Page 25 of Holly Jolly Heresy
She felt his words everywhere, the sandpaper rasp of them across her skin so sweet she wanted more. Molly straightened the snowman again, not that it needed it, and slowly turned towards him, though she kept her gaze on her own hands as she fidgeted with her fingers. Maybe it would be easier if they talked about it, if they looked this thing between them straight in the eyes instead of catching glimmers of what it might be.
“You already make me happy, Caleb. Last night... even if it can never happen again... Iamhappy.”
He took another step towards her, his eyes dark and his brow furrowed as he studied her. Each inch he moved closer felt more ominous and more right than the last. If she extended her pinky, she’d be touching him. God, how she wanted to touch him.
“You don’t look happy.”
“I can be happy and sad at the same time. I contain multitudes.”
He reached up and moved a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger on the back of her neck. Her skin sparked in its wake. “Why are you sad?”
She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. “Because now Iknowhow it could be, and I need to forget.”
“I don’t want you to forget.” The roughness of his voice scratched at her skin. “I won’t forget.”
She blinked up at him, his hazel eyes so earnest. Had she misunderstood his hesitance? “Last night, I had the best dream,” she said softly.
“Me too.” His voice was too deep, too ragged, and it invited her to drown in it.
“I wish I was still dreaming.”
He dug his fingers into her hair, tilting her face up to him as she rested her hands on his chest. He was glorious like this. Open and intriguing, and yet somehow hard, determined. Like he’d cradle her and keep her warm even as he broke her heart.
She didn’t want to ask the question twisting in her gut, but she had to. “What about your vows?”
“I’ve already broken my vows. I break them every time I look at you. Every time Ithinkabout you,” he said, gravel in every word.
Her chest ached at the tortured scrape of his confession, and yet it also sent that fizzy feeling racing through her blood. Likepossibility. Like the calm before immeasurable pleasure. She swallowed, wetting her lips, and a strange sort of power pulsed within her when he clocked the movement.
He skated his lips over her temples, her eyelids. “Maybe this whole place is a dream.”
Her fists bunched in the fabric of his shirt, holding him close, confirming for herself he was real. “We could have another day,” she breathed. “Just until we go home.” The thought sent off a riot of protests in her gut even as it turned her insides to fire, a mass of longing and need so potent nothing else mattered.
“I have nothing to offer you, Molly.” Each word was more tormented than the last, as though this were truly the darkest of his confessions. “My life is not my own. Not yet. I want to give you everything, but—”
“I know.”
She was all too aware there was no future for them, that every moment they spent even entertaining the idea ofmorewas madness. But knowing didn’t stop her from wanting him, even if it could only be a few stolen moments.
He backed her up, the scraggly Christmas tree shaking in its stand as she made contact with the wall. With one hand planted on the wall by her head, he ghosted the other over her curves, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch her yet. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I know.”
He gripped her hip and tugged her away from the wall, pulling her pelvis against his own before he slowly pressed them back against the wall again, his hips chasing hers. “It’s a sin.”
“I’m not a good Catholic anyway.”
“Then I’ll pray for us both.” He nuzzled against her throat, dragging his lips up the long line of her neck to behind her ear. “Tell me to stop, Molly.”
“No.” She tugged him closer and tilted her head to give him better access to her throat. If he stopped now, she’d combust on the spot.
A low, menacing sound rumbled in Caleb’s chest as he drew her earlobe between his teeth, nipping at the sensitive skin. “Tell. Me. To. Stop.”
She hooked her index finger over the top of his collar and tugged the piece of white plastic free. It fell to the floor at their feet. “I don’t want you to stop, Father.”
Chapter ten
Caleb’s brain turned to static at Molly’s use of his title, the depravity of it coiling within him, pulling tighter and tighter until he was practically shaking with need. Would giving them both this moment, just for a little while, really be so much worse than what he’d already done? Would God forgive him any less?
