“I would do more than describe sex, Catherine,” he said in a low voice. “I want to show you. I want to make love to you.”
“But…I can’t. Don’t you see?”
“You’re a nun. I know.” He looked out the windshield, appearing to be a man searching for answers.
“Not because I’m a nun, Jordan.” Holy Father, I’m sorry! “Because I don’t want to be like Emma.” Shame filled her cheeks with heat, but he had to know, she had to tell him how much she felt for him.
Instead of asking what she meant—he probably knew all about Emma, probably the whole town did—he asked something she didn’t expect.
“Why have you started calling your mother by her first name?”
This was too hard. She wanted to go inside and be done worrying about things she should release into the Lord’s care. Jordan tightened his grip and wouldn’t let her go. “It’s easier to think of her that way since finding out the woman she was.”
“What kind of woman was she?”
She found the courage from somewhere to face him. Only the moon gave her the light to see his expression. Questioning, curious. Kind. “She–she had relations with men. Two men, the whole time she lived here. She sent me away so she wouldn’t have to bother with a child while she served two men. I prefer not to think of her as my mother.”
His lips curved up in a slight smile. “Aren’t you supposed to forgive people and pray for their souls?”
“I prayed for her health and well-being almost my whole life. I was told she was too ill to care for me. She was too ill to have me come home on vacations, to come and visit me there. Too ill to write letters or say she loved me. And all the time she was really too sick of having a child around while she and her lovers—”
She couldn’t say more. She turned away, looking through the window. Again she pulled on her hand. Again Jordan kept her from escaping. Several minutes went by where the only sound was the surf from outside the car and their breathing within.
“People do things for various reasons. Often they aren’t apparent to others, but to them they are crystal clear. For instance, why did you become a nun?”
Once more he switched the subject to something she didn’t expect. “Because…I don’t know. It felt right. I felt a place of community.”
“Now to me, that makes some sense. But why didn’t you try to find a home—a community—outside the convent? Why didn’t you take a train back here when you graduated and face your mother’s illness?”
“I thought…Mother Superior told me it would be best not to disturb her, that she might not be able to handle a visit.”
“I wish you had come home, Catherine. I wish you had been here when I returned from law school and we had found each other then. Because when we make love—and we will make love—then you wouldn’t have the regrets of lost time or the guilt of doing something you want and thinking you shouldn’t want it.”
“How do you know I want it?” she asked quietly.
“By the passion you put in your kiss.”
He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. It struck a chord between her legs, and her breath hitched.
“Will you do me a favor?” he asked.
“I–I’m not sure.”
“It’s easy,” he said. “I want to see your hair.”
“My hair!” He thought it was easy to reveal such an intimate thing? Hair was considered the height of a woman’s vanity. No one had seen her hair since she took the veil except other nuns who cut it at routine intervals. No one was supposed to see it until they prepared her for her coffin. But for Jordan, she would do most anything.
With shaking fingers, she unpinned the black veil that extended from the top front of her head to her waist. Her wimple came next, the edges pulled out from under her starched white collar. She folded it in her lap and then stared at her hands, folded atop it.
“Is it so hard?” Jordan asked. “Don’t do it if it’s too hard.”
She cast him a glance. He had no way of knowing, but this was a commitment on her part. A piece of herself she had shared with no one. It meant so much more than he could understand.
Without speaking, she reached under her chin to untie the coif, the simple white cap that covered her head. Slowly she tugged it off, placing it over the wimple. She hung her head low and closed her eyes, waiting for Jordan’s judgment.
“Catherine.” He whispered her name. A shiver ran down her back. “Catherine, look at me. Please.”
She raised her head but didn’t open her eyes. Then his fingers feathered her hair, finding their way through her short lengths from the sides of her head to the back. Once there they guided her to him, and then she didn’t need to open her eyes because his mouth was on hers and the world dropped away to nothing beyond his hands tangled in her strands and his tongue explored the depths of her mouth.
Tears escaped her clenched eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She felt naked before him though she was still covered from head to toe. With the exposure of her hair, she had revealed her soul. The rest would be only her body. And now she knew—she knew—that opening herself to Jordan the rest of the way was a matter of destiny.
Yes, she was becoming her mother, but she didn’t have the presence of mind to regret it.
* * * *
Jordan didn’t know what was happening to him. His heart pounded and his breath was all but gone. And all he’d done was kiss Catherine. “Shall I come in and check the house for you? It’s awfully dark.”
She smiled. Sadly? Impossible to tell. He used his fingers to brush her hair back from her brow. A medium brown, all of it about mid-ear length, there wasn’t much of it. Flattened from the cap she took off last, it held no bounce or height, but the texture was so soft he couldn’t help but touch it. He couldn’t wait to see it in the light.
“It’s late.”
“It’s early, really.” He checked his watch. “Not even midnight.”
“I rise at four o’clock for prayers. Or…” She bit her lip and gazed up at him. He kissed her lightly. “I should get up for prayers. I’ve slept through half the time I’ve been here.”
“If I was here with you, I’d wake you up for prayers.” He said it knowing she would turn him down yet hoping she would take him up on it.
“Are you sure you would wake me in time?”
His heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t mean it. “I promise to wake you at four o’clock.” And one o’clock, and two, and three. That is, if he let her sleep at all. His cock already pressed against his trousers, demanding freedom.
She ducked her head. Had her hands not been full of her headgear, he had no doubt she would have hidden them within her habit. “Then I think perhaps you should stay,” she said so quietly he barely heard.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to look me in the eyes and tell me to stay. I can’t hear otherwise.” That was a bit harsh, but he wanted to be sure she wanted him to be with her for the night. He needed to know that she didn’t feel coerced.
With a breath he felt shudder through her, she stared into his eyes. “I would like you to stay the night, Jordan.”
“And I would love to spend the night with you, Catherine.” He opened the front door and ushered her in.
He’d slept with more women than he should have over the years. A few he’d even cared for, though he’d never come close to thinking he loved anyone. But of all the beds he’d spent the night in, he had wanted to be in none of them as much as this one nor wanted to love a woman like he did Catherine. Nun or no nun, this was but the first of many nights with the woman he wanted to brand as his own.
* * * *
The car had come down the road after eleven o’clock, and Tipton knew it was Parnell and Catherine. That bastard! The punk kid had the nerve to push him out of Catherine’s house, the very house he had helped buy, furnish, and support. Emma had spread her legs plenty to pay him and Leo back, but she was nothing compared to the prize who occupied the house now. And Jordan Parnell so
ught to push him out.
He sat within the comfort of his Cadillac, hidden behind scrub bushes across the road from the cottage lane, right where he’d been for hours, waiting for them to come home. He watched them roll down the lane and come to a stop in the yard. Then they sat and sat. Doing what? For all he could see, they could be fucking the leather off Parnell’s seats.
Then he exited and came to help her out. They walked to the house and out of sight, but Tipton straightened up and stared, unbelieving. Her head was bare! The fucker had gotten her to show a secret part of herself. If Parnell got to her before he himself did, there’d be hell to pay.
He waited for Parnell to go back to the car. And waited. Then the light in the bedroom window reflected onto the yard and Parnell’s empty car, and Tipton knew he’d been had. That kid would take the nun’s virginity, and he’d be left with…what? Seconds.
Brendan Tipton never settled for seconds. He started the Caddy and pulled out from behind the bushes onto the road. He had plans to make.
Chapter Sixteen
In the bedroom, she flipped the light switch. Jordan remained downstairs, allowing her—no, making her—take time to think things through. He said he would agree to whatever she decided.
With each step she prayed that she was doing the right thing. None of her experience gave her guidance in whether what she felt was love, but it was something. Something that made her stronger, more confident.
Emma had said in her journal that she wished Catherine could have known what it was like having a man hold her, having a man make love to her. Since Jordan, she wanted it for herself.
What if…what if he doesn’t love me? What if he leaves me as soon as he’s had his fill? What if he leaves me with a baby?
What if, what if, what if…? She would go crazy if she continued this way.
Entering the bathroom, she came face-to-face with herself in the mirror over the sink. She had thought to cover it so she wouldn’t be tempted to observe herself, but now she looked. Her face reflected back with paleness that nearly rivaled her collar. Short brown hair, shiny under the harsh bathroom bulb but unruly and wavy, hung over the tips of her ears on the sides and to the bottoms of her ears in back. Her lips were too full. Mother Superior had been right—right about everything. She was plain, with nothing to recommend her, especially to a man.
“Catherine?”
She shut her eyes. Oh Lord, Jordan is wondering what I’m thinking, what’s taking so long. What should I do, Father? Please give me a sign.
Inexplicably, her collar fell to the floor.
“How…?”
It tied in back. Jordan must have loosened it when he caressed her neck. She felt his hand there on her nape, even now. Was this the sign she had asked for? The collar—a part of her habit—had fallen away. Maybe the rest should, too.
Margaret Mary walked to the top of the stairwell. “Jordan, you may come up.” Nerves struck. “If you still want to, I mean.” Relief flooded her when his tread sounded on the stair.
She retreated once more to the bathroom, this time closing the door. After a great deal of lip biting and trying to make her riotous emotions come under control, she took the road in life she wanted, instead of the road duty called her to. And prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. Then, with shaky hands and stiff fingers, she took great care removing her habit, folding each piece and setting it aside as though it was the last time she would be wearing it.
“It is the last time,” she murmured. “The last time I shall wear the veil as the bride of Christ, chaste and virtuous.” From now on, she would be a fraud in a costume instead of wearing clothing that had defined her life.
Of course, she would have to wear it again. She would be expected to attend Mass and, for that reason, had to don the habit. But she would know the ruse, and she would pay the price eventually. “But not tonight, dear Lord. Please not tonight, after this amazing day.”
Pulling on her robe, she turned out the bathroom light and emerged into the hall. Jordan stood just inside the bedroom. He had turned out the bright overhead light and left on only one near the bed. The room was dim and inviting. Or it would have been inviting had she not stood there clad only in a thin cotton robe and shivering with nerves.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. Slowly she obeyed. “You might not believe this, but I think I have some idea of how nervous you are.”
“But, how can you?”
“Everyone has a first time.” He ran his hands up and down her arms until he rubbed the tension away and she leaned into him.
“We’re going to take our time,” he continued. “Anything you feel uncomfortable about, I’ll stop.”
She had to laugh. “Anything I feel uncomfortable about? There hasn’t been a thing since I stepped off the train that I do feel comfortable about.” She stepped back and looked into his eyes. “Except you.” She shrugged her shoulders and the robe fell off, forming a puddle on the floor at her feet. Immediately, she ducked her head and automatically reached for her rosary. The beads she had received as a postulate were now on top of the pile of clothing in the bathroom, rejected and left behind. Panic swelled inside. What am I doing?
“I love you, Catherine. You’re the most beautiful woman God ever created.”
Nothing could have made her stand there, exposed to a man for the first time, except words such as those.
“I’m old. I can’t imagine that I’m beautiful.” Tension made her shoulders ache and her stomach cramp.
“You are, trust me. And you can’t be more than thirty-two. That is not old. You can still do anything you want.” He stepped closer and skimmed her bare shoulders. She trembled under his touch. “You can still have children.”
Another wave of alarm rolled through her. “Jordan, can you ensure…I mean, is there a way to make sure I don’t—”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered as though calming a frightened animal, which was just how she felt. “I’ll take care of it.” He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
“Do you want to watch me undress, or shall I turn out this light?”
Feeling like a coward, she nonetheless said, “Please, without light.”
He obliged. “That’s all right. This time we’ll get to know each other by touch.”
Margaret Mary hadn’t been this nervous since…since ever. She thought she might be sick. Truly. She needed to get off the bed and into the bathroom before she disgraced herself.
Then Jordan pulled back the covers and slid in beside her. Oh, Lord help me!
He put his arm under her head and used his other hand to tug her closer. “I’m going to kiss you. Just kiss you, like we already did.”
Mute, she nodded. But this time when he kissed her and held her against him, they were skin to skin. Her breasts pressed his chest, her stomach glided over his, her legs stretched out along the same path as his.
Something hard and long lay against her leg. When Jordan sensually sent his tongue into her mouth she remembered what he’d said before, that his tongue mimicked his penis, which must be that thing that rubbed her when he flexed his hips.
Now he thrust his tongue in and out. Her senses muddled, she sucked at it to keep it in. He stroked her hair and ran his hands down her back. Tentatively, she reached up and did the same, stroking his head and rubbing her hand along his jaw to his neck. Then she continued down, lightly skimming his chest, stopping for a moment at his nipple. Farther, his side led to a barely flaring hip where his bone was prominent. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was fit and lean.
Margaret Mary held her hand there, not daring to move on. Jordan raised his head and concentrated his kisses along her jaw and up to her ear. A kiss was a kiss, right? No, these sent a new thrill through her. When he took the fleshy part of her earlobe between his teeth and bit down lightly, she wanted to cry out with desire. At the same time, he placed his hand atop hers and guided it down his thigh and onto that great thick rod t
hat prodded her thigh.
“This is what goes into a woman when she makes love with a man. If you still want me, I’ll cover it so you’ll be protected. Then we’ll come together through your vagina.”
She tried to wrap her hand around it and could just do it. “This can’t fit inside me.”
“It will, sweetheart, I promise.”
“Will it hurt?” She felt like a child, frightened of the unknown, and for the first time, she thought of a consequence other than pregnancy or being left on her own, emotionally tied to Jordan.
“I understand it will hurt the first time. But I’ll do my best to make it good for you. And when it’s good, it’s very, very good.” He moved down in the bed, effectively sliding his penis out of reach. “I want to control myself, and I won’t be able to much longer if you keep stroking me that way. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
He dipped his head and took the nipple of one breast into his mouth. His tongue swirling around the hard tip sent her into mindless bliss. Can it get better than this?
Then he slid down farther, dropping kisses across her stomach and to the curly hair at the top of her pubis. She stopped breathing when he crawled between her legs and used his shoulders to open her to his mouth.
She gripped the sheets, unable to breathe or move or speak. He lapped at her, sinking his tongue into her vagina and licking her clitoris, two places the nuns warned that the devil loved to tempt women. Postulants were all told not to touch themselves for fear of following Satan to hell. If Jordan was Satan, she would follow him gladly to continue the sensations he engendered.
Suddenly, her very sense of being splintered into a million pieces. She lurched up off the bed, her body begging him to take more of her into his mouth, to swallow her whole. She called out to God, though prayer was the farthest thing from her mind. Can it get better than this?
Before she came back to her sane mind, Jordan moved up between her legs. “Catherine, do you want me? Do you want to make love with me? Say it out loud, sweetheart.”
Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 10
