Chapter 18 Saint #2
The joy I felt in coming to church has evaporated. The longer I sit here, the more I regret coming. Each minute that passes is agony. Dad talks about coercion and manipulation, about how evil often disguises itself as protection.
He might as well be reading our story verbatim.
When he finally finishes, when the final hymn is sung and the congregation disperses, I can barely breathe. My cheeks are burning, and my hands are shaking.
“That went well,” Calder mutters darkly.
“He’s my father. He’s trying to—”
“I know what he’s trying to do.” Calder stands and helps me to my feet. “Remember what I said yesterday.”
I don’t get the opportunity to respond. People swarm us immediately. Mrs. Henderson asks to see my ring. The Miller’s teenage daughter asks how the wedding was. Tom Garrison makes an awkward joke about Calder finally being tamed by a good woman.
I smile. Nod. And answer questions with lies that taste like ash.
“He’s been wonderful,” I say. “Very attentive.”
“The wedding was small. Just family.”
“Yes, I’m very happy.”
The words feel like they’re coming from someone else. Some other Saint who actually chose this, who actually loves the man standing beside her with his hand possessively on her lower back. My father appears on the other side of the crowd, and everyone goes quiet. The tension is thick enough to cut.
“Dad,” I say, voice wavering. “The sermon was—”
“Can I speak to my daughter?” He cuts me off, his eyes fixed on Calder. “Alone.”
“No.” Calder’s answer is immediate. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of me.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my wife.”
The word sends a strange jolt through me. Wife. I’m his wife. The reality of it still hasn’t fully sunk in. I don’t know when it will or if it will.
My father’s jaw clenches tightly. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes with my daughter in my office.”
Calder’s gaze wavers, and he looks down at me. “Do you want to talk to him?”
The fact that he’s asking me and giving me a say surprises me.
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
Calder studies me for a long moment and then nods. “Five minutes. I’ll be outside your office waiting.”
I walk with my father to his office. We step inside, and he closes the door, and for the first time since what seems like forever, we’re alone.
“Saintlyn,” Dad says, and his voice breaks on my name. “Please tell me the truth. Did he hurt you? Did he—”
“No. He didn’t hurt me.”
“Then where did that bruise come from?”
I want to tell him the truth, but I don’t want to cause more problems, so I let the lie roll off my tongue. “I fell. Tripped on the porch steps.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He takes my hands, and I can see tears in his eyes. “Please, baby girl. Don’t protect him. If you need to get free, I’ll find a way. We’ll run, we’ll hide, we’ll—”
“Dad, stop.” I pull my hands free and step back. “I made my choice. I married him. And I’m staying married to him.”
“Because you want to? Or because you’re afraid of what will happen if you don’t?”
His questions make my chest hurt, mainly because he’s right. I am afraid. Afraid of what will happen next, for him, for Allie. I can’t tell him that, though.
“I know you don’t understand or approve, but this is my life, Dad. My choice.
“That doesn’t answer any of the questions I asked you.”
“It’s the only answer I can give you.”
He stares at me, and I can see the moment the fragile hope, that maybe his daughter will come back to him, that she isn’t completely lost to the Bishops, breaks and drains out of him.
“If you need me,” he says finally, voice thick with emotion, “if you ever need help, you call me. Day or night. I don’t care what he says. You’re still my daughter.”
“I know.” My own voice cracks. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Saintlyn. So much. And I’m praying for you. Every day. Praying that God protects you from—”
“I should probably go.” I can’t hear the rest. “Calder’s waiting.
” I turn and practically flee out of his office while blinking back tears.
I don’t see Calder outside the office, and I don’t bother waiting around for him either.
People are still milling around, still stealing glances, still whispering.
I’m so overwhelmed, so close to the edge that I scurry across the space and head toward the door leading to the back rooms.
I need a moment. Just one moment alone before I have to put the mask back on. I open the door and head down the quiet hallway. On the right is a storage room, and I duck inside and close the door behind me.
I lean against one of the shelves and just breathe.
Tears start falling, and it sort of feels like I’m mourning the loss of myself, of my father.
Of a life that used to be, and never will be again.
Time ticks by slowly. The tears keep falling, but the weight on my chest gets a little lighter.
There’s no warning for Calder’s appearance.
I don’t hear the door open. Don’t hear footsteps.
It’s like one minute he’s there, and one minute he’s not.
The space is way too small now that Calder’s hulking frame is inside it.
“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.
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 pleasure or 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.