Page 74 of Crossed
“Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”
She doesn’t repeat the phrase with everyone else.
By the time she and Parker reach me, my head throbs and my mind is in a daze, furious that she’s infected even the most sacred of ceremonies with her presence. Maybe her not showing up before now was a gift, keeping me from this endless cycle of torture.
Parker bows his head as he stands in front of me, but suddenly, it’s not enough.
“Kneel, child,” my voice booms.
He snaps his gaze up, glancing around when the silence lingers just long enough to be uncomfortable. I lift a brow, and slowly, he kneels.
Amaya fidgets behind him.
I lift the Host. “The body of Christ.”
“Amen,” he replies, opening his mouth.
My lips twitch at seeing him so submissive at my feet, and he finishes his Communion before jumping to his feet quickly, cutting me a vicious glare before returning to his pew.
And then it’s Amaya’s turn.
I hear the whispers, people obviously on edge from her being here, but I ignore them, focused only on her, wondering what she’ll do.
Our eyes lock, and my cock twitches, my chest twisting when she slowly lowers to her knees. My mouth dries, and my body physically trembles from the strength it takes not to reach out and touch her.
I repeat the same motion as before, holding up the Host. “The body of Christ.”
Amaya’s tongue swipes across her bottom lip, something dark and delicious flaring in her gaze, and my stomach flips with arousal.
“Amen,” she whispers. Her lips part until I can see the pink, wet surface of her tongue, and she cranes her neck, offering her mouth, like an invitation.
My fingers tremble as I reach out, laying the bread on her tongue, and I take just a second too long, allowing her lips to brush against my skin as she closes them. I breathe deeply through the want, anger mixing with lust, furious she’d dare tempt me this way in front of the parish. Furious she’s taking my attention away from Him. Turned on that she’d have the gall. The sickest part of me doesn’t care for the others here. I bet if I demanded it, she’d suck me down in front of everyone, lapping up my sins while I coat them on her tongue.
And then she’s gone, and I’m left behind, repeating the motion with a hundred other people while wishing I could focus on just one.
A terrifying thought, because it forces me to face the truth.
If she were to go up against God, she may come out the victor. My faith keeps me warm, but she burns like molten lead.
She will be my downfall, because I am just a man, and for her, I am weak.
* * *
I’m waitingin my office for Amaya the next morning.
She’s ten minutes late, and every second that ticks by is another notch of irritation racking up inside me. I didn’t go to her window last night, too afraid that if I did, she’d be waiting, that I wouldn’t stay outside after the torture of Mass.
And if I’m completely honest, I was in too much pain.
The wounds on my back are worse than ever, and the second I’m done here, I’ll be heading into the Green Mountains to see Sister Genevieve. She’s the only one who knows and the only one who can help.
There’s a knock on the office door, the knob twisting as Amaya walks in.
My anger doesn’t cease though.
Immediately, I slip my hands in my pockets, the way I always do around her. At first it was to keep from strangling her in front of others, but now it’s to keep from touching her. From claiming her as mine when she’s not mine to claim.
She looks different. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, butdifferent. Her raven hair is pulled back in a slick bun, not a strand out of place, The black pencil skirt stops just below her knees but frames her curves in a way that has my body pulsing with want. Red- bottomed heels on her perfect feet and pearls around her delicate neck, with a green gem that reflects the color of her eyes. It reminds me of the large one she wore when she was Esmeralda, and I wonder if that’s on purpose.
