Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

It was time to confess. With a shaky hand, I reached up and rested my fingers against his steely jaw. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.” His breath left him. “I tried to seduce a priest.” I licked my lips, inches from his. “It was selfish. Vindictive. I want to go home and thought only of my needs, not once considering what would become of him if I succeeded.” “Is there anything else?” His voice dipped, gruffly sexy and thick with desire. “I cuss every day and masturbate every night.” “Tinsley…” He groaned. “I shouldn’t have said that last part, even if it’s true.” I sighed against his mouth, savoring his heat, his delicious dark scent. “I have a lot of sins, Father. I’m sorry for some of them.” “Only some?” “Not gonna lie.” “You rarely do.” The hand in my hair went slack, his fingers sliding downward to linger along my jawline, caressing. “You’re the most honest person I know. Except for maybe Crisanto.” “That’s sad.” “Not for me. For your penance, pray an Act of Contrition.” “Okay.” I swallowed my pride and held his gaze. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you…” I regurgitated the prayer from memory in a tone that lacked my typical mockery. If I could recite every prayer like this—with his hand on my face and his mouth close enough to kiss—I would do it without complaint. So I said the words slowly, drawing it out, never wanting it to end. He closed his eyes, listening with a serene expression, but the tension didn’t lea...

I’d spent an hour curling her hair, and it was starting to go limp. I reached up, fluffing and arranging the pretty ringlets around her face. “Quit it.” She knocked my hands away, putting a stop to that. But I didn’t miss the twitch in her lips. She secretly loved when I fussed over her. “When are you going to ask me what’s wrong with my face?” She folded her arms across her chest. Not this again. I sighed. “Never.” “Why not?” “Because there’s nothing wrong with your face. This is the problem.” I gripped her arms and dragged them down to her sides. “See? Less defensive. More approachable.” I stepped back and drank in the beautiful sight of her. “Holy shit, you’re hot. I kinda wish I was gay right now.” “You’re so annoying.” Her throat worked, and she averted her face. But she couldn’t hide the affection in her voice. “Go away.” “Oh no. You’re stuck with me.” I poked her in the ribs. “Best friends, remember?” That earned me a smile.

“Remove the towel. Show me your gorgeous body, and we’ll have a conversation about my past and our present.”

“Good girl.” I skimmed my fingers along her delicate, velvety slit, over and over, slipping deeper into the damp crease with each pass. “Tell me everything that’s breached this hole.” “Um…” Her hands curled into trembling fists on my shoulders. “Toys, fingers—” “Whose fingers?” I sank my own, just the tips, groaning at her tightness. “Mine. And a few others. Guys I don’t remember.” Jealousy flared, unreasonable and unnecessary. Those boys would never touch her again. “No tongues?” I asked. “No dicks?” “No. Just toys, fingers, and…that.” She gulped as I pressed the applicator inside her. Her hand shot out, finding a nearby shelf. “Holy fuck, Magnus. You’re ruining me for all other tampons.”

And there, on the floor of the church before the altar, Father Magnus Falke broke his vow of celibacy and took my virginity.

“God has forgiven you for the things you’ve done. You don’t need to continue this cycle of self-punishment.” He paused, breathing in and out. “You’re not meant to be a priest, Magnus. It was never your calling.”

“Does that make you feel better? Does calling a woman a bitch make you feel like a big, powerful man? Because you don’t sound like one. You sound like a spoiled little boy who didn’t get to put his fingers in the honey pot.”

“Thank you for coming here at such short notice.” Mr. Kensington ran a hand over his balding head, addressing the table. “The past day has been quite a whirlwind, as you can imagine. We’re just waiting on—” Footsteps sounded in the hall, drawing my attention to the door. Every head in the room turned as another man stepped inside. Crisp black suit, white shirt, black tie—he was dressed like everyone else in the boardroom. But I knew the body beneath those threads, every hair, blemish, indention, and ripple of muscle. I knew how he held me skin-to-skin, the pleasure of those hands on my prickling flesh, the texture of that thick brown hair falling across my abdomen as those lips—those perfect, chiseled lips—moved between my legs. I floated out of my body, lost in stupefied shock and not trusting my own eyes. I saw his gorgeous face, heard his familiar gait, but he might as well have been an illusion. My brain couldn’t process the image of Magnus Falke in a suit, in a boardroom, standing among my family. Where was his clerical collar? Why was he here? Why did no one in the room look surprised to see him? My mother barely glanced at him. His gaze flicked to me, lingering long enough to shred my insides before skipping away to greet everyone else. My heart raced as I turned, desperately searching Perry’s relaxed expression. What’s happening? I wordlessly begged him. Help me understand. He leaned in and whispered, “You’re looking at the new owner of Kensington Hotels.”

I met Magnus’s eyes—When will my heart stop skipping at the sight of him?—and asked, “Are you still a priest?” “I officially left the priesthood one month ago. But you and I both know I left long before that.” A thrill ran through me, and I looked around the room, taking in all the expectant expressions. “Everyone knew about this but me?” “I told your siblings last night.” My mother cocked her head. “They know your history with Magnus.” “Why wasn’t I told?” “Magnus requested we wait until today.” And she listened to him? What world was this? I turned, drinking in the magnetic glow of his deep blue eyes. He regarded me so profoundly, so unnervingly focused on my every twitch. And therein was my answer. He wanted to see my expression when I learned about the new contract. He wanted to be certain that I approved of this. That I loved him. “Are you asking me to marry you?” I tapped the signature line, my pulse quickening. “No, Miss Constantine.” He held out his pen. “I’m demanding it.” The throb of my heart became a full-body thud-thud-thud as everything inside me resurrected with energy and life. “You’re lucky I’m into the bossy thing.” I accepted the pen, the words blurring through tears while I signed. He signed after me. “It’s done.”

“Forgive me, Father,” I gasped against his mouth, “for I have sinned.” His fingers slipped beneath my panties and found me wet. I moaned. “It’s been six months since my last confession.” “Tell me.” He licked my tongue as his hand glided along my drenched heat. “I’ve had my fingers in my pussy for six months while fantasizing about my favorite priest.” A long, deep groan resounded in his chest. “Killing me.” “What’s my penance?” “A lifetime with me.” “Fine. I’ll stay with you for an eternity and not a day more.”

He gave me the teacher and the priest, the sinner and the sadist, the greatest of lovers and the staunch protector. Our bond was eternal, and that was the grand prize, the best gift this universe had to offer. He was my freedom. My journey. My destination. My one great passion. My choice. My love. My lessons in sin.