And he’d never thought that wanting something he couldn’t have would ever actually be delicious. But the way Sasha smiled, the sweet scent of her, the way she was so effortlessly competent and organized. It was intoxicating.
After she left him in the rectory—aching and alone—he went through his bedroom and straight into the shower. If he’d had a large store of extra clothing, he would have burned what he was wearing. He could still smell her on every bit of it, which was wild. They had barely even touched.
He wanted to do a lot more than hug her, and he let himself go there in his mind as he turned the water all the way to hot. He should turn the water to its iciest setting, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to let go of how being around Sasha made him feel alive in a way that he’d maybe never felt.
It was as though his skin was on fire. Perhaps it was a good thing that they could never truly be together. He wasn’t sure he would actually survive being able to dig his fingers in that thick fall of hair, messing it up as he pulled her face to his.
Her lips would be so soft. They would turn a deep red after he kissed her for hours. Even though he knew that—in reality—he wouldn’t last very long if having sex with Sasha was an actual thing that was going to happen, he liked to imagine spending a lot of time exploring every centimeter of her body. He’d want to learn every freckle and scar.
As the hot blast of water hit him, he gave in and took himself in hand. According to the rules, he wasn’t supposed to even allow himself to do this. But this was an emergency. If he didn’t do this, he might actually maul Sasha the next time she gave him a sassy smile as she licked whiskey off her bottom lip.
Of course he could just avoid her, but he wasn’t about to lie to himself. He knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t do that. He could try, but he would fail. And the way he felt when he looked at her was sinning—what was one more sin to add to the pile? There was a line—actually acting out what he wanted to do with her—that he would not cross. He promised himself that and hoped that God heard if He was indeed listening to him anymore.
And then he shut thoughts of God out as he imagined sucking on Sasha’s probably cherry-colored nipples, hearing her cry out and moan with a throaty yell as he touched her clit with his fingers and found the spot that made her lose control.
That’s what he wanted—for her to lose control because of him. Maybe it was some sort of lascivious justice in his own mind; she made him feel like he was going off the rails, and he wanted to do the same thing to her. That’s why he’d said those things to fluster her when she was sitting in his kitchen, drinking his scotch, daring to look edible after a full day of grueling work.
He was a mess, and he had a feeling that she knew what she was doing. The part of him that didn’t identify with being a priest, the part that had been sleeping for a long, long time, felt entitled to seeing her fall apart. The brake pedal on that impulse, the vows he’d taken, kept that drive in the realm of his imagination but still allowed him to run free there.
He wondered if she’d like him to wrap his hand around her collarbone, mimicking choking her. He didn’t want to do that, but he sort of did. And he wasn’t going to allow himself to think about how much that turned him on—the thought of her pupils dilating at being totally at his mercy.
His forearm muscles strained as he worked his dick over faster and faster under the blast of the water. He could lube himself up with soap, but he didn’t deserve it. He wanted to know that he was sinning as he worked himself over for the first time in a long time to the thought of fucking Sasha from behind, admiring her plump ass as it bounced against his hips—fuck.
That was the last image in his mind before he came against the wall in the shower attached to the room where he slept alone because he was a priest and he’d made vows. Two things tempered the cataclysmic orgasm that made his knees unstable and his pounding heart practically echo off the walls: Sasha wasn’t here having a screaming climax along with him, and she never would be.
As the orgasm faded, so did Patrick’s resolve that indulging in thoughts of Sasha was superior to acting out his desires. Thinking about it only made him want her more. He was pretty sure Jesus had to think about turning water into wine or walking on water before he actually did it. Thinking about the impossible things he wanted to do to Sasha could only turn him down the road of making the impossible—having her—possible.
He felt stupid and ashamed. Still, he didn’t ask God to help him figure out what to do. He knew that he should make a confession, do his penance, and never, ever see Sasha again. He also knew that he wasn’t ready to do that. Maybe ever.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I HUGGED HIM,” SASHA said, not quite believing she’d done that.
Hannah shrugged the best she could while getting fluids for her very severe morning sickness. Sasha had hesitated to visit because watching Hannah vom was a situation she never wanted to repeat.
But she wasn’t currently vomiting. She was sitting on her couch in a caftan. The only thing that was different about this than their regular hangs was that she had an IV in her arm instead of a mimosa in her hand.
“You whatted him!?”
“I hugged him.” Sasha struggled to find the words for how the hug had evolved into an almost kiss.
“And?”
“I felt something.”
“Did he have a hard-on?”
Sasha felt her skin pinken. For a second there the night before, she’d thought that maybe Patrick had a hard-on for her in the small sense even though he could never have one for her in the sense that would lead to anything other than her doomed crush.
“So, he did have a hard-on.” Hannah nodded and looked at her arm, cringing when she saw the fluids instead of a drink. “Pregnancy is not for the weak of spirit.”
“I’m sorry you’re weak of spirits right now.” Sasha took a sip of her own drink, thankful that her friend did not require teetotaling on the premises during the pendency of her confinement. “But at least your terrible sister hasn’t moved in with you.”
“That’s because I’m an only child, and I have no terrible sister.” Sasha had often been jealous of that over the years. “Is it Marlena or Madison?”
“Madison.”
“Oh good. At least it’s not the pregnant one.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Sasha raised her glass and took a sip.
“What happened?”
“She left her husband.” Sasha still couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of her mouth. “She wasn’t happy anymore.”
“That seems like a good reason to leave your husband,” Hannah said. “Not that I would know.”