Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Bane saw. He didn’t say anything, but he saw.
I sniff hard and blink at the heavy wooden door.
Why did he bring me here?
Does he want to fuck me now?
My gut twists.
Then I roll my eyes.
That’s all men ever want from me. Duh.
Priest or not, he’s obviously kinky as fuck. He didn’t even bat an eye at the bruise. He’ll probably make it good for me.
I nod, wiping my face. I’m ready.
This night is about to turn around, at least.
I pull the plug on the bath and step onto the plush, ridiculously nice rug. It’s warm. Oh. He must have turned the heat up.
My chest tightens.
It wasn’t just about getting me naked. It was a real concern.
I don’t know how to handle that.
I shake it off, drying myself and wrapping my curls up in the towel. Time to get this show on the road.
TEN
BANE
I’m standing in the kitchen when I hear the faint creak of the bathroom door opening. The sound pulls me immediately from my thoughts, my hand stilling on the glass of water I’d poured but haven’t touched.
I brace myself as I turn.
I shouldn’t look. Even seeing her like this—fresh from the bath in my robe, all soft and vulnerable—will test every restraint I’ve spent years cultivating.
And then she steps into view.
I barely manage not to drop my glass.
She’s not wearing the robe, and she managed to take off the wet dress. Only one of my gray towels is wrapped around her head. The rest of her damp skin is flushed and absolutely bared.
She’s standing naked just across the room from me.
Brown nipples peak in the cool air, not yet warm even though I’ve cranked the heat up.
Fuck her. Take what she’s offering, drag her down to the floor, and fuck her.
I jerk my eyes back up to her face when I realize where I’ve let my gaze drift.
For all her brazenness, there’s an unguarded quality to her expression that tugs at something deep in my chest.
“Moira,” I say, my voice low and steady, though it costs me dearly to keep it that way. “You should rest. I’ll show you a room where you can stay the night if you like.”
She smiles, a little crooked, a little coy. “And you’ll join me?”
I take a step forward, but she beats me to it, padding softly into the room on bare feet. I force my eyes to stay on her face, swallowing hard.
But even then, I can’t escape the way her gaze meets mine—intent and deliberate, a challenge I’m not sure I can meet without faltering.
“I feel much better now,” she says, stopping just a few feet away. Her green eyes hold mine as she adds, “Thanks to you.”
She knows what she’s offering. And you’ve been dreaming of bedding her for weeks now.
“It was the bath.” My tone is sharper than I intended. I clear my throat and take another step back, trying to widen the space between us. “Not me.”
Her smile softens, but she doesn’t step back. If anything, she edges closer, her bare toes brushing the cool tiles as she tilts her head slightly, the towel precariously balanced atop her damp hair.
“You’re very kind, Father,” she says, the word both respectful and mocking, like she’s testing it. Testing me. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
“Don’t call me that,” I bark. “Not now that you know. I’m Bane.”
She quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Bane, then.”
She’s playing with me. Because she can see the part of me that craves indulgence, pleasure, and dominance? Or just because she’s a woman who knows how to use her body to get what she wants?
Or perhaps she simply thinks this is what I expect of her after bringing her here?
It’s the last possibility that shuts down the beast inside me.
If we were back in the club, I would know exactly how to bring her to heel. Or to weeping, howling pleasure.
But we’re not at the club. This is Father Blackwood’s territory, no matter what she calls me. While I don’t know how to find solid ground between the man that I was and the one I usually strive to be, some motherfucker has already hurt her once tonight. I won’t be the second.
“Moira,” I begin, my voice rough. “You should—”
“Should what?” she interrupts, her voice soft but insistent. She takes another step closer until she’s nearly within arm’s reach. “Should go to bed? I’d be warmer if we went to bed together, you know. Don’t you want me to be warm?”
Her gaze lowers briefly, taking in the way my fists are clenched at my sides, before rising to meet mine again. “Or do you want me to leave you alone to your cold prayers, Father? Is that what you want?”
I exhale sharply, wanting to paddle her for her insolence. “What I want doesn’t matter.”