"I also wanted to talk about that. About you and me, Connor," she continues, completely ignoring what I’ve just told her.
"There’s nothing to talk about…" I try and tell her, but I can’t help but feel that I’m lying in the most obvious manner.
"There is…" she replies, lowering her voice into a whisper. Turning toward the door, she grabs the handle and closes it, locking the door with a quick motion of her hand.
I watch her do it, and my brain overheats as I try to determine the best course of action. Deep down, I know exactly what I have to do: I have to open the door, and I have to step out into the sunlight. Sin doesn’t do well under the sun, after all.
But instead of doing that, I remain exactly where I am, waiting as she locks us inside the church.
We’re just going to talk, I try and tell myself, but it’s so blatant of a lie that I almost feel like laughing. I’ll keep in control, I continue, my heart picking up the pace as Clarise takes one step toward me, pursing her lips and looking straight into my eyes.
Fuck, what the hell am I doing? Snapping myself out of the dazed state I’m in, I reach for the door and start turning the handle; that’s when she lays her hand on top of mine and steps between me and the exit.
"Stay."
Clarise
"It was a moment of weakness, Clarise. Nothing else," he tells me, the words coming out of his mouth so fast that I just know he's been rehearsing them all day. And, just like my mother, I’ve learned to smell bullshit miles away… And I’m smelling it right now, because what happened between me and him wasn’t just a moment of weakness. I know that, he knows that. Everything else is a complete lie.
And that’s exactly what I tell him.
"I thought tha
t men of God weren’t supposed to lie," I shoot back at him, lowering my voice into a whisper. "We both know it was more than physical weakness. Am I wrong?" I ask, and he just stares into my eyes in complete silence, the air around us growing heavy with electricity. "There’s a spark between the two of us, and I know you can feel it…" I continue, reaching for him and resting one hand on his chest.
The moment my fingertips brush over the fabric of his shirt, Connor moves so fast that all I see is a blur. He curls his fingers around my wrist and takes my hand off his chest, taking one step back and pursing his lips.
"We can’t do this," he tells me, his voice firm and steady, but I can also feel it crack underneath.
"Of course we can’t," I continue, fighting against his hold and somehow managing to free my hand from his fingers. I take it to his chest once again, and this time he doesn’t pull back. "We can’t, we shouldn’t … but here we are."
"Clarise --"
"No … don’t speak," I press my index finger over his lips, silencing him, and take another step toward him. Our bodies are just inches away from each other, and I can feel that simmering heat under my skin. "I know I’ve been a bad girl, but maybe that’s why I want you so much, Connor. Maybe I need a good man."
"I’m not what you’re looking for," he replies, hesitating as he pushes my hand away from his face. "Whatever you think I am, you’re mistaken."
"No, you’re the one who’s mistaken. I need a man like you… I need salvation, and I think that you’re the one that can save me."
"Succumbing to temptation isn’t exactly the best road toward salvation."
"What if this isn’t temptation? What if this is destiny? Maybe you were sent here for a reason, and that reason is me," I insist, placing both my hands on his chest, feeling the contour of his hard pectorals under the palm of my hands.
"Maybe God sent you because I prayed for someone to save me," I continue, looking into his eyes as I let one hand fall down his chest. I take it all the way down to his waist, my fingertips brushing over the leather of his belt.
"Your definition of God is a twisted one, Clarise," he replies, but each time he speaks I feel his voice growing less steady. Still, he grabs my arms and pushes me back again. Turning around, he averts my gaze and looks up the aisle, his eyes going straight toward the huge crucifix at the end of the church.
The expression on his face is a conflicted one, and I can tell that there’s a fight raging inside of him. The kind of fight I just know his rational mind won’t win because I have a say on what happens now.
I mean, let’s be real for a moment; if he really didn’t want anything to happen, he wouldn’t have allowed me to lock us inside here. But, despite his protests, he didn’t unlock the door; he remained here with me, listening to my words. And the way he looks at me … it’s almost as if he’s begging me to break past his defenses. And, oh, I’m so happy to do it.
"Maybe my definition is the right one," I say, once more closing the distance between us. Reaching for him with my hand, I place two fingers under his chin and force him to look back at me. "Maybe God wants us to be happy? I doubt he wants you to keep torturing yourself like this."
This time, there’s no quick reply. He just stares at me in complete silence, his breathing growing shallow and ragged. In a sense, the way I’m mixing sex and religion is turning him on… All he needs now is a little push.
"You want me," I continue, allowing my gaze to roam down to his crotch. His pants are tented, and I can already see the contour of his rock hard cock straining against the fabric. "And I want you…" With that, I reach for his hand slowly and curl my fingers around his wrist. Maneuvering his hand, I guide it between my thighs and force him to press the palm of his hand against my pussy, over the fabric of my dress.
I bite down on my lower lip as I feel the pressure of his fingers, and I let a slight moan escape from my mouth.