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)
This morning, I kissed her forehead before she left for the shelter. Her first day back. A test of sorts. One I’m eager to see her pass.
“Bane?” Bishop Caldwell’s voice pulls me back.
I set my coffee down and offer her a wry smile. “You’re right. My mind does wander. A thousand apologies. It’s inexcusable. I know how valuable your time is.” I mean it sincerely. I understand she’s run ragged dealing with all the churches in the diocese. Taking time to meet with all the priests individually, in addition to coming to visit the churches, keeps her schedule full to overflowing.
She studies me with that piercing gaze of hers, the one that sees too much. “Wandering anywhere in particular?”
Yes. To a woman who kneels so sweetly now, who opens so easily under my hands. To the way her breath catches when I call her my good girl. To the promise I made her this morning—that if she behaves and doesn’t chase pleasure I haven’t given, I’ll take her to play at Carnal tonight.
“Just the usual,” I fib smoothly. It’s not exactly a lie. Being with Moira is my new normal.
She smirks, unconvinced, but lets it go. “Well, distracted or not, I do have something to discuss with you.”
I force myself to listen, to engage, but half my mind remains with Moira. I imagine her at the shelter, hands busy, mouth soft with focus. I imagine her remembering my words and my warning. I imagine the reward she’ll earn if she obeys.
I can’t wait to see if she’ll pass my test.
The bishop finally folds her hands around her tea, fingers delicate but firm, and regards me with a quiet intensity.
“You know I’m not just your bishop,” she says, voice measured. “I’m meant to be a shepherd to you.”
The weight of her gaze feels too heavy for the light monthly check-in I expected today’s meeting to be.
I nod, offering nothing in return. Silence has always been my refuge, safest when words might betray too much.
She takes a slow sip from her cup before setting it down with precise care. “It has been reported to me,” she continues, each word deliberate, “that you have been seen taking walks with a woman. A woman who follows you into your house.”
The words land like a stone thrown in a pond, disturbing my calm. A muscle in my jaw twitches, but otherwise, I force myself to remain still, my hands flat against the table.
Of course, people talk. Of course, even here, where I’ve worked to build something new, the past is never entirely out of reach. As the son of my father, gossip and gossip rags used to be my constant nuisance.
The bishop watches me carefully. “You understand, of course, that your heart is not yours alone.” Her gaze becomes more pointed. “Nor is your house. You are living on parish property, and people… gossip.”
I stare at her, my fingers tightening imperceptibly. Gossip. The great currency of communities, small and large. And I know well enough that whispers can turn into a sharp weapon if a man isn’t careful.
She pauses. Takes a calculated sip of tea. Then, her voice drops just slightly. “And I took a risk on you.”
That lands. A direct hit.
I swallow hard.
“You were not the obvious choice for this parish,” she continues. “Your past raised concerns. But I saw something in you. A man seeking redemption.”
My fingers curl into fists beneath the table. I force them to relax. “I appreciate that, Bishop. Truly.”
“Do you?” she asks, her gaze sharp. “Because I have to wonder.”
The air feels thick, pressing against my ribs.
The past. The unspoken thing always lurking between the lines. A past I can’t undo, no matter how many good deeds I accumulate.
Her expression hardens. “Is it serious with this girl?”
Another punch to the gut. It’s the first time the thought has been presented so bluntly.
Serious. The word reverberates.
The second time I met Moira, I promised her she wasn’t alone anymore.
I should have an answer to this question. The last few weeks have just been so… good. Great. Stunning, really. Giving into the dominant bastard inside me… training Moira… satisfying both our demons while also reaching into the realms of heaven with our pleasure and connection—
I should be able to answer this fucking question.
But instead, my mind blanks.
Is it serious?
Moira’s laugh, sharp and untamed, plays in my head. The way she moves through my house like she belongs there. Her presence fills spaces I didn’t know were empty. The warmth in my chest when she brushes against me in passing. The way my body tightens when she looks at me with that knowing, unafraid gaze.
I’ve never been a man who lives with an eye toward the future. Maybe it’s why I was never caught in the allure of my father’s money. I live in the now, and in the now, I knew Moira and I were good for one another. So I never stopped to question tomorrow or next week or next year.