by Pam Godwin
He slowly rose, letting his fingertips climb my legs from calves to knees to thighs. When he reached my rear, he gave the welts another squeeze as if he couldn’t help himself.
I swallowed a gulp. “You’re a sadist.”
“Does putting a label on it make you feel better?”
“You can get help for the condition.”
“I did get help. I came here, became a priest, and abstained for nine years.” He straightened my underwear and skirt, his movements efficient and gentle. “Then you came along.”
“I’m sorry.” My chest constricted. “Send me home.”
“Never.” He leaned his weight against me and brushed my hair off my shoulder, exposing my throat. “If you leave, I’ll haul you back.”
“What? You’ll come for me?”
“Yes. Then you’ll come for me.”
His breath visited my neck, announcing his intent. He kissed the dips and curves there, soft and languorous, and palmed my ass, rough and aggressive. Claiming me. Scrambling my brain.
“Magnus—”
He grabbed my throat, hard enough to spin up my pulse, and brushed his lips against my ear.
“Be a good girl this afternoon.” A dark, dominating whisper.
Then he released me, opened the door, and walked back to his desk.
CHAPTER 20
TINSLEY
My afternoon plans were decided when Daisy ran into me in the hall.
“You’re going to football practice with me.” She gripped my arm and dragged me toward the elderly priest waiting outside.
I let it happen because I had nothing better to do. Besides, it would be nice to step outside the campus walls.
Father Isaac smiled and waved when he saw us.
I gave him a chin lift and turned to Daisy. “I didn’t realize they made helmets big enough for your fat head.”
Of course, I knew she was going to watch football practice, not participate in it.
“You’re lucky you’re my best friend.” She slung a bag over her shoulder and followed the priest to the gate.
“Oh?” I walked along beside her. “So now I’m worthy of your friendship?”
“I guess.” She lifted a noncommittal shoulder.
“Is this you feeling sorry for me because of what Alice did last night?”
“No. This is me feeling sorry for you because you have no friends.” Her tone was so cold I wanted to punch her.
Then she laughed, her eyes dancing playfully, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
When we reached the football field, we found a quiet spot in the bleachers. She didn’t waste any time pulling out notebooks and camera equipment.
“Yearbook,” she said when she caught me staring.
I knew she was on the yearbook committee, and now it made sense that she wanted to come to a practice. Since Sion Academy didn’t have a football team, St. John de Brebeuf represented both of our schools.
As she set off to interview coaches and players, I was content to watch the boys run through their drills. There were plenty of studs on the team. Cute ones. Beefy ones. A lot of them stared and winked at me from across the field. But my interest in their kind had changed over the past six weeks.
Maybe I should call my mother and tell her that her decision to send me to an all-girls Catholic school had cured my curiosity with boys. I was no longer interested in giving blow jobs to college guys who worked at Burger King. Now I only wanted to spread my legs for men twice my age who bit and spanked and wore clerical collars.
No, I couldn’t tell her that. Not unless I wanted her murderous Irish henchman, Ronan, to show up. I bet Magnus could hold his own in a fistfight. But against an assassin aiming a gun? I didn’t want to find out.
I wished I could go back to hating the volatile priest. Then I wouldn’t care about this shit. But now it worried me. If my family found out that he’d touched me? That he’d buried his nose between my legs and smelled me? I couldn’t think about what would happen to him without making myself sick.
Trapping my tongue between my molars, I bit down and used the pain to distract me from my thoughts.
On the field, the St. John’s players waved and showboated, trying to get my attention. Father Isaac lingered off to the side, talking to Father Crisanto while keeping his old eyes on Daisy and me.
After practice, Daisy chased down a few of the key players for interviews. It wasn’t long before the star quarterback plopped down beside me, reeking of sweat and cut grass.
“Hey, Tinsley.” Tucker flashed me a smile, though it looked a little tight at the corners. “You look beautiful as always.”
“Thanks.” No smile from me.
He was an all-American boy—a playboy if the rumors were true—accustomed to getting who and what he wanted. If he wanted me, he would have to work for it.
Blond hair, brown eyes, with an explosion of muscles along his six-foot-three frame, he was conventionally handsome. Six weeks ago, I would’ve thrown myself at him.
Now I was struggling to do anything but yawn.
“Are you hanging out with Droopy Daisy now?” He slung an arm across my back.
I shoved it off. “Don’t call her that.”
“Why not? That’s her name. I mean, look at her face.” He shuddered dramatically. “I wonder if that’s the result of having been repeatedly dropped on her head when she was a baby. She seems to have some level of mental retardation for the same reason.”
“What the fuck?” I jerked away from him, appalled. “I don’t know whose rectum you crawled out of, but you should’ve been flushed. Ugh. You’re disgusting. Huge turnoff.”
I stood to leave.
“Tinsley, wait.” He touched my wrist, his eyes imploring. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your friend.”
“Does it matter?” I dropped to the bench and shoved my face in his. “She’s a person, and you’re suffering from delusions of adequacy. Also, I prefer a battle of wits, which you appear to be unarmed for, so fuck off.”
“Jesus.” His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “You’re fucking hot when you’re worked up.”
My vision turned red. “I’m done.”
When I stood this time, he was ready. His hand caught my arm, holding me to the bench.
“Let go,” I growled.
“Hear me out. Please?”
I glanced over at Father Isaac, who pushed up his glasses, his eyes squinting in my direction. He couldn’t see Tucker’s hand on my bicep.
“You have five seconds,” I said through my teeth and yanked my arm free.
“Okay, you’re right. I’m a jerk. I shouldn’t have said that about her. If I took the time to get to know her, I’m sure I’d find out just how great she is.”
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“The Winter Formal is in four weeks. You want me to dance with you? Prove to me you’re not a disgusting human.”
“I’m not—”
“Daisy will be the judge of that. You have four weeks to convince her. If she doesn’t think you’re a total dirtbag by the time the Winter Formal rolls around, I’ll dance with you.”
He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his head. “How am I supposed to do that? She despises me.”
For good reason.
She’d finished her interviews and was heading our way.
“Here she comes.” I scooted away from him. “Compliment her when she gets here.”
“What am I supposed to say?” His eyes bugged.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I lowered my voice. “It better be good, Tucker. And honest.”
Daisy climbed up the steps and crouched to pack up her bag, ignoring both of us.
“Hey, Daisy.” He scuffed his shoe against the concrete. “I like your hair today, especially the way it curls around your, uh…neck.”
Her eyebrows pulled in, and her hand went to the brown waves, sweeping them forward, toward her chin. She never pulled her hair back. Not o
n purpose. I saw beneath the strands once, when the wind caught them. She didn’t have ears. Not much of them, anyway. They were more like little puckers of skin low along her underdeveloped jawline. I imagined she was self-conscious about it, even though she would never admit it.
When her gaze cut to me, I quirked up a brow and shrugged.
Her eyes turned to slits. She lifted her bag and paced off. “Eat a dick, Tucker.”
A smile struggled on my face as he huffed, looking all offended. But he didn’t say a word in return.
That was a start. Maybe he was trainable after all.
“You have four weeks.” I patted his head and left him sitting there with his mouth hanging open.
CHAPTER 21
TINSLEY
My gold high heels wobbled, knocking my knees. Restless energy buzzed in my stomach, and my pulse thumped with the music blaring from inside the gymnasium.
I hadn’t gone in yet. But given the din of chatter and dancing, the Winter Formal was in full swing.
“Are you staring at my ass?” Daisy strode ahead of me in a sparkling pink dress that did amazing things to her figure.
“You wish.” I paused in the dim entryway of the gym, totally staring at her ass. And her shoes.
She wore heels so high I thought for sure she’d break her neck. But she pulled it off, shaking her hot little shimmy.
Father Crisanto approached from the side door and motioned me over.
“I’ll catch up.” I tugged on her hair.
“Whatever.” She flicked a hand over her shoulder and headed toward the gym to make her grand entrance.
Flashing lights spilled out of the double doors as glimmering gowns and black suits poured in. And somewhere amid the throng of fancily dressed students, Magnus would be waiting.
It had been four weeks since he kissed me in the forest on that cold, stormy night. He hadn’t kissed me since. But he wanted to. I watched him wrestle with it every day with every breath.
We both fought against that ceaseless pull. It was fucking exhausting.
“You look truly enchanting, Tinsley.” Father Crisanto smiled like a man whose heart was filled with sunshine.
I felt enchanting in this dress. The delicate gold lace and organza stopped just above my knees. With an A-line silhouette, illusion neckline, and satin belt with a bow knot, the gown was both princessy and sexy. I owed Keaton and Iris big-time.
“Thank you, Father.” I grinned. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Oh, pshaw!” He waved it away.
He looked the same as he always did—black shirt, black pants, white collar, contagious grin.
Over the past month, I spent most of my downtime with Tucker and Daisy, mingling after church, attending football practices, and helping with the decorations for the Winter Formal. Spending more time with Tucker meant I saw more of Father Crisanto.
“I don’t want to keep you from the party.” He nodded toward the gym. “It’s just… I don’t ever get the opportunity to talk with you alone. So if you could spare a few minutes?”
I was always with Daisy, Tucker, or Magnus. Never alone. I didn’t want to miss this chance to chat with Magnus’s best friend. Crisanto knew things. I knew things. This conversation was long overdue.
“Sure.” I pointed at the hallway that led away from the side door. “It’s probably quieter over there.”
As we strolled in that direction, he asked conversationally, “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It was good. I didn’t get to go home because I haven’t exactly been on my best behavior.”
“Yes, I heard you have some…colorful language.”
“I doubt that’s how he described it.”
“No.” He laughed, shaking his head.
“I didn’t spend Thanksgiving alone, though. Vivian and Perry, two of my siblings, surprised me with a visit.”
Vivian was my oldest sister. Unmarried and single, she possessed such ferocious confidence and beauty I imagined she intimidated the hell out of any man who looked at her.
Perry was my middle brother. Also single. Maybe that was why the two of them made the drive to see me. They didn’t have significant others to drag them away, and the holidays at home weren’t the same without our father.
Since he’d died, my mother put all her energy into strengthening the family holdings. What she should’ve been doing was focusing on her actual family and keeping us all together.
I was so grateful to see Viv and Perry. They’d taken me to a charming bed-and-breakfast a few towns over. We had a quiet weekend together, and best of all, it got me away from the dark, addictive presence that haunted me at Sion Academy.
“That’s wonderful to hear.” Crisanto paused when we reached the privacy of the hallway. “How is everything going with Father Magnus?”
“May I cut straight to the point?”
“He said you were direct.” He grinned.
“To a fault, I think.” I tilted my head. “He confesses to you? Every day?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to know if he’s confessing everything? Or if there are things happening that he’s not telling you? Is that what this is?”
“No, Tinsley. I trust him, perhaps more than he trusts himself. I hear his confessions, and I know he’s fighting a force inside himself. He’s constantly at war with it. But he’s stronger than his demons.”
Guilt pinched my insides. “I haven’t made it any easier on him.”
“That’s not—”
“At the beginning of the year, I was on a straight path through hell and was willing to take him down with me. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but I can promise this. I care about him. I’m not going to hurt him. I’m not going to let my family hurt him.”
“And if he hurts you? Or angers you? What if you decide you want a relationship that he’s unable to give? Will you go to your family then?”
“No. Absolutely not. Look, I know you’re his best friend, and you’re talking to me in that capacity, looking out for him. But I’m not a threat to him.”
Magnus had told me he confessed to Crisanto regularly. I was about to test the legitimacy of that.
“He kissed me a month ago. I kissed him back.” I watched for surprise in the Filipino priest’s eyes and found none. “Since then, he’s put his hands beneath my skirt, over my underwear four times, and I welcomed it. I wanted more.”
After the day he trapped me against the door and buried his nose between my legs, he’d done the same thing three more times. His fingers never breached the crotch of my underwear. He never exposed himself, and he never touched my breasts or pussy—under or over my clothes. Much to my despair.
He was fighting this thing between us and winning. I did my part by not encouraging it.
I hated the resistance. It made me restless and crazy. The unanswered sexual tension between us was so heavy and unwieldy it drove me out of my skin. But like I’d told him, I didn’t want him to resent me when all this was over.
“You’re his student,” Crisanto said quietly.
“And he’s a priest. That’s why our attraction hasn’t moved past that kiss. But if it ever does, remember this.” I smoothed my hands down my dress and stood taller. “I’m a legal adult. What he and I do together is between him and me. I know he’s not a gentle man, and I love that about him. He won’t hurt me. Not without my permission. I believe the word that might give you peace is consensual. That’s all it will ever be with us.”
“You’re…” He set a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “You’re a very smart, mature young lady.”
“I’m learning, and believe it or not, he’s helping me with that.”
“He’s a good teacher.” He smiled thoughtfully. “I think you’re helping him with that, too.”
“Do you feel better about our relationship?”
“I feel like an accomplice to something that hasn’t happened.”
Yet.
I heard the uns
poken word. He didn’t believe we would leave it at a kiss. Maybe he was right. But it wasn’t for him to worry about.
I’d spent the past three months vacillating between hating the priest and craving the man, and through it all, my sexual attraction hadn’t wavered. Every day with him grew harder, tenser, more strained. At the same time, I cherished every moment we spent together.
“I won’t steal any more of your time.” Crisanto gestured for me to head back toward the gym. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
“Thank you.”
“Go on.” His easy smile returned. “Have a great time.”
With the hope to do just that, I pushed back my shoulders and strode to the gymnasium.
The Winter Formal was the most anticipated event of the year. Every student at Sion Academy and St. John de Brebeuf lived for this dance. The basketball courts had been converted into a dance floor. Tables of food and punch lined the back wall. A DJ blasted dance music through the speakers, and paper decorations hung from the rafters, most of which I had designed.
In Bishop’s Landing, I attended masquerade balls and black-tie events every other weekend. I hated them. I hated the pretentious finger food and the fake smiles and my mother hovering at my elbow, watching my every move, making sure I didn’t embarrass her.
Being forced to attend those balls was a lot like being forced to attend Sion Academy. All of it served her agenda to control me and use me as a pawn.
But this dance would be different. My mother wasn’t involved, and there was someone I desperately, achingly wanted to see here.
With excitement thrumming in my blood, I stepped through the doors, and my entire being homed in on him. Through the flickering lights, beyond the crowds of dancers, he stood like a sentinel on the far side of the gym.
Dressed in all black with a square of white at his throat, he appraised me with sublime intensity and attention to detail. His earnest stare didn’t miss an inch as it raked me from head to toe and back again.
The dance music swirled around me. Students paused and turned their heads. But all that existed was him.
My breath sped up, heat and hunger tangling. I wanted to run to him. I ached to feel his lips again, taste his tongue, hear his throaty groans, and writhe beneath his capable hands.
