Page 74 of Hotter 'N Hell

“Tomorrow morning in my office. We’ll just have to be quiet. Sister Regina is working the front desk tomorrow, but she never wears her hearing aids. I can’t wait any longer.”

Anticipation ran through me.

“That’s rather wicked of you,” I replied.

“Dimples, every thought I have is wicked when it comes to you. Might as well act on it.”

“And how often would those thoughts be?” I asked.

“Every minute of the day.”

I laughed, pulling my legs up onto the bed and crossing them.

“What are you doing tonight? Other than calling me.”

“Watching basketball and drinking a beer.”

I made a dramatic gasp. “Father, you’re drinking!”

A small chuckle. “I am allowed to drink alcohol.”

“They let y’all drink, but no sex?”

“Yep. Seems our carnal nature can ruin us.”

Why did hearing him saycarnalturn me on?

“That sounds a bit judgmental. What about alcoholism?”

“I’ve had hundreds of drinks in my life, and not one I couldn’t say no to. But one time of being buried in your tight pussy, and I’m completely addicted. Obsessed.”

Lust. Not love. I was in love. He was in lust. Would he feel thisway about any female he fucked? It had been his first time. He had no other comparison. I was a willing vagina, opening for a priest who could never give me more.

My mood tanked.

“You went quiet on me,” he said, sounding concerned.

“Sorry, I’m getting sleepy,” I lied.

“You sure that’s it?”

No, but I’m not telling you that my pussy might not be as magical as you think.

The idea of him having sex with someone was too painful to contemplate. I’d be his slut. Whatever he needed. At least I didn’t have to worry about him cheating on me. It was highly doubtful he’d chance breaking his vows with more than one woman.

“The manual labor is getting to me,” I told him.

“All right, I’ll let you go to sleep.”

“Good night,” I said, gripping the phone tightly as if I could hold on to him this way.

“Good night, Dimples.”

The temptation to go over and look at his desk was there, but I fought it. I wouldn’t want him going through my things. I stared at the desk from across the room, trying to keep my distance. The small picture frame, however, was taunting me. Calling to me to come pick it up, turn it around, and see who ranked high enough to be the only photo on Father Jude’s office desk.

The sinking feeling in my gut told me that I knew who it was. I could think of no one else he’d talked about that held the significance that she did in his life. I was torn between wanting to see that it wasn’t her—terrified of seeing her face, knowing I would compare myself to her—and curiosity.

“Just stay over here, where it is safe, Saylor,” I told myself, glancing at the clock on his wall to see he still had about five more minutes before Mass was over. Then, he’d have to talk to parishioners before he could head to his office. I wasn’t sure if I could hold out that long.

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