The Consequence of Secrets - Part Two: A Priest Romance
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Authors: Eve Cates
The Consequence of Secrets
PART TWO
Eve Cates
Copyright 2015, EVE CATES
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the author of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. The church and its associated works mentioned are purely a creation of the author. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various places/products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission and is by no way sponsored by the trademark owners.
Part TWO of FOUR, Eve Cates brings you her most forbidden romance so far...
A married woman. A devout man. Both have taken vows. Both will break them.
Feeling as though his path has always been pointing toward the beautiful Emma, Father Braden knows that he has to save her. But Emma’s world is far more tangled that it seems on the surface. She’s been protecting everyone she loves from the man who had vowed to love her.
Her husband wants a son, and Emma needs time. She’s running out of options.
“l went to the bakery and picked up some of those pastries you like for breakfast. They're on the table when you're ready," Gabe says kindly, sliding his hands around my waist and kissing me on the back of my neck. I hate it.
This morning he’s being especially nice because I’m leaving the house to resume my normal activities. He wants to make sure I’m a good girl and don’t go telling anyone what he did to me – not that I would. He’s seen to it that I wouldn’t dare cross him.
You see, Gabe is smart, and despite claiming that he loses control when he hurts me, I know for a fact that he’s probably one of the most controlled men you’d ever meet. It’s why he’s never put me in hospital, because he’s always in control – no emergency room visits, no paper trail to show a pattern of abuse.
“You look nice,” he comments, looking at my reflection in the mirror while I brush powder over my face to set my thick layer of makeup.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his momentarily as I smile.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I wish I had more time at home today, you smell so fucking good. Think about me today while I’m gone, I want you wet and ready when I get home,” he growls in my ear before telling me he’ll see me for breakfast.
Despite the lewd comment, this is actually one of the rare times I can stand being married to Gabe. In the days or weeks after he’s beat me, he’s docile, and I don’t have to do anything except be available for his…needs. It’s the only time I can truly rest because he’ll never beat me on top of a beating. It’s a sad fact, but it’s true.
Walking out into the dining room, I pull out the seat beside Gabe where he’s set out a fruit Danish and a cup of coffee for me. But before I sit, he grabs a hold of my waist and pulls me toward him. When he turns in his seat, I see his enormous erection tenting his pants.
“I thought you didn’t have time,” I whisper, parting my legs when his fingers inch up the inside of my thigh.
“I don’t,” he growls, his eyes dark with desire as his fingers connect with my core and he rubs until my panties grow damp. “But I’ll be late for this.”
His fingers move, pushing the elastic to the side as his fingers slide into my depths, pumping back and forth. I hate the way my nipples harden. I hate that he knows how to play my body like an instrument. It makes all the times he just straight up fucks me and tells me to come so much more offensive, because he knows how to touch me so I enjoy it. He just doesn’t care enough until he’s hurt me enough to nearly break me.
I stare into his eyes, just how he wants me to, and I try to fight it. I try to resist, but my body is a tight coil and when he slides his fingers out then presses my warm silky juices against my clit. I can’t help but release a little moan.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, working me back and forth, in and out. “I want you to come for me.”
The feeling intensifies, and his voice is gentle as he coaxes me. “Come,” he whispers, and I do. My body shaking as I release a moan, my juices flooding over his hand.
Withdrawing his fingers, he pulls my panties down and pushes my skirt up before freeing his cock and guiding me so I’m sitting on top of him, riding up and down. He unbuttons my blouse, his hands pulling it free from my skirt before he digs his fingers into my flesh, gripping, and pulling, forcing me to take him even deeper as his fingers dig painfully into my hips.
I let out a cry of pain, and he does it again, his pelvis ramming into mine like a crashing of bones. Then he holds me still, and his hand moves to my breast where he grips it tight then lowers his mouth, biting into the soft flesh as he comes inside, the pain a sharp sting as he marks me yet again.
Then comes my most hated part. “Make me a son, Emma.” And then it’s over, and I’m removed from him as he tucks himself back inside his pants and I have to replace my panties and straighten myself up.
He gestures to the chair next to him. “Sit. Eat up,” he says. “You need to keep up your strength.”
“Of course,” I say, keeping my voice sweet as I lower myself in the chair, feeling dirty and in need of another shower.
As we eat, he does his usual and prattles on arrogantly about his day. Then he checks his watch and announces he’s leaving, and inside, I rejoice a little.
“Although I still want you to think about me,” he says, leaning over the back of my chair. “That was just a taste of what I want to do to you tonight,” he murmurs in my ear, his hand sliding over my blouse to roughly cup my breast. My eyes shift to the silver knife sitting beside my breakfast plate, and I wonder if that would do the trick if I managed to get it in the right place. I would be free of him, but would I go to prison? Or would they believe me when I told them what he does to me? He’s always said no one would believe me because he tells everyone that I like it rough. But I don’t. But Braden believes me, and I didn’t even have to tell him, he just worked it out.
“I’ll see you when I get home.” He stands and presses a kiss on the top of my head, smoothing his hand down the side of my hair. “Five o'clock, all right?"
I nod my head, blinking away my murderous thoughts as I fix that smile to my face. “See you then,” I tell him, participating in his goodbye kiss then watching him leave the room, staying in my seat until I hear the garage door lift and his car reverse out of the driveway.
Letting out the breath I didn't even realize I was holding, I stand to go and get ready again. I need to clean that all away. I don’t want to feel as though Gabe has touched me when I’m planning on going to see Braden.
As I shower, I think about the kiss we shared up against my front door. I haven't been able to get it out of my mind – that feeling that took over every nerve ending in my body and made me feel like it was possible to fly. Gabe has never made me feel like that – even when we were first dating.
And while it was amazing and I’ll treasure that feeling for the rest of my life, I need to make him understand that it can’t happen again. I feel terrible that a man who has promised himself to God is questioning himself because of me. While I might not believe in God any more, I still respect the beliefs of others, and I don't want whatever is going on between us to ruin his life as well. He might not be able to save me, but the least I can do is save him. I need to let him go.
Once I’ve showered, I quickly dry my hair and reapply my makeup before putting on fresh underwear, studying myself in the mirror as I slide on my blouse, pausing to look at the teeth marks on my breast. He didn’t break the skin, but there are still indentations there that will turn into bruises by the end of the day. More than anything, I wish that my life were different. I wish I’d met Braden before all this, before he joined the priesthood and before I met Gabe. Everything would be different then, my life would have been worth living…
When I’m done, I head for the front door, double-checking the buttons on my silk blouse to make sure they’re done up tight. For a moment, I stand before the mirror by the door and check over my appearance. I see myself, reflected and surrounded by a brass frame, not a hair out of place, not a crease in my shirt. My make-up is perfect, my posture is set, so I take a deep breath, pick up my purse, and head out the door. Today's the day I attend confession. Today is the day my life returns to normal – no more distractions.
