Chapter Eight
Wren
Seven Years Ago
I wake up in sopping wet panties and the memory of a dream I probably shouldn’t have been having.
Father Anderson with his big rough hands on my hips. Father Anderson thrusting into me from behind. Father Anderson growling out commands while I take them willingly.
I’m in a church, there’s a cross hanging right above this bed, and I’m staring at a picture of some saint right now. I only left my husband last night and my filthy mind is already imagining what it would be like to have Father Anderson’s massive body all over me.
Maybe I’m the problem.
I mean, if I wasn’t, would I want to close my eyes again and finish the dream? Would I want to know what it feels like when the priest tenses behind me? What it sounds like when he growls out my name?
Oh no, I’m in the weirdo category of women now. The one where I have fantasies about the super-hot, silver fox, biker priest.
I need help! That, or I’m just incredibly vulnerable to kindness given the fact that I’ve been in a soul-crushing relationship for years. I’m going with the second one.
Who wouldn’t feel a pull toward the one man who was listening and showing genuine care? What woman in her right mind wouldn’t have a throbbing clit if a man this attractive was attending to her every need?
He steps out of the bathroom, the T-shirt and jeans he wore yesterday swapped for a new T-shirt and another pair of jeans. They could be the same ones, but would it matter? Either way, he doesn’t look like a priest, which I think I need a reminder of when I look at him.
“You ever ride a bike before?” He grabs his watch off the dresser and walks toward me like we’ve done this a thousand times. Me in his T-shirt, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, him buckling his watch.
“No, but it looks fun. Is the lake far from here?”
“It’s on the outskirts of town, between here and Rugged Mountain. I’d say twenty minutes. You have a sweater?”
I shake my head. “I have not come prepared.”
“That’s alright.” He grabs a hoodie out of his drawer and sets it on the bed next to me before ushering himself out of the room in a hurry. “Take your time. I’ll just be going over scriptures in my office.”
He leaves so fast I wonder if I’m annoying him. I bet I am. He’s got a routine. He showers, goes to the lake, reflects. I wonder when he eats breakfast. I’m starving.
I take a fast shower, making sure to include a little stress relief, dress quickly, and push a brush through my hair as I stare at myself in the oval mirror above the bathroom sink.
I’ve been looking at this girl for years.
You’d think I’d know her better by now. What she likes, what she wants from life, what her favorite flavor of ice cream is.
I’m not sure I know any of those things.
I think I’ve always defaulted to what Zane thought.
When I’m satisfied with my hair, and angry with myself for staying with him so long, I tug Father Anderson’s State of Colorado hoodie down over my frame and open the bathroom door. It’s almost as big as the T-shirt last night, hanging well past my knees as the sleeves bury my hands.
My clit throbs and my thighs ache, though I attempt to push away the filthy thoughts surfacing. I’m in a holy place with a holy man who’s trying to help me. Having thoughts about him touching my body is beyond a sin.
When I step out of the bedroom and into the front office, Father Anderson is pacing back and forth, mumbling something melodic.
The second he sees me though, he stops and stares at me the same way he did last night. His eyes wide, his lids heavy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he liked what he was seeing, but I do know better, and again, I’m steering clear of the dark places my mind keeps going to.
“How do you feel this morning?” he asks, interrupting my spiral.
“I feel good, ready for some fresh air. Are you sure you don’t mind me coming along? I feel like I’m really cramping your style here.”
He laughs. “There is no style here, and I’m happy to have some company. Aside from church events, I spend a lot of time alone.” He walks over to me as he speaks, his hand on my back again as he guides me out of the room and toward the gravel parking area where I saw his bike yesterday.
I don’t know a lot about motorcycles, but his is one of those low riding ones with the handlebars that sit high and the seat that kind of dips low, the shiny chrome reflecting in the early morning sun.
“I’ve got some breakfast already packed in the saddlebags.
It’s not much, but I packed a few bear claws I bought at the bake sale yesterday.
They’re from Rugged Mountain, actually. The Jacksons live out there.
They drive out here every Sunday to attend our services.
They’re friends with the owner of the bakery and got them to donate boxes of bear claws. Have you ever been there?”
“Josie’s?” I grin. “Yeah, her bear claws are the best! I think I started having them infused straight into my blood stream before I was born.”
He laughs under his breath and rummages through the tools, ladders, folding chairs, and boxes in the garage until he finds a black helmet with a visor on the front of it.
“Up here they start infusing people with berry breakfast muffins at birth. The diner makes them fresh every morning and distributes them all over town. You’ll have to try one while you’re here. ”
I nod and smile as he brushes my hair back carefully and slips the helmet over my head, his rough fingers brushing against my chin as he tightens the strap.
“That okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, our gaze holding a beat too long in the brightest ray of the early morning sun.
The rest of the ride is a blur. All I know is that I’m snuggled up to him on the back of his rumbling bike, the wind blowing toward us, the scent of pine and cedar in the air as I push filthy thought after filthy thought from my mind.
It doesn’t help that the engine of this bike vibrates straight between my legs.
It doesn’t help that he grips my leg as he takes each turn.
It doesn’t help that out here, in the middle of the woods, on the back of his bike, everything feels different.
His T-shirt blowing in the wind, his hat turned back, all that dark ink showing…
this man does not look like a priest. He looks very much like a man.
A man I’d be interested in, if he were a man I could be interested in.
A man I’d like to do very filthy things with.
Dear God, I’ve lost control.
Thankfully, the lake comes into view before I come all over the back seat of his bike. Unfortunately, we’re pulled up in front of the lake and he’s kicking down the stand before I’m ready to let him go.
I see why he comes out here. How did I not know this spot existed?
The turquoise lake is situated in front of white-capped peaks and a grove of towering pines.
The shoreline is pebbled with colorful stones, and large glacial boulders sit dipped into the water like statues set in time.
I climb off the bike and step forward to take in the view, the pine breeze blowing my hair back as I hang the helmet on the handlebar.
“How did you find out about this place?” I push my hair back and stare out at the view. “It’s perfect.”
“I was out for a drive one day and kind of stumbled onto it. I keep a few fishing poles hidden in the brush over there if I get an itch to fish. I think I’m the only one who comes out here.
I’ve never seen another person. Bears, sure.
People, never.” He climbs off the bike, his long leg swinging over as his boot hits the ground.
My heart squeezes and does the extra beat thing it shouldn’t be doing.
I push down the thought and suck in a deep, pine breath.
I miss the fresh mountain air so much. “Did you know the water is turquoise up here because of the minerals in the glaciers? I think it’s called rock flour or something.
My dad used to take me to the lake every Sunday to fish, and he loved telling me all about the science of everything. ”
“Is he a scientist?”
“No. He was a logger who loved the lake.”
The priest grins and holds out the bag of bear claws as a gull calls over head. “My dad was a logger too. Long, hard hours those guys put in. He still get out to the lake much?”
“Seventy-two and he still goes every Sunday. I really need to get out there with him again one of these days.” I tuck my hand into the bag and pull out a sticky-sweet claw. “Zane’s schedule kept me really busy, but… yeah.”
“He can’t hold you there. You told him it’s over, so it’s over.” He grips my hand in his and squeezes gently before grabbing out a claw for himself.
“For sure,” I lie, knowing full well what Zane and his family are capable of.
“I hope you’re right.” I sigh and bite into the sticky bun with sweet almond paste.
“Sometimes, Josie makes these with flavored jams, but this one is my favorite. I’ve tried making copycat versions, but they’re never the same. ”
“Something tells me yours are even better. I ate at least four of your cupcakes yesterday.” He grins as the lake water laps a few inches from our feet. “I’m going to have to request those again.”
I smile so wide that my cheeks hurt. “Which ones did you try?”
“Two of each. I had to say like three Hail Mary’s for being so gluttonous. I think everyone would agree that you’re the church baker now.”
I raise my brows and tilt my head to the side as I take another bite of the bear claw, warmth gathering in my chest. “I don’t think Leanne would like that very much.
She seemed very offended yesterday at the bake sale when my cupcakes went before her pie, not that she didn’t hate me before then too.
I can’t imagine what she’d say if she found out I slept in your bed last night. ”
He rolls his eyes to the side. “Leanne doesn’t need to know everything.”
“Yet, she does know everything. I was talking to your mom, and she said Leanne is keeping tabs on everyone in town. That, and it’s obvious she has a thing for you.”