“I said five minutes with my father,” I say, wiping my eyes. “You can’t leave me alone for five freaking minutes?”
“You’ve been gone fifteen minutes.” His voice is soft. Concerned, almost. “I got worried.”
“I’m fine.” Even though it’s obvious I’m not.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m allowed to cry.” I turn away from him, facing the shelves stacked with paper cups and napkins. “My father just preached an entire sermon about how I married a wolf. Forgive me for being emotional.”
I hear the lock on the door engage and turn to look at him. “What are you doing?”
Calder leans against the door, blocking it completely. “Making sure we’re not interrupted.”
“Interrupted?”
“Yes. I don’t want to be interrupted while I’m doing whatever it is I want with you.” He stalks toward me, oozing danger and hunger. “I hated every minute of that sermon, not because your father was talking about me. I don’t care about anyone else’s opinion of me. What I do care about is you, and if you’re hurt or sad.”
I start backing up, stopping when I hit the wall on the other side of the small space. “Calder?—”
“No. I know it took effort. I know it hurts you to pretend. To listen to their whispers. I know that you hate not being in control.” He’s close now, so close I can feel his body heat rolling off him and into me.
“I thought coming here would help me, but all it did was leave me confused.”
He cups my bruised cheek with surprising gentleness. “You’ll sort it out. Right now, everything is fragile and new and difficult to navigate. Eventually, it’ll get easier.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s going to get easier.”
“Why don’t you let me help you feel something else right now?”
My heart pounds in my chest. “What?”
“I want to taste you.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “Been thinking about it all morning. All through that bullshit sermon. All through you lying to everyone about being happy. I need to taste you, Saint. Need to remind us both why we’re doing this. It’s all I could think about from the second I saw you in that fucking prim and proper dress.”
“We’re in a church,” I breathe.
“I know.” He smiles, dark and wicked. “Makes it better, doesn’t it? The preacher’s daughter getting her pussy eaten in God’s house.”
The crude words send heat pooling low in my belly despite everything. Despite the tears still wet on my face. Despite the fact that we’re literally standing in my father’s church.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“That shouldn’t be a surprise to you,wife.” His other hand grips my hip, fingers digging in possessively. “And even if it was, it wouldn’t change anything. You’re still going to let me taste that pretty pussy. Because you need this as much as I do.”
He’s not wrong. I hate that he’s not wrong.
“Someone could come in,” I protest weakly.
“Door’s locked.” He drops to his knees in front of me, and the sight of Calder Bishop kneeling sends a shock through my system. “And you’re going to be very, very quiet. Aren’t you, Saint?”
His hands slide up under my dress, finding the waistband of my underwear. I should stop him. Should push him away. Should remember that this is a sacrilege of the highest order.
But I don’t.
Instead, I watch as he pulls my underwear down my legs and helps me step out of them. Watch as he drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me completely.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on me.
The first touch of his tongue makes my knees buckle. Only his grip on my hips keeps me upright, pinned against the shelves as he works me with his mouth. He’s not gentle about it. Not reverent. He devours me like a man starving, tongue and lips and teeth combining in ways that make my vision blur.
