Sinner (Priest, #2)

by Sierra Simone

That’s when you rule the world. I’m not a good man, and I’ve never pretended to be. I don’t believe in goodness or God or any happy ending that isn’t paid for in advance. What do I believe in? Money. Sex. Macallan 18. They have words for men like me—playboy. Womanizer. Skirt chaser. My brother used to be a priest, and he only has one word for me. Sinner.

Armani tuxedo, Berluti shoes, Burberry watch. Blue eyes, blond hair, a mouth a little too wickedly wide. Yeah, I know I look good as I step out of my Audi R8 and walk into the hospital benefit.

I’m a sinner with a dimpled smile and perfect hair, and I know how to make sin feel like heaven.

I wish that there could be one shower, one meeting, one fuckfest with a gorgeous woman when I didn’t need to have my phone close by and my ringer turned up in case of an emergency. I wish that I could just be happy that I landed this Keegan deal, that I have obscene amounts of money and a sleek new penthouse, and a nice body and an even nicer dick and hair that does a thing. But it turns out there are some things money and great hair can’t fix. Surprise.

Whatever the reason, I’m grateful for the moment of solitude before I head back into the victory lap, and I suck in one final grass-scented breath before I go inside, and that’s when I see her. It’s the dress I see first, actually, a glimpse of red, shivering silk, a flicker of a hemline dancing in the breeze. It’s like a red cape waved in front of a bull; within seconds, I’m Sean Bell again, victory lap and all, and I reverse direction, following the seductive glint of red silk until I find the woman it belongs to. She’s facing away from the glass and the milling rich people on the other side of it, leaning against one of the massive cables anchoring the top of the building to the terrace. The breeze plays with the silk along her body, ruffling the skirt and painting mouthwatering outlines of her waist and hips, and the city lights gleam along the warm brown skin of her exposed arms and back. I follow the groove of her spine down to where her dress sweeps over the swell of her ass and then back up to the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, which are crisscrossed by thin red straps. She turns at my footsteps, and I almost stop walking because fuck, she’s pretty, and double fuck, she’s young. Not like jail young—but maybe college young. Too young for a thirty-six-year-old man, certainly. And yet I don’t stop walking. I take a spot leaning against the thick anchor cable next to her and put my hands in my pockets, and when I look at her, both our faces are completely illum...

She turns her head even more, the ends of her curls kissing her bare shoulders as she does, and suddenly all I want to do is kiss her bare shoulders myself, brush her hair aside and kiss along her collarbone until she whimpers.

God, her voice. Sweet and alto, with just the tiniest bit of husk to the edge of her words.

Fuck. I don’t want to spook her—but then again, I don’t know that what I do want to do is that much better. She’s so young, too young to invite back to my place, too young to pull up into a hidden balcony so I can drop to my knees and find out how she tastes… God, I should walk away. Stick to my usual buffet of socialites and strippers. But even though I straighten up to go, I can’t actually make my body move away from her. Those copper-tinted eyes. That luscious mouth. It wouldn’t hurt just to talk, right?

Her smile is so big I can see it around her hand, and oh my God, I want to lick my way down her stomach and look up to see that smile while I’m kissing between her legs.

Her smile slips a little and she drops her hand to her waist, where she runs abstracted lines along the silk.

“I just turned twenty-one last week.”

That smile again. Christ. I could watch that mouth move from a scrumptious little moue to a giant smile and back again for the rest of my life.

What is wrong with me? One pretty twenty-one-year-old and my victory lap has turned into a hike through eager newbie territory. And I’m anything but a newbie. But still, my heart is pounding fast and my cock is stirring against my pants as I go get this woman a drink. Even though she’s too young. Even though I don’t know her. Even though she laughed at me. I kind of like that she laughed at me, actually. Usually I’m taken very, very seriously—in bed and out of it—and I’m surprised at how good it feels to have to work for this girl’s admiration. That’s it, I decide. That’s what I want: to win her over the tiniest bit. Maybe it would be wrong to take her home, but if I can make her leave tonight wishing I would’ve taken her home, that will be enough for me. Enough to scratch the itch.

She takes the gin from me, taking a careful sip, then making a face.

“Is there any gin in this?”

“You’re y...

I say a bit defe...

“Your tolerance ...

“Are you this protective of every wom...

she ...

“Or am I sp...

“You’re definitely ...

I deliver the line with all the charm and panache I’ve collected over the years, throwing in the dimple for good measure, and t...

I take her hand in mine to shake it, and it’s warm and soft. I let my fingertips graze against the pulse point on her wrist as I end the handshake, and I’m gratified to see a small shiver move through her.

“I think you’re more than pretty. I think you’re fucking gorgeous, and you’re not impressed by me, which makes me want to work very, very hard to impress you. I want to impress you with my mouth…”

I take a step toward her, my hands safely in my pockets, so she sees I’m not going to touch her.

“…and impress you with my...

Another step forward, and she lifts her face up to see mine better, her mouth parted and her eyes wide and blinking. I can see the vulnerable place where her pulse thrums in her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her ch...

“…and with every other part o...

We’re so close now that my shoes brush against the hem of her dress, and I keep the distance just as it is—no touching, no pressing, no grinding, just my wor...

“And I do want to get to know you better. I want to know if you scream or if you moan when you come; I want to know if you prefer my mouth or my hands; I want to know i...

She swallows, her eyes searching mine in fast...

“And right now I can see the V between your thighs under that dress, and all I want to do is press my cock against it. I want to see if you’re sensitive enough that I can get you off through the silk...

I lower my...

“I want to taste you. I want to taste you so badly that I’m hard just thinking about it. I want to see how your little pussy unfurls when I part it with my fingers. I want to know if your clit gets hard and plump when I suck on it. I want you to feel the place my n...

Her eyes are huge now, copper-brown rings around massi...

“You can…you can ...

I cock my head a littl...

“Do w...

Her feet do a little shuffle as sh...

“The, um. The eating. Fro...

Jesus. She’s young, but surely not that young? Twenty-one is more than old enough to have found at least one boy who’s decent in bed. And oh God, what does it say about me that this sudden revelation of innocence is such a fucking turn-on? That she doesn’t know…that I could be the first to show her… My cock is pushing against the placket of my zipper like it’s ready to burst the seams, and my skin feels hot and achy and tight. And my tongue is desperate for the satin texture of her secret place, for the hidden taste of her, and I run it al...

“...

I say hu...

“Yes, you can d...

“I,...

she says, and even in the indirect light, I can see a new rosy hue blossoming underneath ...

“I didn’t...

I can show you, I want to say. Let me take you up to a deserted balcony. Let me show you how to brace your hands on the railing and present your ass to me. Let me show you exactly how a man uses his mouth on a woman from behind. I don’t say that though. Instead, I lower my head ev...

“Your ...