Page 5 of Dark Side of the Cloth

“I’m so sorry for the mess. I don’t have many visitors and never invite anyone into my bedroom.” Yasmine tried to pull her hand out of Dean’s, but he tightened his grip, keeping her in place.

“Don’t worry or clean up on my account.” Dean casually stepped over a pair of black lace underwear she hadn’t seen until that moment, and she wanted to die on the spot. He guided her to the bed, and she stood there stupidly staring at him. “Lay down, Yasmine. You need to rest.”

“But what about the service? People will be arriving shortly, and—” Dean placed a finger on her lips.

“I will take care of everything. You have already exceeded all expectations. Now lay down,” he said. It was a command, not a request, and his words made her shiver.

Yasmine sat on the edge of the bed, and of course, her eyes were now staring directly at his crotch. She licked her lips as she envisioned pulling his cock out and sucking it right there in her bedroom while a hundred people sat downstairs. Unable to help herself, she wiggled on the bed, needing to touch herself to quell the urge before she did something very unholy.

Dean’s hand touched her hair, once more trying to tame her wild strands. As she looked up at him, her rapid heartbeat was all she could hear even though his lips were moving. He slowly lowered himself to kneel before her and placed his hands on her knees. Would it be ungodly to wrap her legs around his head and pull that lush mouth to her crotch?

“Yasmine, are you sure you’re alright? You seem very out of sorts. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a doctor?” Dean squeezed her knees, and she suddenly wanted to strip and jump in the snow outside her window to cool off.

“I think I’m just more worn out than I originally thought. Laying down for a moment will do me some good,” she lied—another mark on her soul.

“Alright, if you don’t think you need the doctor…”

“No, no, I definitely don’t need him to make a special trip.” Maybe she needed an exorcism, but not a check-up. She eased her knees out of his hold and swung her legs up onto the bed, getting as comfortable as she was able to under the circumstances.

“Rest well. I’ll make sure all is taken care of.” Dean leaned over and placed the barest of kisses on her forehead before leaving her and her very dirty imagination alone.

“May God be with you,” Dean said. He waved one more time and then slumped into a chair for a breather. When he decided to take this role, he never imagined how much rambling bullshit he’d have to listen to from parishioners. He’d been looking for a fresh start, a way to step away from his past and move forward. This had seemed like the perfect option at the time. When he’d slit the real Father O’Sullivan’s throat and taken his place, it was only supposed to be for the short-term. A place to hang his hat while he figured out the best way to conduct his mission. That old piece of shit had it coming. Dean had already been on his tail for the fraud he’d committed when he discovered the other terrible things he’d done.

The thing was, he was great at this job, and this set-up was a damn good deal. What a better place for a man like him to hide or work? A small town in the middle of nowhere with an overly trusting population and very little social media existence. Add to that a roof over his head, food in his belly, and a rampant hunting ground. It had turned out to be a little slice of heaven. He smiled at his own joke. Top all that off with the sexy little funeral home director, and how was a man supposed to leave?

Dean didn’t know what love was. He’d never been in love or engaged or anything else along those lines. He joined the Army right out of high school, and it became his passion. But what he felt for Yasmine was strong. He’d stared into her bright green eyes, and his heart beat with a whole new purpose. Her smile was genuine, and he loved the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed. The corner of Dean’s lip pulled up as he pictured her laughing at the town picnic with Mabel, the owner of the town’s only diner.

Yasmine was kind and generous to a fault, caring for those in their final moments, and if the roles were reversed, they would’ve turned their nose up at her. Yasmine had this inner beauty mixed with an untamed nature. He could feel it just under the surface every time they were in the same room. It didn’t matter that she wore frumpy old women’s dresses because she still rocked them with her smoking body. His cock twitched in his pants as he thought about her lying upstairs. He’d been so close to breaking his vow. When he decided to stay in this town, he swore to himself that he’d never do anything to jeopardize his path, but his resistance to her feminine wiles was breaking him.

Pulling in a deep breath, he slipped his even-keeled priestly mask back into place and pulled himself upright. He’d better wake Yasmine and then get going before he took what he was craving. He quietly padded up the stairs and froze mid-stride. He could hear soft whimpers and moaning coming from Yasmine’s room. Going into full hunter mode, he slipped closer to the door. Luckily, he hadn’t closed it all the way, and with the gentlest of taps, he could easily see the bed.

His cock instantly rose to attention with the sight before him. Yasmine was lying on her back, the old-fashioned flower dress bunched up around her waist with her knees splayed open. The delicate lace undies she was wearing were pulled down just enough that he had an unobstructed view of her sweet, pink pussy. The top of the dress was pulled down, leaving her tits and the little hard nipples exposed, and his mouth watered. She let out another whimper as three fingers penetrated her hot hole. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, and he was just able to catch the scent of her sex from where he stood.

“Oh fuck, Dean.” He froze, even the breath in his chest stilling at the thought of being caught. “Yes, just like that, stuff me full of your big dick,” Yasmine said. Her head arched back in the throes of her fantasy, and he almost came in his pants as he listened to her dirty mouth speak all her wanton thoughts about him.

Reaching inside his robes, he found the zipper to his pants and silently pulled it down until he could release his straining cock. He gave his angry dick a few strokes and knew he was playing with fire. He should leave before she saw him. But as he watched her writhe on the bed in pleasure, he couldn’t turn away.

Dean pumped himself in time to the thrusting of her hips, imagining it was him and not her fingers making her moan. Yasmine’s breathing was getting quicker, and he knew she was getting close to her orgasm. He bit his lip as his hand moved faster under the robe, keeping time to the sexy little creature on the bed. He squeezed the angry, swollen head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum all over the head before he tightened his hold and began thrusting hard. He wanted to bury himself in her, to lose himself in her deliciously sweet aura.

“Fuck! I’m coming, yes, keep fucking me,” she harshly whispered.

Her small body froze as liquid glistened down her leg. As quickly as he could, he made his way to her bathroom and locked the door. Closing his eyes, Dean pictured Yasmine’s face as she came, how her tits pressed up into the air, and how she said his name.

Placing a hand on the wall, he braced himself for the load that was coming. Dean clenched his teeth as he exploded into her porcelain sink, stream after stream of come lacing the basin. As the last of it left his body, he slumped against the wall. That was the hardest he’d ever come in his life. For the love of all that was holy, his legs were shaking with the effort to stay vertical. Tucking his still hard dick back into his pants, he turned on the water, washed the sink, and then his hands.

He needed to get out of here before he marched back up the stairs and took what his body craved.

Dean’s father was yelling, the sound echoing off the stucco walls. Dean hated it when his father yelled. It meant he was really angry, and that meant someone was going to die. He pulled up on his window, but his father had installed new locks from the outside, so unless he was willing to take another beating for breaking the glass, he was trapped. Maybe he could hide. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, and hiding was more difficult. His eyes scanned the room and made a quick decision—he headed for the closet.

His bedroom door banged open, making him jump before he got even halfway across his floor. One of his father’s guardians appeared. His large shadow filled the doorway. He didn’t know the man’s name—he never bothered anymore. They were all the same, nameless, brainless muscle that died protecting his father or ironically died by his father’s hand.

Dean swallowed hard as he slowly backed up to the furthest corner of the room, which happened to be by his bed. His heart hammered in his chest as the man stepped further into the room. Dean’s eyes flicked to the gun in the guard’s hand and wondered if tonight was the night that his father lined him up for execution as he’d done with so many others.

“Tu padre te quiere,” the guard said.

“But he’s angry, and I don’t want to see him.” Dean moved a little further away from the guard. He had nowhere to run, but he didn’t want to get beaten again. The bruises were still dark that lined the left side of his body.

“Please don’t make me go. I won’t tell him that you did,” he begged and knew that if his father heard him, he’d be beaten within an inch of his life for sure.