew without having to check that her panties weren’t just wet they were soaked.
Before she could form another thought, Tristan’s hand was on her crotch. Dear god, she’d never felt anything like it, that hand. It was large, it was hot, it was all encompassing and palming her in a proprietorial way that both chilled her and thrilled her. His grip was almost brutal in its possessiveness, informing Kady in no uncertain terms that her pussy was his to do with what he pleased. And at the moment, what Tristan pleased was getting her off.
Then it started. The slow but steady back and forth sawing of his palm over her mons… her clit… spreading her wetness. Her head fell backward like a bird with a snapped neck, and the moan she released was long and deep like the lowing of a cow. She was too far gone to care or to feel embarrassed. His touch was… It was rapturous. That perfect friction. How could he possibly know? Know so much about a woman’s body? Her body? How fast to rub, how hard, how gentle, how she needed it? How many vaginas had he practiced on before he’d honed his technique?
His breathing labored, Tristan’s level of excitement surprised him. His hand worked Kady’s pussy to the rhythm of his drumming heart. It was a thing of dreams that pussy. So hot. So wet. So wonderfully lush. Feeling those damp, silky pubes against his palm was getting him excruciatingly hard. He thought he’d long reached his capacity but like a balloon getting pumped full of helium his dick just kept expanding. But also like a balloon there was the danger of popping, or in his case exploding. Small wonder, it’d been five years since he last touched a woman’s vagina. And the first time ever touching Kady’s.
His hand engulfed her vulva from stem to stern, the heel of his palm stimulating her clit with every pass. That mini motherfucker was right. He wanted to use his fingers on her. But that would be moving too fast. Hell, he hadn’t meant to take it this far. And truthfully, wasn’t sure he’d be able to control his own excitement. Just petting her pussy was threatening to make him unload in his BVD’s, something he hadn’t done since he was a pimple-faced nerd of thirteen. But sweet Jesus, it might be worth the humiliation.
Just this once, he told himself. Just this once he’d give into the lust tormenting him to the brink of insanity. He’d take only a little piece. Then after tonight, curiosity satisfied and craving sated he’d be able to purge her from his system and get on with his life. He would make Kady come on his hand. Cry out his name. Tremble in his arms.
Just this once.
While one hand was ministering to her breasts, his other continued gliding effortlessly over her mound slick with her secretions. The girl was practically dripping she was so wet. Her helpless little whimpers and soft involuntary moans sounded like a symphony to his ears. If he was struck deaf tomorrow yet granted a single sound to hear for the rest of his life, it would be Kady getting pleasured. By him. Listening to her endeavoring toward her climax was euphoric. That he was responsible gave Tristan the same kind of rush he got from bungee-jumping.
Masturbating her hadn’t been part of the plan. Touching her at all wasn’t even considered. But if it meant dancing to the devil’s fiddle, he wasn’t about to let this unforeseen opportunity slip through his fingers. But after half a decade of celibacy he no longer had game. His fear was not being able to hold out long enough for Kady to reach her release. And making her come was his sole goal in life right now. Making her come was as much for him as it was for her.
Making her come… would be the sweetest revenge.
Chapter
If revenge was still Tristan’s intent. Which it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not after this.
“Do you have any idea,” he rumbled in her ear. “How long I’ve wanted to do this?”
“Um…”
“It was a rhetorical question,” he whispered, and Kady swore she felt him smile.
Her legs instinctively parted to allow him better access. Pressing the heel of his palm against her clit, he began a gentle kneading while she tossed her head side to side over his hard pecs. She was biting her lip, squeezing her eyes, looking like a woman being tortured. With pleasure.
All her senses were focused on the wave of need now overtaking her. She was reaching toward something she’d never before experienced. Something she wasn’t able to name yet felt with a keenness that bordered on desperation. She feared it, welcomed it, wanted it more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life despite not having any idea what it even was. Yes, she was close to orgasm. But this wasn’t coming. It was arriving.
Tristan was working
her pussy, simultaneously grinding his raging erection against her ass. His mouth latched onto the bottom of her neck and he looked like a lion suffocating a gazelle. They were both mindless with need and breathing heavily. With Kady’s little noises driving him mad, he picked up the pace.
Grunting, groaning, panting… Sounds one might hear in a house of ill repute, not a house of God. It was sacrilegious at best, what they were doing in here. What the priest was doing in his own church. But at the moment he seemed oblivious to the fact he was not only sinning but doing it before Christ’s altar.
“Oh God.” Kady was half-whispering, half-moaning. “OhGodohGodohGod…”
“Kadence?”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”
“Oh, Jesus,” Tristan growled. “Jesus, Jesus…” A supplication? “Oh, Jesus, fuck.” That would be a no. “Kady, Christ…”
“Oh my God!” Then it hit her. Slammed her, really. Like a ten-foot swell moving at one-hundred knots crashing into her from behind. Now she understood why they say never to turn your back on the ocean.
Tristan dropped his forehead against the top of her head, needing to catch his breath and take a moment to recover same as Kady. He folded his arms around her but unlike before, it was to comfort not contain.
She was trembling, her body feeling boneless in his hold. He felt just as shaken. “I’ve got you,” he soothed, kissing her hair. “I’ve got you, sweet girl.”
Eyes springing open, Kady lifted her head off his chest. Her pulse had taken off at a sprint at the term of endearment she hadn’t heard in a lifetime. Her emotions were on overload. This was all too much to take in all at once, like eating all your Halloween candy in one sitting. Tristan saying her name and calling her sweet girl when he hadn’t referred to her by anything at all was heart stopping enough without him also kissing her and petting her and giving her a fictional orgasm after cruelly rejecting her. This had to be a dream.
Please don’t let me wake up…
FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1) Page 17