I bite down hard on my fist to keep from crying out. The storage room is not soundproof. Anyone in the hallway could hear. My father could hear.
The thought should horrify me. Instead, it adds an edge of forbidden pleasure that makes everything more intense.
Calder’s tongue circles my clit, then flattens against me, applying pressure that makes my hips jerk. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me still as he works. One hand slides up under my dress, palm spreading across my stomach, feeling every tremor that runs through me.
“Calder,” I gasp, forgetting to be quiet. “Oh God?—”
He pulls back just enough to look up at me, chin glistening, eyes dark with lust. “No.” His voice is rough. “You know what I want, Saint.”
Then his mouth is on me again, more intense than before. His tongue pushes inside me, fucking me with it while his nose grinds against my clit. The sensation is overwhelming, obscene, perfect.
My free hand tangles in his dark hair, holding him against me even as I try to stay quiet. Every nerve ending is on fire. Every breath comes shorter than the last.
He adds his fingers, two of them sliding into me while his mouth focuses on my clit. The stretch burns slightly. I’m still not used to this, to being touched this way. But the burn fades quickly into something else. Something that builds and builds until I’m shaking.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Come for me, Saint. Come in your father’s church while I eat your pretty pussy.”
The filthy words combined with the relentless pressure of his mouth push me over the edge. My orgasm crashes through me like a wave, stealing my breath, making spots dance in my vision. I bite down harder on my fist, tasting blood, doing everything I can to stay silent. All that escapes is what he asked for, a whisper of his name. “Calderrrr.”
Calder works me through it, tongue gentling as the aftershocks roll through me. When I finally go limp against the shelves, he pulls back, carefully lowering my leg from his shoulder.
He stays kneeling for a moment, looking up at me with something like reverence in his eyes. His lips are swollen, wet with me. There’s a dark satisfaction in his expression, like he’s just conquered something precious.
“You’re going to hell for this,” I say breathlessly.
“Was already going there.” He stands, towering over me again. His hand comes up to my face, thumb catching the tear sliding down my cheek, though whether it’s from pleasureor shame, I’m not sure anymore. “But at least now I’ll have something worth remembering when I get there.”
He picks up my discarded panties from the floor and pockets them like a trophy. Then he unlocks the door and peers out to make sure the coast is clear.
“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “Time to go home.”
Home. To the house on Bishop property. To the bed we supposedly share. To the life I’m trapped in.
But as I take his hand and follow him out of the storage room, past the empty sanctuary, past the parking lot where people are still whispering about us, I can’t ignore the warmth flooding my system.
Can’t ignore that for a few minutes, in the middle of all the lies and fear and forced smiles, something felt real.
Even if it was just his mouth between my thighs in the place I used to pray.
Especially because it was that.
God forgive me.
I think I’m starting to accept being Calder Bishop’s wife.
Worse, I like it.
Saint
The house feelsdifferent when we walk through the door.
Not physically. It’s the same structure we moved into the other night, the same rooms and hallways and windows looking out over Bishop land.
Deep down, I know the shift in energy has nothing to do with the house.
Maybe it’s the weight of what happened at the church. Perhaps it’s the fact that my panties are currently in Calder’s pocket and I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on me. Or maybe it’s just that every hour I spend in this place with him means he sinks his hooks a little deeper into my skin. I don’t know. What I do know is that each of those things is changing me, making me see Calder in a different light.
Calder tosses his keys on the kitchen counter. “You want lunch?”
