by Pam Godwin
This was no longer about keeping my vows. Those had been razed to the ground the night I’d met her. The night she’d ravaged my mind, consumed my prayers, and made a home inside my cold, dead heart.
“I’m only doing this because I’m bored.” She slowly reached beneath her skirt and slipped the pink satin underwear down her legs, staring into my eyes the whole damn time. “Also, every girl knows that when a well-proportioned, powerfully built, humanlike creature—who could possibly be mistaken as a man—asks for her panties, she should just hand them over. Resistance is futile.”
Her pouty lip whitened beneath the press of her teeth as she flung the underwear at me.
I caught the scrap of satin and tucked it into my pocket.
“I’m still on my period.” She arched a brow.
“Remove the tampon.” I held out my hand again, palm up.
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“We can’t…” She sneaked a look at the door, her voice an urgent hush. “We can’t have sex. Especially not here.”
“What we can and cannot do is my concern. Your only responsibility is following my order and giving me access to your pussy.”
She could refuse me. There was always that possibility, and I would accept her rejection without retaliation. I’d been very clear with her on that point.
I was nothing like her mother. I would never force her into something for my own personal gain. But it didn’t hurt to remind her.
“Say no, and nothing changes.” I kept my hand extended between us. “You mean more to me than all the money and sex in the world.”
“Magnus…”
“You hold all the power between us. You always have.”
“I know.” She rested her small hand on my larger one. “There’s no tampon. I’m not bleeding anymore. Does that disappoint you?”
My heart thudded heavily as I closed my fingers around hers and yanked her against my chest.
“There are other ways to make you leak.” Slowly, sensually, I reached beneath her skirt and teased the soft flesh between her legs.
Fighting the impulse to bury my fingers, I played with the entrance of her cunt, circled it, stroked it, and within seconds, felt the slick gush of her arousal soaking my hand.
To sink my cock inside this glorious, sacred part of her would be the honor of a lifetime. It was the one line I refused to let myself cross. I’d already taken too many liberties with her, broken too many laws. But I shouldn’t take her virginity. I didn’t deserve it.
“You know where the cleaning supplies are.” I released her, returned to my desk, and opened the laptop.
Her hands went to her hips, her expression fevered with hunger and frustration.
She thought I was the one punishing her all these months, but she was the one with the claws and teeth and shackles on me. If she strutted over here and sat on my cock, I would feed it to her, every inch, in any hole she wanted it.
I would go to prison for her.
I would bleed for her.
I wondered if there was anything I wouldn’t do for her, and that thought was a torment in and of itself.
She had the power to level my world.
For the next hour, she scrubbed the floor on hands and knees in her schoolgirl uniform. Halfway through, she’d subtly, casually, inched her skirt up her back, exposing her gorgeous, heart-shaped ass.
“Demeaning bullshit.” She crawled past my chair, every word out of her mouth making me hard as a rock. “Chauvinistic pervert.”
Moving along on all fours, she arched her bare cheeks in the air, giving me a direct view of the glistening wetness between her thighs.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the freak flag you’re flying in your pants.” She smirked at me over her shoulder. “Kind of hard to miss.”
She crawled around the corner, out of sight, leaving me aching, throbbing, gripping the armrest to keep from pulling my cock out and jerking off.
I couldn’t bear it. Not another second of this torture.
My feet were already moving, my steps rounding the desk. Huge blue eyes in a delicately elven face watched me approach. Shimmery white-blonde hair cascaded down her slender back. A pink tongue peeked out, wetting plush lips, and my damn heart rammed against my rib cage.
“Stand up.” I didn’t wait for her to obey.
With a fist in her hair, I hauled her to her feet and bent her over my desk, ass up.
“Oh God.” She whimpered, her breath bursting in wispy bits and pieces. “I want this, but I don’t want you to resent me. Your vows…”
Priests broke their vows every day. They only lost their jobs if they got caught.
I kept this to myself as I kicked her feet apart and gripped her thighs. Angling her hips to thrust up and out, I bent down and buried my face.
With my teeth against her sexy, toned backside, I gave her sharp bites of pain intermixed with languid, swirling kisses. She squirmed and writhed as I worked my way toward her center.
When my tongue reached her greedy, wet pussy, she lifted on her toes, flattened on her heels, and released tatters of sound meant only for me.
I ravished her untried flesh, my nose buried in her ass crack and the heavenly scent of her intoxicating my senses. With each pass along her swollen slit, my tongue ventured deeper, more aggressively into her hot clasp, twisting and flicking and making her moan.
She tasted like innocence and sin, temptation and ruination, and I couldn’t stop eating, sucking, and imbibing her like an addict whose only thought was to consume and indulge and seize the moment.
“Please.” She thrashed on my desk, her hands clawing through my papers, her body convulsing, shaking, aching to come.
I edged her toward orgasm, and right before the peak, I ripped her away from the fall. Over and over, I brought her there, surfing right up to the cusp, teasing, peaking, and teetering on that razored edge. With frantic need pulsing beneath her skin and pooling between her legs, I stopped, leaned back, waited for it.
“Please,” she whispered, trembling, rocking, panting. “Magnus, please, fuck me. Let me come. Put me out of my misery, damn you.”
Music to my ears.
For the next hour, I showed her how a sadist made a woman beg.
I taught her my lessons in sin.
“I hate you.” She lay facedown on my desk in a puddle of shivery, horny desperation. “Please, please, please. I beg you. I’ll do anything.”
Leaning forward, I stretched over her back and rested my brow against her spine. With two fingers still buried in her cunt, I groaned at the feel of her clenching, spasming, so hot and needy.
She hadn’t come. Not once since we started. But she was about to explode, and it was going to be the best fucking orgasm she ever experienced.
I twisted my wrist, running my fingers along her deliciously drenched flesh to circle her clit. My other hand lowered my fly.
The sound of the zipper had her craning her neck, but she couldn’t see my erection. I pulled it out beneath the edge of the desk and fisted the unwieldy length.
I’d never been this hard. It didn’t even feel like my cock. It was a goddamn steel bat encased in fire.
As I rubbed and massaged her clit, she reached back and clutched my ass. Her nails sank into the skin above my slipping waistband. Pinpricks of heat where her passionate fingers held me became jolts of electricity surging straight to my groin, thick and molten.
With my thighs pressed against the backs of hers, one hand working her pussy, and my other stroking the length of my cock, I pressed my forehead against her spine and marked the crescendo of her sounds.
Frenzied breaths. Guttural moans. Strangled pleasure. She was there, tensing, shaking violently. Then she buried her mouth in the bend of her arm and silently roared her release.
My throat closed around a gasp as I squeezed the crown of my shaft and sank my fingers to the root, roughly, erratically, coming with her, swallowing my groans, and jetting across
her clean floor.
As we caught our breaths, I tucked myself away and pulled her into my arms. Then I kissed her slowly, softly, basking in the feel of her loose, satisfied limbs and contented sighs.
“You need to finish the floors.” I bit at her lip. “You have a mess to clean up.”
Perched on my desk with her arms and legs twined about my body, she peered down at the stripes of come on the floor between my shoes.
She hummed happily and returned her lips to mine. Her fingers snaked through my hair as my tongue took lazy strolls through her mouth.
Borrowing time.
Stealing moments.
Until a knock sounded on the door.
My pulse spiked.
Tinsley shoved away and dropped to the floor, frantically reaching for the bucket. Another impatient knock came as I crossed the room and opened the door.
“Hi, Father Magnus.” Nevada smiled flirtatiously, holding a laptop and twirling her hair. “Are you…?” She bent her neck to see around me. “Oh.”
I followed her gaze to Tinsley, who was scrubbing my come off the floor.
It was wrong. Immoral. Illegal.
But it didn’t feel wrong.
Nothing had ever felt so right.
“I need help with today’s calculus assignment,” Nevada purred, making my skin crawl.
I didn’t want to help her. I didn’t want to do this job. Right now, all I wanted was my golden angel spread across my desk and screaming my name.
“Come in.” I motioned at the front row. “I’ll be right with you.”
CHAPTER 27
MAGNUS
This was wrong.
I sat in the confessional and leaned my head against the wood panel behind me. I didn’t want to be here.
On the other side of the screen, the penitent, a soft-spoken Sion girl, whispered in the dark about the usual sins—disobeying her parents, cheating on homework, and cursing with friends.
I’d heard it all before, but I wasn’t hearing it now.
My restless mind ran on a single track that began and ended with Tinsley Constantine.
It had been three weeks since the Winter Formal, and in those weeks, I’d spent a great many hours with my face buried between her legs. At every opportunity, I laid her out on my desk, spread her wide, and feasted upon her body.
Her inner thighs bore abrasions from my whiskers. Bruises from my fingers dappled her hips. Bite marks decorated her tits.
While I couldn’t keep my hands and mouth off her, I’d had enough restraint to stop her from touching me.
Jerking off where she couldn’t see my hand was bad enough. But putting my filthy cock anywhere on, in, or near her? That was out of the question. She was too pure and decent. Too good for my tarnished existence.
I justified every interaction by telling myself I was giving her pleasure and making her happy. But at the end of the day, I knew what I was doing was selfish and reckless and wrong.
I needed to stop.
I had to let her go.
“Father?” the girl asked through the latticed opening. “Are you there?”
She couldn’t see me. I could only make out a vague silhouette of her. I’d completely tuned her out and forgotten she was there.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat.
“I said, that’s all, Father. Those are my sins.”
“For your penance, say ten Hail Marys…”
I tried to pay attention through the next hour of confessions, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Had my heart ever been in this?
I needed the structure. The disciplined life of priesthood helped me suppress the violence inside me.
Today was the last day of school before Christmas break. By tomorrow, the village would be a ghost town. With the exception of a few faculty members, everyone would be gone for the next three weeks.
Crisanto would head to New York City to visit his mother. I should go with him and see my own parents, but I wouldn’t. I wasn’t close to them anymore. I’d ruined that relationship many years ago.
Last week, I sent a satisfactory report to Caroline Constantine, ensuring Tinsley would spend Christmas with her family. She was leaving tonight for Bishop’s Landing.
For three weeks.
The thought was debilitating.
Rather than celebrating the reprieve I would have from the students, I was lamenting it. Dreading her departure.
This kind of behavior wasn’t me. I didn’t miss people. I didn’t care about anyone.
Yet here I was, swimming in an upside-down world where all I wanted was to be with a woman I couldn’t have. A woman who could frustrate me, turn me on, and fire me up like no other.
I didn’t want this. Not these feelings—the uncertainty, the hunger, the endless fucking dread.
Praying should’ve come naturally to a man of my vocation, but it’d never been that way for me, and it certainly wasn’t now. I couldn’t pray on this. I couldn’t talk to Crisanto about it. I didn’t know how to put any of it into words.
I was turned around, fumbling in the dark and losing my way. Everywhere I looked, she was there.
Because she was the only place I wanted to be.
The confessional was a revolving door. Students and faculty from both schools came and went, getting their confessions in before Christmas break.
I was scheduled to sit here for several hours to make sure everyone had an opportunity to confess between their classes or during lunch.
By the end of my shift, I’d heard from most of the students. Except Tinsley. I wouldn’t. She didn’t practice the sacraments unless she was forced.
The door opened with a new penitent, and I recognized his voice immediately.
Tucker launched into the formal dialog, and I gritted my teeth through my parts. Then he confessed his sins.
“I know who I’m going to marry,” he said. “When I graduate, my parents are giving her to me, and at first, I wasn’t thrilled. I mean, being the only Kensington heir and all, I always knew I would have a certain kind of wife, one who was specifically suited for me and our family brand. But I wasn’t excited about the idea. Until I met her.” He took a breath. “She’s a knockout. Like a perfect ten up here and down here.”
I couldn’t see his fucking gestures, but in about two seconds, he was going to see my fucking fist.
“I know that’s you, Father Magnus. I asked who was doing confessions today. So the reason I’m here is to tell you to give her some free time. I haven’t seen her much since the Winter Formal, and she doesn’t answer my texts or calls. I kind of freaked out over the whole blood-on-the-floor thing. Whatever. I need her to understand how things are going to be. She’s only going to school here to help me get acquainted with her. So I need you to free up her schedule and give me some time with her if you know what I mean.”
“No, Tucker.” I kept my voice even, despite the rampage roiling inside me. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“She’s going to be my wife. I can do whatever I want with her.” He coughed. “After we’re married, of course.”
“Is this your confession?”
“Well…no, I don’t have any sins to discuss.”
“Get out of my confessional.” When I didn’t hear movement, I leaned toward the latticed screen and roared, “Get out!”
He flew to his feet and ran, slamming the door behind him.
I was unraveling, shaking, my heart banging in my chest. I barely made it through the next two confessions without putting my fists through the wall.
Then I sat there in silence, alone with my loud, tumultuous thoughts.
The Tucker Kensington situation was a delicate goddamn mess. The Constantines weren’t mafia. They were worse. Insidious, secretive, and subtle in their brutality. If I raised one finger to interfere in their business, my body would never be found.
As if that would stop me. No matter what happened between Tinsley and me, I wouldn’t stand by and watch her get handed of
f to that entitled prick.
With my elbows on my knees, I dropped my head in my hands and tried to measure my breaths. Minutes passed. I checked my watch. It was time to close up.
The door opened and shut. Someone knelt on the other side of the screen, creaking the padded step.
I clenched my jaw, debating the prudence in telling whoever it was to fuck off.
Tinsley’s wearing off on me.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Her enchanting voice sliced through my impatience and melted my anger. “This is my second confession.”
Pulse detonating, I leaned toward the screen and placed my palm on the lattice. “I’m listening.”
“Whew.” She blew out a breath. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to be you behind there.”
“Why are you here?”
“To confess.” Her silhouette edged closer, and her palm pressed against mine on the other side of the screen. “Probably isn’t much of a confession. It’s pretty obvious I have feelings for you. Feelings I shouldn’t have for my teacher. Or a priest. Maybe I shouldn’t crave the things that I do, but I really need…I need you.”
A hot ember formed in my throat, and I lowered my hand. “In what capacity do you need me?”
“In every capacity. All of it. But we can start with your cock. I want to see it—”
“Stop.”
“—touch it, put it in my mouth, and—”
“Enough.”
“—ride it.” Through the nebulous screen, her labored breaths chased mine. “What are you hiding, Magnus? What do you want?”
My self-control clung by a gossamer thread. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“If this is about your vows,” she whispered, “I understand. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll…leave. But the way you touch me, the way you kiss me…” Her voice quivered. “I don’t think I’m alone here. Am I? Alone?”
I dug my knuckles into my thighs, fighting every selfish word I wanted to bellow. I wanted her body. I wanted her mind. I wanted her fucking soul. Damn all the consequences.
“Okay.” She hardened her tone. “Fine. I just thought, since Tucker Kensington is coming for me, I could have this one thing for myself. That I could have you for just a little while. It sounds so selfish, but I don’t… I don’t want him to be the one who gets me first.”
