The Kept

“Shelly, so good to meet you. If you’ve made it this far, you are impressive to be sure. Edna does not suffer fools gladly. Or non-gladly for that matter.” He took both of my hand in his and I felt electricity shoot from my hands to my pussy. I shifted and squeezed my thighs together. It was not good to lust in a church, let alone lust after the man. The head honcho. The Father.

I was blushing. My cheeks were hot, and I swallowed. “Nice to meet you too, Father.”

“Joseph, please.”

“Oh no,” I yelped. “I couldn’t.”

“You won’t burn in hell for it,” he said, still holding my hands. The electrical current zigged and zagged under my skin and, on top of the attraction, I felt a skitter of magic in the mix. The Father was magical. Not just magical; he had practiced magic. Shocking.

“Father Joseph it will have to be,” I said firmly. “My mother would have my head if I called you anything else.”

“And you are here to escape,” he said softly. When he looked at me warmth spread over my skin like warm honey.

Strike first impression. Father was not just magical. Father was magical and a bit psychic. Peeking in my head. No fair.

“What did he do?” He gazed out the window and my gaze followed. Together we watched a murder of crows gathered in the cemetery. A particularly large one landed on a stained, stone angel. I swore it was staring at me.

“He was unfaithful,” I said softly. I was talking to the crow. Or that’s how I felt. It was so silent in his office, like a small womb in the large stone building.

“And you can’t share?”