Page 4 of Praise Me: Priest

Neither one of us moves as the man quite literally runs for his life, as satisfying a sight that I’ve ever beheld. I’m safe. I’m not going to be assaulted or have my hand cut off. I can’t believe it. I’m not accustomed to good fortune, but it appears to be smiling down on me today.

I look up at my hero as he approaches me, his height obscuring the sun momentarily, until he crouches down in front of me…and…

And all I can do is stare.

Into the most compelling pair of eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

They’re a hue of green I’ve never encountered. A shade from an exotic rainforest. Almost jewel toned. Amidst that painfully masculine face, they’re even more arresting.

“What kind of priestareyou?” I whisper.

“The good kind, I hope.”

His voice, up close, causes my nerve endings to rattle happily. It’s so deep. A husky balm to my invisible wounds. “I can safely say you’re a good one.”

Something akin to doubt flickers in his eyes. “Did you manage to preserve the chocolate?”

My lips curve. “If even a priest caught me, I need to work on my game.” I dig the hunk of sweetness from my pocket, holding it between us, shivering a little when I feel the priest’s warm breath on my knuckles. “Would you like to share it with me? I can’t possibly eat all this by myself.”

“Don’t lie to a priest, sweetheart.”

There’s a zingy little tug beneath my navel when he calls me “sweetheart” that I’m not familiar with and I don’t understand. There are goosepimples rising on my arms, my bare thighs suddenly like jelly. I feel fluttery and ticklish. Do I have a concussion?

“Fine, I can eat probably twice this amount by myself,” I say, tone light and breathy. Flirtatious, some might say, but they’d be wrong, because what self-respecting woman flirts with a priest?

“As you should.” Do I imagine the way his attention wanders down to my throat and breasts, before ripping back upward? “What is your name? How old are you?”

“Farrah. And I’m eighteen.”

“Farrah. Eighteen,” he rasps, before clearing his throat, seemingly taking a moment to find his voice again. “I’m Father McDaniel. Rune…to those who are familiar with me.”

“Rune.” He watches my mouth as I say it. “Thank you for saving me.”

He nods once, as if his intervention was a given.

As if I’ve ever been shown such regard by a man in my whole life.

“Thou shalt not steal is a commandment,” I murmur, hoping he’ll lean in closer to hear me better. “Shouldn’t you be punishing me, Father?”

Briefly, his Adam’s apple bobs above his black and white collar. “I’d rather watch you eat your chocolate in the sunshine.”

Oh. Oh my.

With my pulse fluttering in my veins, I bring the chocolate to my mouth, lapping at it once to test the flavor, then I close my eyes and bite off a small chunk, moaning as the dopamine wiggles into my nerve endings, the salty-sweet taste imploding my taste buds.

Before I know what I’m about, I flop back on the grass with a dopey grin, basking in the sun and happily sucking on my chocolate, grateful to be uninjured and have something, anything, to fill my empty stomach.

The priest remains kneeling near my bare feet, his chest lifting up and down, the sound of his breaths mingling with my suckling sounds and happy gasps. At first, I feel a sense of relief and camaraderie, but quickly I begin to feel other sensations. The priest is sitting in a position that looks right up my dress, and the hem is too short for me to do much about that. But he isn’t supposed to look. He wouldn’t.

Only, he does.

He looks.

That green of his eyes becomes obscured by the black dilation of his pupils, his hands fisting where they rest on his knees. What a picture we must paint. Me, in my short dress, lying in a field eating chocolate while the giant priest kneels in silence, staring at my simple, threadbare panties. Probably seeing right through them.

I don’t know what possesses me to open my knees a couple inches wider.

But he reaches down and tears at the earth, his head falling forward. “Lord, forgive me. Lord forgive me.”

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