Page 42 of Hotter 'N Hell

I thought he’d heard the other tornado, and I didn’t move a muscle, although that wouldn’t do much to protect me. But there was no roar in the distance, no phantom train engine. There was, however, a very hard and—from what it felt like—large erection pressed against my butt.

“I know you’re scared, and this is not the time for it, but…well, he didn’t seem to get the memo.”

I licked my lips. “He?”

“My cock. I know you can feel it.”

I wasn’t necessarily that scared at the moment. Father Jude had supplied a distraction.

“I’d make it go down if I could. But I smell you, I get hard. I see you smile, I get hard. I hear your voice, I get hard.”

I let out a long, uneven breath. “Then, why make me feel like I’m some dirty, wicked slut that you want as far away from you as possible?”

He moved his hips ever so slightly, and I did not believe it had anything to do with the floor being uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you as far away from me as possible.” The timber in his tone deeper as he leaned closer to my ear. The sound of his breathing heavier. “And the only dirty, wicked things about you are the things I want to do to you.”

He brushed my hair away from my neck and lowered his head, then pressed a kiss there. A simple brush of lips should not feel as if it had seared my soul. My head fell back on his wide shoulder, and I let out a moan, as if he’d just stuck his fingers in my panties.

“I lie in bed at night with your jacket pressed to my nose while I jerk off, thinking about you being there, spread wide, showing me exactly what it is you do to your cunt to get off.”

As his husky voice put images in my head that I wanted very much, I grabbed his shin while a wave of pleasure pulsed through me. He rubbed against me again. Another kiss just below my ear.

“You,” I said, gasping, then tried again. “You said you couldn’t masturbate.”

The back of his fingers ran over my jawline, down to the curve of my neck, then over my collarbone. “I’m not supposed to look at you and instantly get hard. I’m not supposed to seek you out because I ache to be near you. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve been breaking my vows.” His hand slid down inch by agonizing inch, closer to the swell of my breasts. “Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Is that”—I swallowed—“from the Bible?”

“Matthew 5:28. Jesus’s words,” he replied.

No, don’t start quoting Jesus. Touch my boobs.

I wanted to beg, but I didn’t have to. The large palm covered my right breast and gently squeezed. I arched my back, pressing it into his hand. Loving how it felt.

“I tried to tell myself that you were my Delilah. That, unlike Samson, I had to be strong,” he said against my ear. His hand moving to the other breast. “But that’s not fair. It points the blame on you, and it lays solely on my shoulders. I’m as guilty as King David when he watched Bathsheba bathe. Wanting her. Knowing she wasn’t his to take. To have. But he did it anyway.”

I didn’t know my Bible stories, but in the darkness, with Father Jude’s husky, thick voice, I found I was very interested. If he read the scriptures like this in Mass, he’d have a packed house seven days a week. All female.

He pushed the cups of my bra down, freeing my aching nipples, and started rolling each one, pinching them, taking turns as he pushed his hard length against me more.

“I’ve memorized every scripture about temptation, been taught to flee it. Father Gerard warned me that although I hadn’t faced it, my time would come. To stand strong. Work through it in prayer and fasting,” he told me with his voice sounding even darker than before. “And I tried.” His lips touched my neck, and I tilted my head, giving him better access. “But no one prepared me for you. How I feel when I’m near you. When I touch you.”

I trembled, and he let out a low, deep growl.

“Open your legs for me, Dimples.”

He said it again.

“Dimples?” I asked while I spread my thighs until my legs pressed against his.

“I’ve been calling you that in my head since that first day in the sanctuary. You smiled, and the two most perfect dimples God had ever created appeared on your already-beautiful face. I’d known in that moment that I should send you to another church. That you would tempt me. But I couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you again.”

The only nickname I’d ever had was Princess, and I hated it. Gathe had started calling me that when we were kids, and the other guys would from time to time. Crosby had when he wanted to piss me off.

Dimples was different. It wasn’t a name to tease me.

I opened my mouth to tell him I liked it, but his hand moved up my inner thigh until it reached the shorts I was wearing. I heard his breathing hitch as his fingers slid inside. I throbbed, desperate. He moved agonizingly slow. I fought the urge to grab his wrist and shove it inside.

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