Dark Side of the Cloth by Brooklyn Cross

“Here, let me take that for you, and I can hang up your jacket too.” Dean took the long coat and pie from her hands.

As soon as his back was turned, she wiped off her moist hands again. Her emotions were all over the place, but her libido had no issues deciding what she needed. The rich scent of something wonderful cooking reached her nose as they ascended the stairs to Dean’s apartment. The wood stairs creaked while the poorly lit stairwell didn’t help her already racing pulse. Dean held the door open for her to walk through when they reached the top of the stairs. It reminded her of pushing through a veil into a world she shouldn’t be able to visit, and yet she stepped over the threshold into Dean’s quarters.

“Would you like some wine with dinner? I made chicken enchiladas. I hope that suits you.”

“Wine sounds perfect. I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Yasmine took an appreciative sniff of the delicious aroma. “It smells divine. I love enchiladas.”

“It’s my mama’s recipe. She made me learn to cook when I was a little boy, much to my father’s dismay.” His voice darkened at the mention of his father. “She’d say you never know when one day you’ll need to impress a pretty girl.” Yasmine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face at the compliment.

“I will assume then that your mother never saw you becoming a priest?”

“She passed away when I was eight. I think I wanted to be an astronaut at the time,” Dean said.

She stared at his back and felt a tug of sadness for him. She’d certainly had her share of sadness, and she knew what it was like to be that age and lose a parent.

“I’m sorry for your loss. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“No, it wasn’t. She was a sweet woman, and I still miss her.”

Yasmine wandered through the small space that had seen many priests come and go. She ran her hand over the dark woods of the decorative tables and spiraling pillars that marked the living room space. Heavy tapestries hung on the walls. Their gold and maroon colors gave off a distinct male aura. Many crosses hung on the walls, and Yasmine made sure to avert her eyes from the physical reminders of how wrong this was.

“Here you go.”

Yasmine smiled at Dean as he held out a glass, her still shaky hand taking the offering. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like to sit?”

She dutifully sat in one of the plush chairs, smoothing out her dress. She had gone through everything in her closet until she finally found the perfect dress that wasn’t too sexy and wasn’t her normal casual attire. She knew her best asset was her eyes, and the spring green color of the dress made them pop.

She’d never seen Dean so relaxed or open. His legs crossed at the knee as he leaned back on the couch, sipping his wine, yet all the while, she couldn’t seem to feel at ease. She was jumping at the old pipes vibrating, the wind thrashing against the window, and the sound of Dean’s voice was pulling her tight like a violin string. And even with all of those taught emotions she had swirling inside her, Yasmine couldn’t stop staring at the small V of exposed skin at the top of Dean’s button-down shirt. She licked her lips, her mind wandering to what he’d taste like right there.

“If you keep staring at me like that, we may not make it to dinner,” Dean said. His voice was low and husky, eyes intense as he stared at her.

Yasmine’s cheeks flamed once more. She quickly crossed her legs, trying to keep her searing libido in check. “I…I’m sorry, I—” she stuttered. Giving up on trying to say anything, she gulped down the wine, draining her glass and drawing a deep laugh from Dean.

“I wanted to apologize again for not calling you or coming to see you when I got back into town. I have been warring with what is right versus what I want.”

Yasmine looked away from his gaze, guilt bubbling in her gut.

“I’m sorry about what I did to you in the confessional.”

“Don’t be. That was the most fun I’ve had with a confession ever.” His entire face was shining with humor, which only made her feel worse rather than better about what she’d done.

Yasmine cleared her throat. “Do you have any hobbies?”

“No, but I love baseball,” Dean said. He leaned forward and placed his wine glass on the table.

“My father was a baseball fan. I used to sit with him on the couch, and even though I didn’t understand what was going on, I’d cheer along with him and sulk when things seemed to be going poorly. My favorite part was booing when the opposing team got a home run.”

“You were a good daughter.” Dean smiled, but the look in his eyes was hooded with what she could only describe as sadness.

“Maybe. We stopped watching baseball after we had a couple of tragedies in our family.” Yasmine looked down into the glass of golden wine. It always hurt to think of her sister being taken, her mother committing suicide, and her father slipping into a depression. She’d been left alone to deal with the trauma, and she wasn’t sure she’d done a very good job of it. Some would say she needed to finish school instead of taking on the business because she never lived.

A buzzer sounded in the otherwise silent room, making Yasmine jump.

“Come, let’s eat, and I’ll refill your wine. You seem to be thirsty.”

“Thank you.” She couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes as she stood, but she wasn’t given a choice when he placed his finger under her chin and forced her to stare into those hazel depths. Her body instantly shook.

“Don’t think sad thoughts tonight.” He placed a small kiss on her cheek. “And don’t worry, Yasmine, nothing will happen that you don’t want, but if I have it my way, you will be dessert,” Dean whispered, then laid a gentle kiss on her lips.

She was certain her body was going to combust as her body throbbed for more. She shivered as Dean turned and walked away, taking all the heat in the room with him. He had an unnatural effect on her, and she hated how easily she was prepared to get down and beg him to do with her as he wanted.

“Here you go,” Dean said, placing the amazing-looking meal in front of her. He’d also made a salad and a few other finger foods.

“Dean, can I ask you something?”

“This is sounding serious.”

“Don’t you feel guilty?” Yasmine hated ruining their delicious meal, but she needed to understand.

“Guilty for eating a meal with a beautiful woman? No, I do not.” She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him, and Dean sighed. “I guess you don’t mean the meal.”

“You know I don’t.”

“I’m not sure what to say. You know I had a past before becoming a priest, and it was filled with a wide variety of things that were not very priest-like. When I took my vows, I never understood the need to be celibate if you found someone that can make you happy. You, Yasmine, make me happy, so no, I don’t feel guilty, not in the way that you would think.”

He reached across the table and held his hand open for her to take. As soon as she laid her hand in his, she shivered with the strange connection they had.

“Please, Yasmine, can we not speak of this tonight? There will be many other nights to debate moral ethics.”

Yasmine nodded, conceding that she’d come, and she’d had the choice not to, so why sabotage the moment? By the time she was finished eating, she was stuffed. She also couldn’t deny that she was feeling much more relaxed. The easy flow of conversation, soft smiles, and teasing jokes altered her state of mind. It may also have had something to do with the half a bottle of wine she’d consumed since arriving.

No matter what happened tonight, this would only ever be a projection shining on a wall. Something she could pretend for a short amount of time that this was real, but soon it would be over, and she’d have to dive back into reality. Regardless, she wanted whatever she could get.

She loved the way he smiled at her like she was the only person in the world. Everything about him fascinated her, from the way his biceps flexed under his black shirt or even the unconscious gentle drumming of his fingers to the dimple in his cheek that only showed when he laughed. All these things about him all called to her. His dark masculine scent made her ache, and she realized that whether it was a week from now or a month, she was going to have to give herself fully over to her desires. This night would be inevitable because he’d been tailor-made for her.

“Would you like some of the pie?”

Dean stood, removing the dishes, and she couldn’t help admiring his hard-ass as he walked away. She rarely saw him in anything but his robes, but there was no denying he could fill out a pair of jeans like a god.

“I couldn’t eat another bite. Maybe later?”

The room was too quiet, and the sound of rain and the unexpected hail was all that could be heard as they stared at one another. The earlier nervousness was creeping its way back in, but this time it was in anticipation. The touch of his finger on her chin lingered, as did the memory of his all too experienced hand inside of her.

She knew he had a past. He admitted it not an hour ago, but the nagging knowledge of just how intimate he must have been before he chose this path had wormed its way into her subconscious. She wanted to know more. Had Dean been married, maybe engaged, had he lost the love of his life, and that’s what drove him to become a priest? Or had he simply been a player of all players and decided this was a good way to meet more women?

“I adore when you look at me like that.” Dean broke her rambling train of thought.

“And how is that?” Yasmine teased, smiling over the top of her wine glass.

“Like I’m your next meal, like a sexy vixen who needs to be set loose.”

Dean pushed away from the counter. The closer his long strides brought him, the faster her heart pounded in her chest. Her bravado jumped out the window with the look in his predatory stare, making her question her decision to come in the first place.

“Stand, Yasmine,” Dean ordered.

Her knees shook, but she did as he told her. The pad of his thumb ran along her bottom lip, the roughness telling her he was no stranger to hard work.

“What do you want, Yasmine?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered as Dean placed his other hand on her hip, pulling her closer to his much larger frame.

“Are you sure about that?”

Beads of sweat trickled down her back, and goosebumps rose all over her body. The passionate way he spoke to her said volumes about how she’d be thoroughly satisfied if she could let herself go once and for all and took what she desired.

“Tell me what you want,” Dean mumbled into the base of her neck.

Her mind froze mid-thought, her body roaring with a passion that she’d never known other than what she read in books or watched in her dirty videos. He took a deep breath as his tongue traced a wet line from her collarbone to her ear.

“What do you want?” he asked again. The raging fire between her thighs intensified and made her moan as Dean’s leg rubbed against her sensitive mound.

“I…I want…”

A loud buzzer sounded, and she leapt back from Dean, looking around for the sound’s source. Dean groaned loudly, his eyes snapping as his mouth pulled into a tight line. The loud annoying sound came again, and Dean strode to the door. He pressed the button by a speaker and spoke.

“Father O’Sullivan here.”

“Father O’Sullivan, I’m sorry to bother you, but we need you out at an accident. It’s not looking good, and the young man says he wants his last rites. I wouldn’t bother you at this hour if it weren’t life and death.”

Yasmine looked at the time and realized it was close to eleven.

“Yes, of course, Sheriff. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be down.” Dean released the little button and sighed. Wandering back over to where he’d left her, Dean tucked a piece of her wavy hair behind her ear.

“I’m sorry, but I must go.”

“I know. I should probably get going anyway.” Yasmine moved out of his hold and retrieved her coat.

“You could stay here if you like.”

“No, I think it’s best that I go. Maybe this was a sign, you know?” She nodded toward the cross on the wall. “Thank you for the lovely meal and the company.”

Giving Dean a small smile, she started to walk by him, but he grabbed her arm. Yasmine couldn’t stop herself from looking into the intense stare that she felt like drowning in.

“We’re not done with our conversation, my sweet Yasmine. You’ve made me cross a line twice now that I don’t want to come back from.”

He kissed her hard and fast, her head spinning. He marched out the door ahead of her, and she was left staring after him, her heart stuck in her throat.