Sinner (Priest, #2)

by Sierra Simone

What’s the rule again? Half my age, plus seven? Shit, she is definitely way too young for me.

Is this a common rule when dating out of your age brackets? Lol

“I like honesty,” she decides aloud. “Try the honest-guy thing.” “Hmm,” I muse, tapping my finger against my scotch glass. “Honest guy thing. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“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

“…and with every other part of my body.”

“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 if you like it deep and slow or fast and hard.”

“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 want to see if I can lick you through the fabric.” I lower my voice. “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 nose presses into you as I eat you out from the front…and from behind.”

“Okay. Honesty.” She takes a deep breath and then peers up at me. “I want you to kiss me.” “Right now?” “Right now,”

She looks confused. “Are you not going to kiss me? I thought—after all you said⁠—” “I want to kiss you very much. But right now can be as long as we want to make it, right? Maybe it’s the next ten minutes; maybe it’s the next twenty. However long it is, I don’t want to rush it. What if this is the only kiss I get to have from you for the rest of my life? I want to take my time. Savor it.”

“Please,” she murmurs prettily, and how did she suddenly get all the power here? How did she end up taking control and how did I end up trapped and feebly protesting?

bite at her ear, at her jaw, my hand finding hers as it pulls her skirt up, so that I’m helping her do it, that we’re doing it together, this forbidden act, this forbidden revelation. Her forbidden body.

“But see, then I saw you,”

plainly. “I saw you, and you were the first boy I ever wanted, Sean. When I was a little girl, I thought we’d get married; when I was old enough to have a real crush, I had a crush on you. When I was in high school, it was you that my body first wanted. And seeing you at the gala was like…like the answer to my prayers.”

I’m nothing but a beast, a man possessed with the need to fuck. So why is You were the answer to my prayers the last thing to run through my mind before I come?

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.

I let her find her own way, summon her own courage. Not out of laziness on my part, or even indulgent amusement (though I can’t deny how heady that feeling is on its own, indulgence, the state of wanting this girl to have whatever she wants, of letting her take it; I’m dangerously close to wanting her to take everything).

“Anything you like, darling.” I wouldn’t miss her exploring my body for the world. For seventy times seven worlds. And I am almost unbearably unworried about how infatuated I am with this girl—I’ve never felt like this about anyone else…but then again, I’ve never met someone like her before, so perhaps it’s not shocking. Perhaps I’d been programmed at birth only to want this one person, and there’s this tiny thing in my mind—not a thought, not even the seed of a thought, but like the frozen root of some dormant plant that might one day years from now drop a seed that can become a full-blown thought—that I can almost remember feeling this way about God once upon a time.

I’ve remembered what I already knew but had conveniently forgotten in the rose smell of her skin and the soft pout of her mouth, which is that I’ll never be able to compete with her god. With her mission and vocation. I’m losing my mind over her, but for Zenny, I’m merely a stop on the road to sainthood.

“Aiden? You still there?” He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is strangled. “Elijah’s sister?” “Yes.” “The nun?” How does he know about that when even I, Elijah’s best friend, didn’t? “It’s a long story,” I say.

Because him and Elijah are a thing

Zenny’s if this were real chafes at me. I’m starting to have the uncomfortable feeling that I’m in a Wakefield novel myself, that I’m the hapless hero or heroine who starts to fall in love even though I know better, even though I know that’s not the arrangement, even though I know I’ll have my heart broken. But I can’t stop. It’s like watching a tornado carve up a prairie field, like watching hail tear through leaves and roofs and dirt. It’s happening, and all I can do is take shelter.

“Are you saying you’re having doubts?” I ask, unable to quell the happy little spit of excitement kindling in my chest. “You can stop trying to prove your parents wrong and stop this nun thing and just marry me instead?” She shakes with laughter in my arms. She thinks I’m joking. Wait, I am joking, right?

Of course I’m only joking that I want to spend the rest of my life with the most beautiful, fascinating, sexy woman I’ve ever met. It’s all a joke. Ha ha ha. Hilarious. Oh my God, I’m so fucked.

I’m acutely, painfully aware that she’ll never be mine. She’ll always be God’s.

Her hair is a soft, dark halo, and with the light angled like this, her eyes shine like stars. A naked angel. My naked angel.

How did I get so fucking lucky? And how will I bear it when it ends?

“Once I fuck you,” I say, my voice kind and instructive like a teacher’s, “you’re going to start to feel an emptiness deep inside your cunt.” I press the blunt pad of my fingertip to her clit and rub at the swollen bud until she spreads her legs and bucks against me, like a needy little kitten. I slide my finger down, pleased to feel that she’s still so incredibly wet, and then I gently breach her entrance with my finger. “Here,” I explain, going deeper, pressing against her inner wall. “Right here, baby. It’s going to pout and whimper when it’s empty. And when your pussy gets wet and your clit begins to stiffen, you’ll feel this new hollowness too. You won’t just need pressure and friction. You’ll need fullness.”

she is just so beautiful like this, her head hanging between her shoulders, as if she’s overwhelmed with the pleasure, and with every lovely, firm line of her back and waist and ass available to view. Moving her pussy so well over the toy, and I’m so proud of her, and I tell her this. I tell her how brave she is for trying something new, and I tell her how much her trust means to me, how much I treasure it, how much I want to deserve it and deserve her. I tell her how beautiful she is, how good her ass and thighs look as she circles her cunt over the toy, how strong and how sweet she looks. And my words make her moan even more,

“There are no other women I care about like this,” I explain. “You’re the first, and frankly, given my age, I think you’ll probably be the only one.”

“You look like something out of a fucking painting. Like a princess. I can’t wait to do very un-princess-like things to you when we get home.” “A princess? Really?” she says, but I can tell she’s pleased. I nod, pressing into her belly and running my lips over the shell of her ear. “The kind of princess who ends up bent over a bed with her gown up over her waist while a prince kneels behind her and kisses her pretty cunt.” “Promises, promises,” she replies, her voice hitching with undisguised arousal.

“Honest-girl thing,” she says clearly. “Fun nervous. Please, for the actual, literal love of God, make love to me.” I don’t bother to correct her adorable sex phrasing—I didn’t know people actually still said the words make love—and she’ll see soon enough that I’m not the kind of man to whom words like that apply.

But you do love her

And I am shaking. I’m shaking because I need to fuck; I’m shaking because the woman I need to fuck is a woman I’m feeling uncontrollable things for; I’m shaking because I’m going to fuck a woman I’m in love with for the first time in my life. I’m shaking because—wait. Wait. Am I in love with Zenny?

It’s too soon, but I love her. She’s Elijah’s little sister and much too young for me, and she only wants me for sex, but I love her. And she’s going to leave me for her God, but I love her.

God, the fucking irony of a sinner loving a nun. It’s agony. I’m dying. And as I’m both alight and aflame with loving her, these splashes of thought keep coming out of nowhere, like raindrops on a sunny day.

The cross necklace sliding and jumping along her chest as I thrust. “Does this little nun need to be fucked?” I murmur to her. “She’s gone too long without it and now she has to have it?” “Yes,” she squeezes out, eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at me with eyes the color of treasure and earth. “Oh, yes, Sean—oh, oh⁠—” “I’ll fuck you anytime you want, little nun,” I say into her ear, my arms cradling her back and head as I drive into her down below, picking up the power and pace and letting her feel my strength. “Anytime you want.”

“Come inside me,” she says into my chest. “Come lots.” “Can’t,” I grunt. “Can’t.”

The thought makes me come even harder, like a primal caveman eager to spend inside a woman and plant his child there. But there will be no child, and there is no claiming. God claimed her first.

“I can’t do this,” she tells me, tears blurring her voice, shining on her face. “I’m not going to choose you, Sean. I can’t. It’s not the plan.” “Right,” I bite out bitterly. “Who am I compared with God?”

I understand that belief isn’t a coat to be put on and worn in all kinds of weather, even the blistering sun. Belief is this. Praying when you don’t feel like it, when you don’t know who or what is listening; it’s doing the actions with the trust that something about it matters. That something about it makes you more human, a better human, a human able to love and trust and hope in a world where those things are hard. That is belief. That is the point of prayer. Not logging a wish list inside a cosmic ledger, not bartering for transactional services. You do it for the change it works on you and on those around you; the point of it is…itself. Nothing more and nothing less.

And that I can see this, just this once, the woman I love hugging my mother like she’s family—I’m speechless with it. It’s a gift I never expected to have. It’s a miracle. Thank you.

Death, even surrounded by family, even with prayer and morphine working in tandem, is hard. There’re no do-overs; there’re no rehearsals.

I hope Mom is dancing between the raindrops now. I hope she’s somewhere laughing and dancing with God.

“Does this little nun need to be fucked?” I growl into her ear as I pin her against the wall. “Is that pretty pussy feeling empty already?”

“Quiet, darling. You don’t want everyone to know that you’re in here getting fucked in your pretty dress, do you?”

“You weren’t feeling good, were you?” I murmur, rubbing thoughtfully at her clit. “Put your leg over my shoulder, sweetheart. Sean’s going to make you feel all better now.” A noise comes out from under her palm—a noise that sounds a lot like oh God oh God—

“Sean,” she breathes around her fingers. “Oh, fuck. Sean.” She comes beautifully. Magnificently. A writhing, wet, gasping, happy little nun.

“I love you,” I tell her. “I’ll always love you.” “You’re not staying?” she asks, her lips trembling. “You won’t stay?” “I think I’ve been very patient, all things considering,” I say. “But watch you forswear your love for me and pledge your heart to another? Even if that other person is God? I can’t bear it, Zenny. I can’t do it.”

“I couldn’t tell you because I was terrified of feeding it…this fire inside my chest. But, oh, Sean, every time you said one of those things⁠—” “Things?” She waves a hand. “You know what I mean. Or whenever your voice would get low and rough, or whenever your eyes would get so big and open, like a sky after rain… Every time, I would feel that fire trying to burn and claw its way free. You do that to me. You tear me open and it was all I could do to hold on to the edges of my soul as you did. I loved you and I was scared, and if I had been honest…well.”

“Don’t lose your joy,” Zenny says, coming to a stop in front of me. “What?” I ask, totally at a loss. “It’s what your mom said to me before she died.” Zenny takes a deep breath, stepping forward. “She said we made joy in one another, that she could tell just from the way you’d talked about me.” “Zenny—”

“I even said it. I’m more myself when I’m with you. I got to the front of that aisle and I realized that I wasn’t more myself there, not like when I’m with you. I realized the walk down to the altar wasn’t going to be a walk of joy.”

“You give me joy, Sean. You give me the space to be strong and to be safe and loved and please say it isn’t too late, ple...

“I’ll make you every vow in the world in exchange, I promise. I’ll be everything for you.” “Everything is tempting,” she laughs under my kisses. “But I think Sean Bell is quite enough for one girl to handle all on his own.”