Lessons in Sin

by Pam Godwin

  Everything inside me snapped, exploding into blinding rage.

  One second, I was flying out of my booth, and the next, I was inside hers, with a fist in her hair and her body slammed against the wall beneath me.

  CHAPTER 28

  TINSLEY

  “Magnus! Ow!” I clawed at the fist in my hair and twisted around, coming face to face with the wrath of hell.

  He’d come for me with havoc in his blood and destruction in his voice. “He will never touch you. Not him or anyone else.” His muscles coiled. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Oh, you’re making yourself insanely clear. Insane being the key word.”

  Holy fuck, he was angry. I’d never seen him so unhinged that he wasn’t even aware of his actions. We were in the church, in the damn confessional, for Christ’s sake, and he’d crashed in like a chest-pounding, hair-grabbing caveman.

  There had been no one in the church when I arrived, but what if someone came in after?

  “I hope no one witnessed your dramatic entrance into my booth.” I propelled my hand toward the door to check.

  He beat me to it, cracking it enough to peer outside before shutting it again. “The church is empty. Who escorted you here?”

  “Father Isaac. He ran over to the theater to do something in the music room. Magnus, we need to—”

  “Kneel.”

  One word, a single command, and I was shook. Owned.

  It was my unshakable need for him that had me lowering to the floor.

  I’d knelt for him in all manner of ways over the past four months, but this was different. This time I might see his cock, touch it, wrap my lips around him. He didn’t have to say anything. I saw the dominance and ineradicable lust in his eyes.

  His breathing thundered, loud and explosive, charging the air and compelling my heart and lungs to work faster.

  Dim light filtered in from beneath the door and somewhere in the ceiling, allowing me to see the shadows of his severe features and the hands on his waistband.

  Standing before me, he opened his belt. Lowered his zip. Then, before I could blink, he had his cock in his hand.

  Hard and long, it dominated the space between us, standing right up in my face, millimeters from my mouth. I’d waited so long to see this, and all I could do was stare.

  He was so beautifully formed. Rigid. Thick. Thicker than any dick I’d ever encountered.

  My pulse shuddered and skipped. I parted my lips, aching to kiss and lick and take my time.

  He didn’t give me a chance. With a ruthless hand on the back of my head and a sharp shift of his hips, he rammed himself into the back of my throat.

  I gagged, choked, and oh my God. Oh my fucking God, he was huge. My hands flew out to the sides, looking for something to grab as he thrust deeper into my airway, driving the oxygen from my body. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to retreat, but the hand on my head became a fist in my hair. His other collared my neck, holding me immobile, making me take every inch of his rage.

  Tears ran from my eyes. Saliva dribbled down my chin, and my throat convulsed as he painfully, repeatedly fucked my face.

  He groaned, retracted his hips just enough to give me a gulp before shoving in again. My arms flailed, smacking at his, my hands shoving, fingernails clawing. Unmoved, he roughly withdrew and impaled me again.

  I gasped, gobbling breaths between thrusts, my hold on his arms brutal, desperate, and ineffective.

  With a cruel yank of my hair, he tore my mouth off him. Gripping himself at the hilt, he slid the damp crown over my cheeks and lips then smacked me in the face with it.

  “Magnus—”

  He slammed back into my mouth, strangling my voice, my breath, each brutal thrust pounding my throat into a bruised pulp.

  I went crazy, bucking and jerking in shackles of masculine flesh and testosterone, but my efforts to slow him down weren’t working. Thrashing about and hitting him only made him meaner, more aggressive.

  He fed off my vulnerable energy like a predator with a prey drive.

  Regardless of whether I wanted this—dammit to hell, but I wanted it—I wouldn’t let him hurt me.

  Fighting my reflexes, I forced my body to give beneath the feral flexing of his hips. I unclenched my fingers and splayed them on his bunching abs, softly, tenderly. Then I stroked his body.

  He worked his cock in my mouth like a piston as I stared up at him, loving him with my eyes, adoring him with my hands on his chest, and caressing him with my tongue on his shaft.

  A gust of air escaped his throat, a strangled grunt. Then his fingers loosened on my neck. The fist in my hair slid to my face, cupping. His pumping slowed to rocking, his hips sensually rotating, grinding, and his gaze gleaming with more lucidity.

  His violent, carnal nature lurked in the depths, but his disposition was calmer, more in control. And that control was a dangerous assault in seduction.

  With his hands supporting my face and his cock stroking into my mouth with diabolical precision, he laid siege to my desire. Everything I wanted was right in front of me, staring down at me with something akin to veneration.

  How could I not swoon? The sensuous curve of lips, carved jaw, shadow of stubble, and messy brown hair, long enough on top to tangle and yank in the heat of the moment—he was a sculptor’s rendering of perfect masculinity, chiseled in rich marble. A masterly work of art created in homage to the god of beauty.

  I felt pretty fucking privileged to have this man in my mouth. The claiming pressure in my throat. The delicious taste of him on my tongue. The guttural sounds in his chest made only for me.

  His powerful legs flexed with the roll of his hips. Hard wood dug into my knees. And my hands, in contact with so many honed muscle groups, wandered and explored until I arrived at the rock-hard ridges of his ass.

  God help me, my fingers found heaven, tracing the hewed edges and digging into rugged brawn. When I pressed into the hot valley between his cheeks, his glutes clenched, damn near breaking my fingers.

  I gave an undignified yelp, which he cut off with a deep thrust. As his rhythm climbed, I focused on sucking, swirling my tongue, and opening my throat. It made him go wild, and I knew he was close.

  He pressed in, digging his hips with purpose, chasing his release. The growly, animalistic sounds he made were the most erotic I’d ever heard. Filthy. Sinful. Dangerous.

  With his hands controlling the movement of my head, he jerked against my lips, his balls hot against my chin.

  Then he came, and holy hell, there was no smothering the loud, convulsive catching of his breath. He buried himself to the root, dropped his head back on his shoulders, and released heavy, hot spurts of salty come.

  For long seconds, he heaved for air, lazily fucking my face as if trying to milk himself of every last drop.

  “Fuck.” His thumbs absently stroked my cheeks as he stared down at me with a dazed look, his cock pulsing against my tongue.

  He slowly pulled back, withdrawing completely. Then he bent at the waist, a glint of cruelty flickering in his blue eyes as he gripped my jaw, holding it closed. “Swallow.”

  I smacked his hand away and opened my mouth, tongue out. “Already did.”

  He hauled me to my feet. A muscular leg wedged between my thighs. Strong hands clasped my wrists, pinning them to the wall at my back. Then he kissed me, his firm lips overtaking mine with passion and purpose, his hungry tongue invading, claiming every hollow of my mouth.

  I’d never been kissed the way this man kissed me. His lips made love to mine with such mastery and heat it felt like an out-of-body experience. As if we were meeting on another plane, floating and entwined in a realm that only belonged to us.

  He moved his hands, placing a palm to my throat and the other against my nape, trapping my neck and controlling the angle of my head and the position of my mouth. He kissed me like that, holding my much smaller frame in the cage of his. A cage of power, influence, and potent sexuality.

  My lips obeyed his mouth. My
gaze followed his eyes. My hands clung to his muscled forearms, my entire body dangling in his strong grasp as he kissed me. With each press of his warm tongue, my pussy clenched harder, hungrier. His hot, wet mouth stoked the flames inside me, and within seconds, he was lifting me up the wall, reaching beneath my uniform skirt, and spreading my legs.

  His rigid cock pressed against the soaked gusset of my underwear, ready, waiting.

  Please, don’t wait.

  I didn’t care where or how. All that mattered was who. It had to be him. I felt like I’d waited my whole life for this man to take me in every way possible.

  His hard-edged stare imprisoned mine. He hooked a finger under the crotch of the panties, flicking the flimsy barrier out of the way. His gaze stayed with me, the arm around my back holding me up as he notched his cock against my entrance.

  My breath hiked, and his echoed.

  I wriggled, and he hesitated, his hands trembling against my overheated skin.

  Goddammit, don’t get a conscience now. Fuck me, Magnus. Please.

  “Tinsley?” Father Isaac’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. “Are you still in there?”

  My heart stopped, restarted, and spun into my throat. I pushed at Magnus, but he didn’t move. His face showed no emotion. No reaction whatsoever. Was he in shock?

  I took several rigorous swallows, hoping to strengthen my voice. “I’m here. Almost done.”

  “Are you with Father Magnus?” His footsteps moved away, treading toward the other booth. “Oh. I see. It doesn’t appear he’s here.”

  “He had to step out.” I shoved harder against Magnus’s chest, forcing his arms to release me. “I think he needed to use the restroom.”

  “You can finish your confession another time, then. I need to return to the campus.”

  The door handle twisted.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Yep.” I gripped the knob, holding it closed. “I’m just going to finish my prayers. Be right out.”

  I almost had sex.

  In a confessional.

  With a priest.

  Now would be a good time to start praying.

  As the old priest shuffled away, I shifted back to Magnus.

  That wasn’t shock on his face. His features twisted with disgust. Regret. Shame.

  My chest constricted, and my mind spiraled. But rather than focusing on the could’ves, I needed to deal with the now.

  Father Isaac’s pacing footsteps. Magnus’s expression. The weight of his stare. His hand lifting to my face. I knocked it away. My skirt. Fixed that. Underwear. Shirt. Hair. Good enough.

  By the time I reached for the door, my chest ached from stress, and my pulse slogged in exhaustion.

  But I couldn’t leave without looking back.

  Turning, I soaked up his rock-hard jaw, the flat line of sensual lips, the arrogance of perfect features, and his eyes. I nearly crumbled at the display of penitence there.

  Well, he was in the right place for his guilt. He could just sit his ass down and pray an Act of Contrition to his heart’s content.

  I had to go.

  Leaning up on my toes, I left a kiss on those brooding, unresponsive lips.

  Then I slipped out the door and strode toward Father Isaac like a good girl.

  CHAPTER 29

  TINSLEY

  Two hours later, a discreetly armed Constantine driver arrived to take me to Bishop’s Landing.

  I hadn’t seen Magnus since our confessional blow job, and everything between us felt so strained and unresolved. Not only had he left me absolutely ravenous, but I also couldn’t unsee that grim look on his face—his loathing and guilt, not with me but with himself.

  Stepping out of the main building with my bag, I scanned the campus grounds for him. Luxury cars with personal drivers lined the road to the gate. A sea of black steel, waiting to take the students back to their mansions.

  I didn’t want to go.

  How fucking ironic. I’d put so much time and effort into getting expelled so that I could go home. But nothing would change my future at this point. I only wanted to spend what little time I had left with Magnus.

  Except he was nowhere in sight. That was odd. He would normally be standing at the front entrance, seeing everyone off.

  He was avoiding me.

  I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.

  Me: Where are you?

  It showed Read within seconds.

  “Good evening, Miss Constantine.” My armed bodyguard-slash-driver approached and took my bag. “I’ll pull the car closer.”

  “I can walk.”

  “It’s beyond the gate, ma’am. If you don’t mind waiting—”

  “I can walk.” I breezed past him, staring at my phone.

  Magnus never replied. Not unusual. We rarely communicated this way. Too incriminating.

  I sent another text.

  Me: I want to say goodbye.

  His reply was immediate.

  Magnus: Go home, Tinsley.

  My chest squeezed painfully.

  I turned toward the main building and probed the third-floor windows until I came to his. I would recognize his stern silhouette anywhere, and there he was, standing behind the glass, wrapped in unsettling shadows. Watching. Avoiding.

  “Oh, it’s going to be like that?” I thrust my hand up and shot him a universal gesture.

  A gasp sounded beside me, someone’s wide-eyed, pearl-clutching mother. I flipped her off, too.

  Without checking his reaction, I pivoted and made a show of shaking my ass in my sexy tight pants, giving him a taunting view all the way through the gate and to the waiting car beyond.

  The moment I was inside the sedan and motoring away from Sion Academy, all cheekiness and self-confidence evaporated, leaving sadness in its wake. And loneliness.

  I’d begged Daisy to spend the Christmas break with me in Bishop’s Landing. But she’d already made plans to stay at the convent in Vermont where she grew up. I wished I could’ve changed her mind. I didn’t want to spend this six-hour drive alone with my thoughts.

  Or the next three weeks.

  I tried to sleep on the way, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. I couldn’t stop checking my phone for messages from him. Couldn’t stop replaying our almost-sex in the confessional box. Couldn’t stop dreading the next three weeks without him.

  This was a bona fide obsession, bordering on clingy, which I didn’t do. My only interest in guys was sexual. And though I felt intense sexual chemistry with Magnus, my desire for him was so much more.

  I liked that he scowled when he was hiding a smile. I liked that he could scare my heart into a gallop, but he couldn’t scare me. I liked that he was twice my size and twice my age. He had a lot to teach me and show me while I ran circles around him and kept him young. I was so small, but compared to him, I was teeny tiny. I liked that. I liked that he was huge and aggressive and growly and could pick me up with one arm and maneuver me into any position imaginable. I liked that whenever I looked at him, he was immediately in control. No, I loved that. I was riveted by the energy he possessed. He was the fantasy. The powerhouse man that every woman wanted.

  I was nothing like the mature women he used to date. But I was a woman he was attracted to, and he made that viscerally clear with his hands and lips and eyes. Fuck me, his eyes…

  Those windows to his soul held answers to questions I didn’t even know to ask. I just knew there was something in there when he looked at me, connecting us on a level I didn’t understand. Whatever it was, it involved both of us. This wasn’t one-sided. Not by a long shot.

  It was after nine at night when the mansions of Bishop’s Landing came into view.

  Ours sat at the top of the hill like a queen on her throne overlooking her subjects. The Constantine land and its three-hundred-year-old sprawling estate was our legacy. Every tennis court, guardhouse, swimming pool, manicured garden, and helicopter pad within a one-mile radius belonged to my family.

  The
driver motored up the hill, following the long driveway to the front doors. During my mother’s many extravagant parties, those front doors gaped open as gowns and tuxedos meandered in and out, gathering on the huge veranda or in the ballroom.

  Tonight, all was quiet. The only signs of life were the armed men in the guardhouses and on various balconies. The Morellis had never tried to take out our stronghold, but my mother would never risk it. She kept the mansion guarded like Fort Knox.

  I didn’t care about the house. Only about the people in it. By the look of the empty driveway and carriage houses, no one was here.

  Christmas was four days away. Unfortunately, Keaton couldn’t fly in until the following week. But where was everyone else?

  The butler met me at the door and disappeared with my bag. I hadn’t been home in four months. Nothing had changed. Yet everything felt different.

  I wandered down the halls, through the kitchen, around the wood-paneled study, past the windows that overlooked the pool house and swimming pools. I encountered a few people who were paid to live here—bodyguards, security detail, housekeepers, and chefs—but didn’t see anyone who was raised here, namely my brothers and sisters.

  Corridors led to other corridors, mazes of stairs, and more sitting rooms than any family needed. If I hadn’t grown up here, it would’ve been easy to get turned around in the many wings of The Queen of Bishop’s Landing.

  But I knew where I was going.

  Her throne awaited in the turret. I climbed the grand staircase to the second floor, a smaller staircase to the third, past the maid’s quarters, and took the final staircase to my mother’s office.

  “Welcome home, Miss Constantine.” Justin smiled from behind his desk at the top of the stairs.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Your mother is holding a video conference with overseas clients.” He touched a finger to his lips as if I needed a reminder to keep my voice low. “Your siblings are out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Don’t know.” He turned his gaze to his computer screen. “Would you like to make an appointment to see your mother?”