“Thank you so much for the wonderful service, Caleb.” Mrs. McNamara croaks, clenching her long, varnished cane in one hand while patting my chest with the other.
I smile as I hold open the heavy door for her. Agnus McNamara has been a member of the church since I was young. I have a special relationship with Agnus. She’s like a grandmother to me. She was there, excited and thrilled, when my father announced the birth of my little sister and she was there, solemn and apologetic, when he cried at the funeral. No one cares like Agnus does. No one helps you shoulder the guilt you carry like Agnus does. She knows all about me, all of my sufferings and all of my sins and she offers criticism without judgment. A true beacon of light. That’s what she is.
“You’re welcome, Agnus. Same time next week?”
“I’ll be here with bells on.” Agnus chuckles, then clicks her fingers as she leans in close. “Oh, we haven’t had the time to chat. No misadventures this week, I hope?”
I smile politely, happy I don’t have any recent and delightful tales to tell her about chasing skirts.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve stayed on the straight and narrow for the most of it.”
Beaming widely, she tilts her head to the side and a curl of grey hair tumbles across her forehead. “Good boy. All I ask is that you try.”
I laugh, mostly because my sexless week is the result of one simple female, not because I’ve tried to tone down on my usual rampaging.
“See you next time, Mrs. McNamara.”
“Bye-bye, dear.”
Church goers filter out the doors, offering me thanks and farewells. I smile and nod as best I can while I fight off the disappointment that lingers on the precipice. Cassia was a no show. I saw her parents, but not her. Her mother told me she was feeling a little under the weather and couldn’t bring herself to attend, but I’m calling bullshit. She’s avoiding me.
For the first time in a long time, I woke up eager for church. I wanted to see her. I wanted to see how she’d wear her hair and what clothes she’d choose to cover her beautiful body. I wanted to imagine what underwear she’d be wearing underneath it—if any at all.
Mostly, I wanted to watch her squirm in her seat, lusting over me as she sat with a straight back next to her parents, like a good little puppet. It turns me on like nothing else.
Groaning, I drop back against the door and lower my head. I can’t exist in this state any longer. The pent up arousal is killing me. I saw a nice tree with a decent sized hole in it on the way to church this morning and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on. God, that’s so fucked up.
“Ah, Caleb.” I snap my head up as Marcus, Cassia’s father, strides up the stairs in his crisp, gray Sunday suit and rests beside me.
“I can’t seem to locate your father. Do you know where he is?”
I glance over my shoulder and peer into the church. I spot my father on the other side of the hall, talking to Henry Knoll. I bet he’s confessing that he smoked another dime bag of weed over the weekend. I sit in the Confession Box when I’m bored sometimes. I know the shit he gets up to whenever his ex-wife is in town. Weed and porn on rinse and repeat until she leaves again.
“He seems to be a little preoccupied with Mr. Knoll at the moment.” I look at Marcus. “Anything I can help you with?”
I’m going to fuck your daughter, maybe have her call me daddy. I give my head a small shake, dispelling the thought. Jesu—I’m getting out of hand. I need to put my dick in something.
“Linda is putting on a special dinner tonight—a roast. We were hoping you and your father could join us? God knows we’ll need the extra support.”
Oh, this is just too good. Cassia thought she could avoid me, huh? Ha. The beginnings of a grin tug at my lips and excitement curls through my stomach like a budding flower. “Count us in.”
Marcus cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ask your father first?”
I shake my head. “He’s free. We’ll be there.”
Even if my father wasn’t free, he certainly is now. I’m not missing this. No fucking way.
“Okay. Okay, great.”
He rubs at the back of his head, but doesn't leave and I realize the conversation isn’t over.
“About Friday night…” Marcus mutters, inching closer as if he’s afraid Daphne the ninety year old deaf war nurse to our left will hear him. “Cassia behaved herself?”
The nascent ball of stress in my stomach disperses and I frown. Can’t he see that it’s not Cassia he should be worried about? If only he knew how close I came to burying my fingers inside her. A thin scrap of fabric was all that was stopping me from shattering her world.
“Cassia was exemplary.” I state, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “As I expected.”
She was better than I expected. Her skin was soft, her body was firm, and if Heaven had a smell…good God. My cock stirs.
“Oh, good.” He clears his throat and avoids my eyes. “Your father has probably already warned you, but…she’s hard to handle, you see.”
Does he think I’m fucking blind? I knew right off the bat that Cassia had been up to no good. Originally, I assumed she’d been outed for banging as many dicks as she could, but one? One? That hardly calls for a fucking intervention. Her mother and father treat her like a leper, like she has no control over her own body. I’d say she has very good control. I can only imagine how many men have thrown themselves at her feet and she has only allowed ONE between her thighs? The girl is a damn saint in my book.
“Is that right?” I ask, unable to keep the uninterested tone from tainting my voice.
He nods. “She’s made mistakes, but Linda and I are working on fixing her.”
Involuntarily, my jaw clenches. Poor girl. No wonder she’s terrified of enjoying herself…with useless parents like hers. They are trying to fix her? She’s not broken—she’s practically mint in her box. Cassia is a valuable asset to a collector like me.
“Anyway, we can discuss it over dinner.” Marcus announces, slapping me on the shoulder. “I’m sure new Cassia will be thrilled when she hears what Father Andrews and I have arranged for her.”
My ears perk up. “What you’ve arranged?”
A proud smile curves his lips. “We’ve established a celibacy ceremony in her honor.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat and seeps out from between my lips. A celibacy ceremony? Oh, I definitely want to be there when they tell her that. Will she crack? Will she go rogue and give me everything I want from her? Or will she accept it? Maybe impressing the people who oppress who she really is what she wants more than anything.
“Good luck with that.” I say, swallowing the rest of my laugh.
“I…uh…I also want to take a moment to apologize. I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt I’ve questioned your good nature. It’s not you. Your father assures me you’re a good man and I trust him. It’s just, with Cassia being the way she is…it makes me uncomfortable to leave her alone with the opposite sex. Cassia…she’ll take advantage of your good nature for her own selfish needs.”
I smirk. He has no idea that the only reason I haven’t fucked his daughter is because she turned me down. Sure, I would’ve cracked her if I had a little more time, but she made no advances on me. She dropped no hints or suggestions the whole half an hour we spent alone together. Cassia stood her ground longer than any girl has when I’ve made a move on them. I’ve had girls over that very table within five minutes of entering the room. Others have been so eager we’ve fucked in the hall just outside the door. Cassia is more than what he gives her credit for. She’s suppressing her true self in order to regain the love and respect of her parents and he doesn’t even know.
“Thanks for the heads up, Marcus, but you don’t need to worry about me. I can handle Cassia.” I push off the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Naughty plans begin to formulate in my head. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I walk through the door and she sees that the Devil has come for dinner.
*Cassia*
…that evening…
I slip my tongue between my lips. My heart pounds in my chest as I hold my breath. My nerves are frazzled, causing my hands to tremble, and butterflies wreak havoc in my stomach at the thought of being caught doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. I rush out my exhale.
Almost.
Yes…
Yes…
Oh my God!
Yes!
A proud smile creeps across my lips as I slip the nail brush back into its bottle and close the lid. I admire my handiwork. The pretty, dark pink polish is smooth and glossy, untainted by fingerprints or strokes. The best part? I didn’t even touch the skin.
“Cassia?”
I jump at the sound of Mom’s voice as she shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
Oh, shit. I told her I could barely get out of bed today. If she finds out I lied to get out of going to Church she’ll tell Dad and Dad will lose his damn mind. I pause for a second. I really hope I’m not the only almost twenty year old who still gets treated like a child by their over-protective parents. You’d think at twenty, I’d be old enough to decide if I want to go to church or not.
I sigh.
“Cassia?”
Her voice is close. Crap!
I scramble, grabbing my tissues and polish and I toss them underneath my bed. I don’t have time to wait for my toenails to dry so I throw myself off my bed and run across the room to the sliding door that leads out onto my balcony. I push the door open, flick on the fan and leap for my bed. I hear her footsteps as she climbs the stairs.
With seconds left, I throw back my pink comforter and slip underneath, cringing as the fabric sticks to my wet toenails, undoubtedly ruining my perfect job. Ugh. God is punishing me for feigning sick on a holy day. Still, I can’t be mad. I’d rather get nail polish all over my skin than face Caleb after what happened on Friday night. I’m ashamed of what I did and what I said. I told him everything. I basically painted ‘down to fuck’ on my forehead. I bet he thinks I’m an easy lay. I’m not, not usually, but for him? For him I am.
There’s a slight knock on the door before the handle creaks and turns. I throw my arm over my face, pulling the covers up to my chin.
“Cassia? Are you awake?”
I groan, feigning sleep.
“It’s almost dinner and we have guests coming. If you can scrub up the best you can and come down stairs in half an hour, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Who?” I ask, unmoving. “Who’s coming?”
“Father Andrews and his son, Caleb.”
My stomach flips and my heart sinks like a rock. I part my lips as red hot heat flares through my face and pools in my cheeks. No. This is not happening. I fake a cough—kind of. The wet nail polish is seeping into my nostrils and burning the back of my throat.
“I don’t feel good.” I say, doing my best to make my voice sound like it’s barely there.
“Well, have a shower and try to get it together. This dinner is important and you need to be there.”
“But—”
She shuts the door, cutting my words off in my throat. Grunting, I shove the blankets off and peel my toes from my sheet. Both the blanket and my nails are ruined. I look up to the ceiling. Why? Why is this happening to me? I blow an exhale out of my cheeks and sit up.
I'm supposed to be sick, but I can’t bring myself to go down there looking like death and I sure as hell can’t go down there all chipper and healthy. There has to be some kind of middle ground. Maybe a subtle, black romper will suffice. It’s classy, yet casual and offers little room for Caleb to shove his hand up.
I swing my legs off the side of my bed and peer down at my toes. First, I have to remove this damn nail polish.
****
I smooth the palms of my hands down the front of my black romper and suck in my stomach. My hands tremble with the nervousness I feel deep in my belly. Caleb is going to take one look at me and realize I faked sick in order to avoid him. Can that be anymore awkward? I need to get it together before I go downstairs or my parents are going to see my embarrassment from a mile away and I can’t have that. I blow air out of my cheeks and pull my blonde waves around my shoulders, covering a portion of the red flush on my neck. Choosing the romper was a good idea. Though it stops a few inches underneath my butt, it covers my chest all the way up to my collarbone and shields my long arms with its wonderful black lace. It’s a good outfit for a good Catholic girl.
“I can do this.” I whisper, slipping into a pair of plain, black flats. “No problem.”
I shake my arms and roll my shoulders. Gosh, why am I so riled up? Nothing has happened between Caleb and I, so I shouldn’t be feeling so ashamed. If anything, I should be proud that I made it through Friday night without giving in.…so why aren’t I?
I pause, resting my hand on the bedroom door handle. Guilt punches holes in my stomach. I shouldn’t go downstairs. It feels wrong being in the same room as Caleb and my parents.
Swallowing hard, I pull open the door and slip out into the hallway. Voices float up the stairs and stop me dead in my tracks. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and sweat blooms over my body as Caleb addresses my mother with utmost politeness. Puckering my lips, I once again exhale heavily.
All right. Here we go.
My long hair sticks to the back of my neck and dampens against my skin as I close in on the stairs. I huff, stuffing my hand into my left pocket, and retrieve a thin hair band. I stashed it there in case Mom decided to cook something saucy. I almost always get her pasta sauce in my hair. I can’t have my hair sticking to me like glue in Caleb’s presence, either, so I sweep my long, blonde waves into a loose ponytail and tie it back before gripping the white, wooden bannister in my hand. Holding my breath, I take my first step. Right on cue, his chuckle floats up from downstairs, liquefying the wood at my feet. I tilt my head back, cursing the smooth, white ceiling.
Why, Satan? Why?
I blow another gush of air from my cheeks and gather my composure for what feels like the one millionth time. He is just a boy.
A dirty, filthy boy.
I patter down the stairs, holding my head high.
“You look like you’re feeling much better, Cassia.” Dad points out as he passes by the staircase, stopping to plant a quick, small kiss on my cheek.
“I don’t think I’ll be down here long.” I tell him, making my voice deep and gruff. “I’m a little dizzy.”
He drops his rolled newspaper into the newspaper basket next to the staircase and straightens his posture. Dad adjusts the sleeve of his black sweater, giving me a once over with suspicious eyes. I pout, pressing a palm to my stomach.
“All right. Say hello to Father Andrews and then sit down. Don’t want you passing out before the chicken is served. You can go after we’ve made the announcement.”
I frown, folding my arms tightly across my chest to prevent the blood from completely draining from my body. We’re having dinner…with the Andrews family and there will be an announcement…please don’t tell me Caleb ratted me out.
“Announcement?”
“You look nice, Cassia.” Father Andrews says with a friendly smile, interrupting the conversation between Dad and I.
Oh, boy.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I drag my stare to Father Andrews, purposely neglecting to look at his son.
“And healthy.” Caleb chimes in, leaving me with no choice but to address him.
“I…” The rest of my sentence catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Never.
My imagination never does him justice.
A tight, white tee clings to the rise and depressions of his lean, athletic torso and a pair of sexy, loose fitting jeans cover his long legs. He stands tall and proud with that look of amusement in his eyes that I hate so much as he folds his arms over his chest.
Why can’t anyone else see it? The bad boy in him is obvious. It’s in his mannerisms, his facial expressions. It’s in the tone of his voice and the choice of his words. I can smell it on him. He is bad to the bone.
It takes all the strength I have not to scowl at him. “I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you.”
Ass.
Dad slips over to the table, leaving me alone with his guests. “We said a prayer for your health when Caleb told me you were feeling under the weather.”
Caleb’s pleased smile widens, teasing me in a way that is going to get him punched in the face…by my vagina.
“Gee.” I scratch my head. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”
Do not roll your eyes. Do not roll your eyes.
“Your mother told us you haven’t been able to get out of bed all day, but here you are.” Caleb points out, his gorgeous green eyes flaring brightly as he quickly licks his bottom lip. “God is great.”
What’s his point? Miracles can happen.
“He sure is.” Father Andrews and I say in unison.
Father Andrews steps around me. “Linda, let me help you with those plates.”
I clench my hands into fists to prevent myself from grabbing Caleb’s father by his navy sports jacket and begging him not to leave me with his evil spawn. I can’t stand here alone with this man—not with him watching me the way he does. Those smoldering eyes framed by dark lashes I would kill for and that stupid, plump lip.
Sorcery!
I whip around on my heel and march behind Father Andrews. Naturally, Caleb falls into step beside me. Fuck he smells good. Expensive cologne is like crack to women and these corporations know it. I wonder when men will fight back and demand they be compensated for the clothing that goes missing whenever they wear a magnificent fragrance.
“Your legs are too weak to walk on, huh?” Caleb whispers, ending with a chuckle.
“Stop it.”
I glue my stare to my mother as she wipes her hands down the front of her white, frilly apron.
“You don’t know what weak legs are. Try walking after I’ve—”
“I said stop it.” I hiss, shoving him with my shoulder.
“You stop it. You’re the one who faked sick to get out of seeing me today. What are you, twelve?”
I scoff. “Almost twenty, asshole.”
“Then start acting like it.”
“You start acting like it.” I jab him in the ribs and he flinches away from me.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” He shoots back, his tone a husky murmur. “I’m twenty-two.”
Caleb pinches my ass between his thumb and forefinger and I jolt forward, choking on my squeak. I swat him away. He needs to stop!
I shoot him a death glare that he annoyingly ignores. I will not play his games in front of my parents.
I move to the left side of the table as he goes right. He follows me down the length of the dining table and I know what he’s doing. I grab the back of the third wooden chair and pull it out.
Don’t sit across from me. Don’t sit across from m—damn it!
With a smug flick of his eyebrows, he drops into the seat opposite mine. My eyebrows pull in, only to straighten out when Father Andrews places a plate in front of me. He smells like paper and goodness…a far cry from the smell of his naughty, lusty son.
Ashamedly, I press my thighs together as Caleb watches me while his father sets up my plate and cutlery. His stare says everything. How am I going to get out of this unscathed?
Thankfully, Father Andrews moves quickly, placing all of the plates and the cutlery down before disappearing to the kitchen—where both my parents are apparently hiding, too.
I’ll be the first to admit something fishy is going on. I should have stayed in damn bed.
“What are you staring at?” I ask, my voice a harsh whisper.
He moves his head with a subtle shake and leans back in his chair. “You don’t want to know.”
“Maybe I do.”
Closing his lips he run his tongue along his bottom teeth, apparently in thought. With a click, he sits forward and wraps his fingers around the handle of his fork.
“I was just curious if the pink fluster you have in your in cheeks now will match the one you get when I slip my cock into your ass later.”
My stomach flips in a way it shouldn’t. Excited over sodomy? Have I fallen so far?
“Wow…you’re inappropriate.”
“You wanted to know. I’m being honest.”
“Well, gosh. Thank you for that. I appreciate your honesty. Truly.” I deadpan, wringing my napkin in my hands. “We’re about to have dinner with our parents so can you tone it down a little on the sex, please?”
“Impossible. With you sitting in front of me in that sexy little whatever the hell it is, I can’t get my mind out of the gutter.”
“Firstly, it’s called a romper, and secondly, if you like sex so much why don’t you become a gigolo?”
“Firstly, I don’t care what it’s called, and secondly, I don’t accept cash for sex. I’m a humanitarian.”
I frown. “That’s not what that means—you know what? It doesn’t matter. There’s no point arguing with you.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “Because I always get what I want?”
“Because you’re difficult.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult, Cass. In fact, I’ll make this real easy for you.”
Caleb leans across the table, causing his cutlery to clatter against his ceramic plate.
Every muscle in my body tightens to stone. “What are you doing?”
“Kiss me.”
I shake my head, but my lips tingle, begging me to plant one on his mouth. “No.”
“You’ve been eye-fucking my mouth since you came downstairs. If you won’t do it for yourself, at least do it for me. I want to kiss you so damn bad.”
I feign a cough, covering my mouth with my fist. “I’m sick.”
Rolling his eyes, Caleb returns to his side of the table. “A sick girl has the energy to put mascara and lip gloss on? I don’t think so.”
“I am sick. Sick of you.”
“Not buying it.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what they call you in Spanish?”
“What?”
“Diablo.”
Caleb laughs an incredible laugh. It exposes his perfect white teeth and ignites the playfulness in his eyes. Oh, the things I would do if our parents weren’t in the very next room.
“Tú eres el diablo.” He says in Spanish, his tongue moving expertly around the words. “It’d be a lie if I said I haven’t heard it before.”