Sinner (Priest, #2)

by Sierra Simone

There’s a moment when I think it’s coming, the inevitable asshole, the moment she tells me to stop. She doesn’t need some white guy playing Daddy with her; she definitely doesn’t need someone treating her like she’s not capable of caring for herself. But Carolyn Bell was a social worker until her cancer diagnosis, one Bell brother was a priest, another Bell brother burns a candle at both ends like his wick will never run out. I’ve seen what happens to busy people, and I know it’s much, much easier to justify losing a night’s worth of sleep for the cause than it is to justify taking ten minutes to make a sandwich. The most selfless people, the most driven people, they need permission to take care of themselves; they need someone who will put them first because they won’t do it for themselves. The word asshole never leaves her lips. Her eyes flash with irritation, then they shimmer into some internal struggle that leaves her lower lip trapped between her teeth and her hand hovering over her fork. After a short silence, she picks up the fork and takes a bite. And another. And another, until her plate is clear. I watch her the entire time, stretching out in my chair and thrilling in this new feeling that’s a potent mixture of desire and a caveman-like satisfaction at tending to someone’s needs. The combination of seeing her eat the food I provided and the promise of all that smooth skin slowly pebbling into goose bumps. She pushes her plate back and sets down her fork, giving ...