Chapter Five
The noise she made was the most lovely thing he’d heard in months and that was saying something, given that the choir at All Saints was award-winning and their organist was phenomenal. His cock swelled and throbbed thinking about what other noises this feisty woman might make for him.
But was that a noise of aroused faux-surrender, or would she be scared of him now that she knew his vocation wouldn’t prevent him from ravishing her?
He was certain this wasnotwhat Mrs. Symes had in mind.
All of his good intentions had fled in an instant when he’d been about to politely knock on the glass door, and seen the barista bend down to pick up a stray utensil, watched her hips sway as she walked toward the back of the café. He hadn’t been able to help himself. And perhaps in doing so he’d squandered his chance with her. This was the behavior of a creepy asshole even though she’d said he still seemed safe.
“I apologize if that changes things. I’ll leave if you’re uncomfortable, though I hope you know—”
“Plum,” she said, interrupting him, sounding out of breath, like she might be uncomfortable but not in a fearful way. “My name is Plum. Plum Brolingtide.”
“Plum?” he breathed, the misty air hot and sultry in the centimeter between the smooth skin of her neck and his lips. “As in ‘Forgive me—’”
“Yeah, yeah, icebox and all that. Poem that launched a thousand memes. Don’t think my parents saw that coming. It was a compromise believe it or not. My father wanted to name me Prunella after his beloved great grandmother and my mom said fuck no.”
Though he would turn her over his knee for language like that if she were his, he found her foul mouth charming. He had a soft spot for brats. For women who liked to challenge and provoke him. Heated his blood and made him feel vital, alive, human, and very much of this earth.
It was an incredibly visceral way to be reminded of the pleasures of the flesh. And Plum—Plum—with her bountiful curves and the vividness of her clothes and eyes and hair was the epitome of the satisfaction to be found in earthly hedonism in contrast to the more ethereal joys of the holy.
“Do you talk to all your customers the way you speak to me?” he asked.
“Only the hot priests,” she responded. “And spoiler alert: you’re the only hot priest.”
Ah, singular. There were worse things to be. Like a creepy asshole who couldn’t stop thinking about taking the scruff of a certain woman’s neck between his teeth and biting down until he left marks. Or pulling Miss Potty Mouth over his lap and yanking down her jeans and panties to spank her bared ass.
What was more likely to be a deterrent to a woman like Ms. Plum Brolingtide—religious life or the fact that he was kinky as fuck? He’d guess the former but he couldn’t be sure of the latter.
Yes, he knew plenty of kinky people who dressed like people would expect someone on the sexual and intimate fringes to with plenty of leather and latex and piercings, but he also knew the most conservative clothes could hide a wealth of marks. And vice versa of course.
He’d go with the church hurdle first then. If that was too much for her to overcome, he needn’t disclose his particular tastes. Most of his friends and acquaintances at the club preferred littles and while he enjoyed spending time and occasionally playing with those sweet little darlings, his own hunger was for older age players—middles.
He loved to see the satisfaction pacis and bottles and diapers and other little trappings brought people but his own wiring was electrified by brattier attitudes, somewhat more independence but still in need of guidance and discipline—perhaps more discipline—and in a shamefully cliché desire, school girls. Not actual school girls of course. Grown, independent women who enjoyed playing their part as he enjoyed playing his.
Now that he’d thrown his cards on the table it was time for him to make his proposition and leave, lest he do something impulsive like ask to come upstairs.
Gideon allowed himself the pleasure of setting his hands on Plum’s hips and turning her around to face him. If he’d thought that would lessen his desire for her, he’d been utterly mistaken. Especially with her cheeks pink and her pupils blown wide. She’d had as much fun with this as he had and it made it even harder for him to rein in his most aggressive instincts to sling her over his shoulder and haul her back to the rectory where he could have his way with her.
To keep himself from grabbing her, he fished in his pocket for what he’d stuffed in there along with his keys, and held it out to her.
“Here’s my card. Come see me.”
The dubious look on Plum’s face could’ve been next to skeptical in the dictionary. “Is this how you grow your audience?”
“Congregation,” he corrected, letting his lips spread slightly into a not-quite-a-smile.
Plum rolled her eyes.
“Fine. Is this how you grow yourcongregation?” she asked, putting as much sarcasm and sass into the word as possible, seemingly throwing some air quotes in there for good measure and to make his palm itch. “Send the sexy-ass priest to hit on women and then have him invite them to join your cult instead of blowing their backs out? That’s just cruel.”
* * *
She had expected to shock him or at least make him laugh, but he didn’t. What the hell? Her humor was one of her best features—didn’t he think she wasfunny?
Of course, some men never found women funny and she wouldn’t be surprised if a priest—fuck, were there many occupations more patriarchal than a goddamn priest?—were one of them.
Plum was about to shoot back another rejoinder because she could never have anything to do with a man who didn’t think she was funny when Gideon spoke in that chilled whisky voice of his.