Can you imagine?
Sean Bell, philanthropist?
But it’s no less likely than Sean Bell, husband.
Or Sean Bell, father.
And all of those things are blessedly, happily true.
As for Zenny—my sweet little wife is halfway through her Nurse-Midwifery degree. She’ll still anchor the shelter’s birth center when both she and it are ready, and I’m going to give her the best birth center known to man. I’m going to give her the best of everything, always, until the day I die. (Longer, if I can help it. That’s what good estate planning will do for you.)
Zenny divests herself of those tempting shorts and her tank top, and climbs back onto my lap, kissing my neck and rubbing against me, naked and soft and curved. Unable to take it any longer, I fist my hands in her hair and use my other hand to probe at her tight folds until the head of my sex is firmly lodged inside. She impales herself on me with no prompting, no coaching, simply seeking out the friction and the fullness and rocking herself to an orgasm, oblivious to me.
Some men might object, but I’ve got no complaints about being my pregnant wife’s sex toy. Instead, I lean back in my chair and play lazily with her plumped breasts as she fucks me.
“So good,” I croon in praise to her. “You ride me so good. Does that feel nice? Is that what you need?”
Her eyes closed and her throat working, she nods, her hips grinding against me, and I feel the moment she comes, I feel it clench and milk at my cock, and I also feel her ripened womb going tight under my fingers. It’s fucking heaven to feel, like a secret finally made visible. I trace fascinated circles over the contracting muscles and over the new dark line stretching from her sternum to her pussy. I let her take all the time she needs, I let her slowly unwind into shivering, deep satisfaction and I smile as she curls into a worn-out slump against my chest.
“All better?” I murmur, rubbing at the sudden goose bumps erupting all over her back.
“For now,” she says contentedly. “I might need you again in an hour.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight as I stroke the hard part of me inside the soft part of her. It doesn’t take long—not like this, with her so warm and curvy and ripe—until I’m pulsing my wet heat into her. My breath is a series of fierce grunts and my stomach and thighs are rock-hard tensed in tandem, flexing and pushing all the cum out, out, out of me, until I’m completely drained and relaxed.
“Do we have to get back to work?” she asks drowsily, her head on my shoulder. “I just want to stay like this forever.”
“We can do whatever you like, Zenny-bug. Just say the word.”
“Whatever I like?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Honest guy thing?”
“Honest guy thing.”
She makes a happy noise and burrows closer to me, and I cradle her for as long as she lets me, holding our unborn baby between us and reflecting on a very different Sean Bell from once upon a time. A Sean Bell who wanted money and power and sex, who was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get it. Now he runs a nonprofit from a dingy office next to Tires, Tires, Tires, and he couldn’t be happier. And it’s all because of the angel in his lap, his little nun, his little Zenny-bug.
It’s because of her, every bit of it.
Pray for us sinners, the prayer goes, and dammit if someone didn’t pray for me and scoop me up into a life of joy and giving. Dammit if I haven’t been circled with love by the most extraordinary people I’ll ever have the honor to know. The least I can do is say hail back.
Hail Elijah. Hail Reverend Mother. Hail Tyler, Aiden, Ryan, and Dad.
Hail Mom.
Hail Zenny, the Lord is with thee.
Pray for us sinners.
Amen.
Want more?
Want More of Those Filthy Bell Boys?
Check out Priest, Tyler Bell’s story!
There are many rules a priest can't break. A priest cannot marry. A priest cannot abandon his flock. A priest cannot forsake his God.
I've always been good at following rules.
Until she came. Then I learned new rules.
My name is Tyler Anselm Bell. I'm twenty-nine years old. Six months ago, I broke my vow of celibacy on the altar of my own church, and God help me, I would do it again.
I am a priest and this is my confession.
Read the USA Today Bestseller that started it all!
Author’s Note
Well, here we are again, dear reader, at the nexus of God and sex. I didn’t want to leave you without clearing up a couple things.
The Servants of the Good Shepherd are a fictitious order, although there are orders throughout the world with similar names. The practices and missions you see in these pages are cobbled together from various monastic groups; every group has its own rules regarding habits, solitude, service and vows, and the rules I gathered together for SotGS of Kansas City, I stole with an author’s eye. That is to say that everything Zenny does and encounters is real somewhere, but like the magpie I am, I shamelessly stitched together the things I found the most pageworthy. For further reading about the lives of modern American nuns, I cannot recommend highly enough Unveiled: The Hidden Lives of Nuns by Cheryl L. Reed. And when it comes to Christianity at large, Wearing God by Lauren F. Winner as well as an old favorite, Unprotected Texts by Jennifer Wright Knust, were huge influences in my composition of Zenny’s faith and Sean’s journey back to it.
Sean’s mother dies in very similar circumstances to my own mother’s death in 2014—that being said, my knowledge of medical practice is as limited as you might imagine a full-time writer’s would be, and I take full responsibility for any places where my memory and research fall short. I have to credit a few books for helping me grapple with the stark reality of ICU death and what comes after—Modern Death by Haider Warraich, Cancer: The Emperor of All Maladies by Siddhartha Mukherjee, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty, and Being Mortal by Atul Gawande.
The Wakefield Saga, alas, is not real, although you might recognize the Wakefield name from one of my childhood pleasures, the Sweet Valley High series.
The Maison De Naissance is real, however, and amazing and beautiful and an excellent reminder of hope and hard work in our world, which too often seems filled with pain.
Thank you, reader, for walking down this path with me. I threw God, sex, death, belief and unbelief at you, and while I know perspectives on those things differ wildly for every person, I’m grateful you were willing to see what they looked like for Sean. I would promise to start taking it easier on those Bell brothers, but, well, we all know how untrustworthy I am when it comes to being nice to my characters…
Acknowledgments
Sinner is the kind of book that needed multiple midwives and doulas in order to be born.
My critique partners: Laurelin Paige, who gets me, who gives me unwavering encouragement, who told me on a dark November day in 2014 that if I couldn’t believe in heaven that she’d believe in it enough for the both of us. Kayti McGee, who is strangely resistant to my sullen sarcasm and is willing to talk plot at the drop of a hat. Melanie Harlow, who is the prettiest, gin-iest beacon of support a girl could ask for.
My betas: Nana Malone, Tijuana Turner, Olive Teagan, Dylan Allen, Syreeta Jennings, Amie Moore, Jana Aston and Kennedy Ryan. There’s absolutely no way I could have worked to form and refine Zenny and Sean’s relationship without your insight and there are no words to convey how much I appreciate your help! Especially Nana Malone, who spent hours on the phone with me, and doubled as a writing coach as well as a beta…as well as my confessor for all the times it got hard.
My Ashley Lindemann, who is also my wizard, my ENFJ, my ride or die. No book has ever gotten written without her, since book number one to Sinner, and I’ll owe her everything, always. To Melissa Gaston, Serena McDonald, and Candi Kane, who tend to the fires while I go off and dance—every word I write is because you help me, thank you.
M
y Julie Murphy, my INTJ Unseelie faerie queen, who claps at darkness and functions as my second brain. My Natalie and my Tess, who somehow still like me after all these years of stealing their beer and keeping them up late.
To Rebecca Friedman, my agent and unflagging champion. There’s no book that doesn’t bear the mark of your support and love and advice. To Flavia Viotti and Meire Dias of Bookcase Literary, who spread my words everywhere, thank you, thank you.
To Nancy Smay, my very patient editor, and Erica Russikoff and Michele Ficht, my very patient proofers. I’m sorry I make your search histories so…interesting.
To Vitaly Dorokhov, who made an amazing cover image, and to Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs, who was more than gorgeously accommodating when I popped up out of nowhere to beg for a cover. This cover is more than I ever could have hoped for!
To all the other authors I’m lucky enough to count as friends: Jade West, CD Reiss, Becca Mysoor, Robin Murphy, Sarah MacLean, Zoraida Cordova, Amy Daws, Sara Ney, Tamsen Parker, Lena Hart, Ellie Cahill, Ruth Clampett, Liv Morris, Aly Martinez, Willow Winters, Ilsa Madden-Mills, Tia Louise, Nikki Sloane, Karla Sorenson, Kandi Steiner, Kyla Linde, Meghan March, Katana Collins, Jessica Hawkins, Stacy Kestwick, Penelope Reid, Giana Darling, Staci Brillhart, Gretchen McNeil, Megan Bannen, Jean Siska, Lex Martin, and Louise Bay. It takes a village and I wouldn’t have made it through the dim months of winter without your love and pms and retreat toasts!
To all the bloggers on Facebook and Instagram—there’s nothing I can do or say to express how much your energy and love mean to me. Thank you!
And to all of my readers—thank you, thank you, for being willing to put up with all the crazy, unexpected rides I put you through. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means that you’ll roll with whatever perverted story I’m in the mood to tell.
Let’s sin together always.
Also by Sierra Simone
Thornchapel:
A Lesson in Thorns
Feast of Sparks
Harvest of Sighs
Door of Bruises
Misadventures:
Misadventures with a Professor
Misadventures of a Curvy Girl
Misadventures in Blue
The New Camelot Trilogy:
American Queen
American Prince
American King
The Moon (Merlin’s Novella)
The Priest Series:
Priest
Midnight Mass: A Priest Novella
Sinner
Co-Written with Laurelin Paige
Porn Star
Hot Cop
The Markham Hall Series:
The Awakening of Ivy Leavold
The Education of Ivy Leavold
The Punishment of Ivy Leavold
The Reclaiming of Ivy Leavold
The London Lovers:
The Seduction of Molly O’Flaherty
The Persuasion of Molly O’Flaherty
The Wedding of Molly O’Flaherty
About the Author
Sierra Simone is a USA Today bestselling former librarian who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk. She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City.
Sign up for her newsletter to be notified of releases, books going on sale, events, and other news!
www.thesierrasimone.com
[email protected]
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