Twenty-Seven
Saylor
Jude:
Who helped you put those shelves together?
I read the text while towel-drying my hair.
Saylor:
Just because I’m female does not mean I can’t read directions and use a screwdriver.
Smiling, I picked up my brush, watching for Jude’s response. He’d had a financial meeting, two counseling sessions, two hospital visits, and a funeral today. I had sulked some when he texted me his schedule this morning, but made myself get over it. He had a job, and so did I. Putting the cabinets together had kept me distracted.
Jude:
Trust me, I am aware that you’re capable of anything you put your mind to. They were heavy. I thought you’d have needed help holding them up while getting the screws in.
Nope. I’m a badass.
Saylor:
It was easier than it looks.
I did have a small cut on my ankle from where one had slipped out of my hand and a bruise on my thigh. But I didn’t tell him that.
Jude:
I need to see you.
I set the brush down and picked up the phone to walk into my bedroom while smiling at his words. Yesterday morning felt like forever ago.
Saylor:
You’ve been a busy man.
And I am trying not to be clingy now that you fucked me.
Jude:
Tomorrow doesn’t look much better. While I’m in morning Mass, can you go to my office and wait on me?
I gripped the towel tighter, just over my boobs.
Saylor:
Yes.
I’d never been to his office. The idea of meeting him in there excited me.
Jude:
Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone. I’ll have the key.
I licked my lips, wishing tomorrow morning weren’t so many hours away.
Saylor:
Yes, sir.
My phone rang, and his name lit up my screen.
“Hello, Father,” I said into the phone while smiling.
“I needed to hear your voice.” His tone made me shiver.
“And here I thought, it was the sir that had you calling.”
A deep chuckle. “I’m gonna make you call me that the next time I’m buried in your cunt.”
“When exactly will that be?”
“Tomorrow morning in my office. We’ll just have to be quiet. Sister Regina is working the front desk tomorrow, but she never wears her hearing aids. I can’t wait any longer.”
Anticipation ran through me.
“That’s rather wicked of you,” I replied.
“Dimples, every thought I have is wicked when it comes to you. Might as well act on it.”
“And how often would those thoughts be?” I asked.
“Every minute of the day.”
I laughed, pulling my legs up onto the bed and crossing them.
“What are you doing tonight? Other than calling me.”
“Watching basketball and drinking a beer.”
I made a dramatic gasp. “Father, you’re drinking!”
A small chuckle. “I am allowed to drink alcohol.”
“They let y’all drink, but no sex?”
“Yep. Seems our carnal nature can ruin us.”
Why did hearing him say carnal turn me on?
“That sounds a bit judgmental. What about alcoholism?”
“I’ve had hundreds of drinks in my life, and not one I couldn’t say no to. But one time of being buried in your tight pussy, and I’m completely addicted. Obsessed.”
Lust. Not love. I was in love. He was in lust. Would he feel this way about any female he fucked? It had been his first time. He had no other comparison. I was a willing vagina, opening for a priest who could never give me more.
My mood tanked.
“You went quiet on me,” he said, sounding concerned.
“Sorry, I’m getting sleepy,” I lied.
“You sure that’s it?”
No, but I’m not telling you that my pussy might not be as magical as you think.
The idea of him having sex with someone was too painful to contemplate. I’d be his slut. Whatever he needed. At least I didn’t have to worry about him cheating on me. It was highly doubtful he’d chance breaking his vows with more than one woman.
“The manual labor is getting to me,” I told him.
“All right, I’ll let you go to sleep.”
“Good night,” I said, gripping the phone tightly as if I could hold on to him this way.
“Good night, Dimples.”
The temptation to go over and look at his desk was there, but I fought it. I wouldn’t want him going through my things. I stared at the desk from across the room, trying to keep my distance. The small picture frame, however, was taunting me. Calling to me to come pick it up, turn it around, and see who ranked high enough to be the only photo on Father Jude’s office desk.
The sinking feeling in my gut told me that I knew who it was. I could think of no one else he’d talked about that held the significance that she did in his life. I was torn between wanting to see that it wasn’t her—terrified of seeing her face, knowing I would compare myself to her—and curiosity.
“Just stay over here, where it is safe, Saylor,” I told myself, glancing at the clock on his wall to see he still had about five more minutes before Mass was over. Then, he’d have to talk to parishioners before he could head to his office. I wasn’t sure if I could hold out that long.
It could be his family, and I could be torturing myself with thoughts of the girl who had his heart, even in death. If it was her, did he sit and look at her photo daily, missing her? Longing to hold her again? Wishing that she had been his first and not me?
Okay, whew, that one hurt. I was doing this to myself.
“Stop it,” I hissed.
I was assuming a lot and making up drama that wasn’t happening. He was a priest, so putting a photo of a girl he loved on his desk would be against his vows. Right? I mean, it had to be a family member. This was silly. I was worked up about nothing.
I would just go look and see so I could put it behind me before he got in here. Taking a deep breath, I stared at it. The what-ifs stacking up in my head. Could I look him in the eye if it was her?
Yes. It wasn’t like I didn’t know about her. He’d told me. Parts I wished I hadn’t had to hear. Like how he had loved her immediately. When he said he adored her, it was her as a person. He had fallen for her. Not sex. They hadn’t done anything sexually really. Kissing and touching boobs were child’s play.
When he had looked at me with adoration, it had been my hot, slick hole that incited that emotion in him. Not me. Not my glowing personality. He wasn’t in love with me.
I was making this worse. If I kept going on this train of thought, I was going to get depressed.
Squeezing my hands into fists at my sides, I walked over to his desk. Each step, I battled with stopping and running back to the corner to wait. But I kept going. Drawing closer. Until I was there.
The mahogany brushed my upper thighs as I leaned over, my fingers clutching the metal frame, and my breath stuck in my throat as I turned it around.
Brown eyes stared back at me. The purity in the way they gazed at whoever had taken the photo. Long black lashes, the perfect button nose, heart-shaped lips with a shiny, sheer pink from a simple gloss. Hair so dark that it was almost black hung over her shoulders. She was the kind of natural beauty that when you compared yourself to her, it only left you with your faults openly glaring back.
I set it down slowly, wishing I had stayed in that corner.
He had her there in front of him every day. He’d claimed he thought of me constantly, but that was a lie. How could he think of me when she sat there, smiling at him? Reminding him why he had chosen to be a priest? Of what it felt like to be in love?
Turning, I walked back to the door, unlocked it, and headed out the front entrance. My steps didn’t slow until I reached my new Range Rover, climbed inside, and drove away. When my phone started ringing, I ignored it. When it continued, I silenced it.
I drove around for the next two hours. Talking myself through this. Deciding what I could and couldn’t handle. What I wanted. What I was willing to sacrifice and what I wasn’t.