by Pam Godwin
She clenched, whimpered.
“I’m going to violate this hole before we leave the mountains.” I dragged her leg farther around my hip, opening her for my touch.
“You’ll have to work me up to that.”
“I will. That’s a promise.”
“It’s Christmas Eve.” Her eyes twinkled.
“What do you want to do?”
“You.”
“That’s a given. What else?”
“Let’s go on a hike.”
We showered, ate breakfast, and made out on the couch like it was our first time. Then we laughed at ourselves, pulled on our boots and coats, and I gave her a tour of the property.
The snow-covered mountain terrain sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight. With her gloved hand clasped in mine, I led her along the main trail to my favorite spot.
When we arrived, she stood on the alpine bluff overlooking the icy river below. Cloaked in evergreens and crowned in white, the mountain peaks rose like tributes to the blue-slate sky. With wildlife galore and the panoramic vista stretching from north to south, there was no better view in the world.
Except the one I had.
The chilly air pinkened her cheeks and frosted her breath. Her white knitted hat failed to contain the wild tangle of hair around her shoulders and arms. She was all bundled up in puffy outerwear and heavy snow boots with a smile so wide she out-glowed the sun.
“What?” She touched her chin to her shoulder and bit down on her grin.
“You’re painfully beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She pulled in a slow, deep breath as if inhaling my words. Her gaze turned back to the view, and her demeanor shifted, growing sober. “We need to talk.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” She picked at a string on her gloves, thinking, possibly stalling. “You and me, what we’re doing, how does it affect your relationship with God?”
“That relationship is in the shitter at the moment.”
“Can you fix it?” She took a breath. “Do you want to fix it?”
“Yes. Maybe. I need to do some serious introspection.” I touched a gloved finger to her temple and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Understand me, Tinsley. You’re not the cause of this. I’ve had an on-again, off-again relationship with God my entire life. I believe. Then I lose my way. Then I believe again. Then I question everything. Back and forth, it’s a vicious cycle. My faith has never been easy, and it never will be. Relationships with me aren’t easy.”
“You’ve been friends with Crisanto for a long time.”
“He’s the only one. When I moved to Sion Academy, I chose to live alone rather than in the main rectory with Crisanto. I didn’t want to destroy our friendship.”
“What about your parents? Why aren’t you spending Christmas with them?”
“I destroyed that relationship when I was in my twenties. We fought about religion. They wanted me to go to church. I had other priorities. It was a constant battle that strained every interaction.”
“Even after you became a priest?”
“Especially after. They didn’t want anything to do with me until I became a priest. Fuck that. I didn’t choose this life for them.”
“Why did you? Become a priest?”
“The short answer…absolution.”
“Absolution from what?”
“Hurting people. Hurting women.” The cold air felt suddenly colder, sinking into my bones. “I did something, and I need you to…”
Not run.
If she ran, I would chase her.
I paced to a fallen tree and brushed the snow off a section to sit on. Then I lifted her, surprising a yelp out of her. With her legs wrapped around me, I straddled the huge trunk. She sat before me, face to face, her thighs draped over mine and arms resting on my shoulders.
Much better.
“I know you’re about to tell me your experiences with other women.” Her gaze searched mine. “I can see the dread in your eyes.”
I nodded, my pulse hammering.
“I don’t want to hear it.” She laughed without humor. “I don’t even want to think about it. But first I need to know, before you tell me anything… Have you ever been in love?”
“No. Never.”
“Okay.” A shaky breath left her. “Any long-term relationships?”
“No.”
“And you already said you’ve never been monogamous.” Her dainty brows pulled together.
“The man I was before only cared about himself. I didn’t have relationships with women. I had arrangements.” I gripped her thighs and monitored her expressions. “I tied them up, humiliated them, whipped them, choked them, cut them, burned them—”
“Wait. You cut them? And burned them?”
“Yes. They were willing. I needed to hurt them to get off, and I chose women who wanted that sort of thing.”
“When I saw you holding my bloody underwear in your bathroom, I knew something was different about you. Blood doesn’t gross you out. It fascinates you.” Her voice lowered, and her eyebrows followed. “But you seem to get off just fine now without the pain and blood.”
“Yeah.” I leaned in and rested my forehead against hers. “I do. That’s all you, Tinsley. I craved it when I first met you. And I still crave it with you—spanking, choking, fucking the back of your throat. I love to play with you, but I could never hurt you the way I used to hurt other women. I only want to protect you.” I stroked my thumbs on her thighs, unlocking my deeper self with every word. “You make me a better man.”
“You should give yourself some credit. You spent the past nine years atoning. And besides, if all you did was have rough, willing sex, that doesn’t make you a bad person. Just means you’re kinky.”
“That’s not all.” I inched back, needing space to watch her eyes. “I used to flip businesses. I preyed on corporations that were going under, strong-armed the owners to sell, and after I fixed them up, I made a killing on the resale.”
“I know.”
“I often targeted women-owned corporations and used sex to manipulate them into selling. I did this for ten years.”
“Jesus.”
“I used those women. Sometimes they fell in love with me, and in the end, I left them penniless and brokenhearted.”
“You were a misogynist.” She made a sound of revulsion.
“No, I wasn’t prejudiced against women. I hated everyone equally. I was a narcissistic asshole, obsessed with myself, my appearance, sex, money, and power, and I knew how to use all that to seduce women and grow exceedingly richer and more powerful.”
“Always older women?”
“Always.”
“Except I’m not older.”
“I’m not the same man, and you’re not those women. Everything about this is different. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. I’m captivated by your beauty, your boldness, and your infuriating mouth.” I smiled to myself. “I don’t want to hurt you, use you, or take your money.”
As the confession began to unfurl, I felt my energy weaving itself into hers, tingling, sparking, and rewiring me. I felt myself becoming part of the fabric of this woman. I felt her goodness, her purity, and it was fucking liberating.
“Thank you for being honest with me. It’s hard to hear. Disturbing. But it helps me understand.” She worried her lip with her teeth. “Do you think, if I’d met you back then, you would’ve treated me the way you treated everyone else?”
She wanted to know what was different now. What had changed? Was it me? Nine years of celibacy? Or was she the catalyst?
“Priesthood helped me. It taught me how to treat people better. I still crave erotic pain, but with you, it’s manageable because my need to keep you safe far surpasses my selfish compulsions. Protecting you is my compulsion. If I’d met you in my twenties when I was the worst prick in existence? I don’t know. I can’t imagine our relationship being any different. I’m instinctively drawn to you in a way I’ve never been dr
awn to anyone.”
“I feel the same about you.” She placed a kiss on my lips. “So what happened? You said you did something. What brought you here?”
“I met Amelia.” My hands twitched on her legs, my stomach knotting. “She had a software company that she built from the ground up. I wanted it. I knew I could drastically improve it in sixty days and make a fortune on it. So I seduced her. She fell in love with me and eventually sold me the company, thinking we would end up together, and she would somehow still get to keep it.”
Tinsley didn’t move, didn’t blink.
“She let me hurt her during sex.” My mouth dried, my monotone scratching the air. “I knew she wasn’t into it, and she knew I was fucking other people. I think that hurt her more than anything. But she wouldn’t let go. She never told me no. She was desperate to keep me. So she endured my kinks and my philandering.” Old guilt bubbled up, festering. “She had a congenital heart defect, which had led to a weakness in her heart. She never told me. She knew I would stop seeing her if I couldn’t use her the way I wanted.” I skimmed a hand down my face, sick to my stomach. “I didn’t know.”
“What happened?” She removed her gloves and clutched my fingers on her leg.
“I choked her during sex and sent her into cardiac arrest. She was bound and gagged and couldn’t tell me. She died with my hands around her throat.”
And my filthy dick inside her.
“Oh, Magnus, no.” She cupped my face, her features twisting in grief. “Oh my God, I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”
I hated the pity in her voice, in her touch, in her damn bewitching eyes.
“I cared nothing about that woman. I could barely tolerate her beyond a quick fuck.” I gripped her wrist, squeezing delicate bones. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t.” Her expression hardened, and she ripped her arm away. “But I do feel for you. It was a terrible tragedy that you’ve been carrying around for nine years. A tragedy that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. You weren’t charged, right?”
“There were no criminal charges. Her family threatened to sue me in civil court, and I paid them off. I also gave them her corporation, which they ran into the ground. I buried the whole thing. Made it all go away. Not even your family can dig it up.”
“Was Amelia your last…? Was that the last time you had sex?”
“Yes.”
She pulled in a deep breath, and her eyes lost focus. It was a lot to process. God only knew what she thought of me.
“No wonder you’ve been celibate all this time,” she murmured. “It’s an awful thing to reconcile, and you’re already emotionally constipated. Even if you cared about Amelia, you wouldn’t have two tears to rub together for her.”
“Tell me what you really think,” I deadpanned.
“I think that absence of emotion indicates deep pain. If it’s too vast to manage, you freeze it. It’s like shock that never goes away. I think you have to let that go and let yourself feel before you can even consider having a relationship. Not that I’m suggesting that’s what we’re doing here. But you can’t even live with another person, so…”
I could live with her.
It wouldn’t be much different than what we’d been doing. Hell, we’d been inseparable for four months. The number of hours we spent together every single day—bantering, flirting, arguing, kissing—was incomparable. Married couples didn’t even do that.
Whether she liked it or not, we were already in a relationship.
I’d never cloistered myself with another person the way I had with her. I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. The one-on-one tutoring during the day. The punishments every afternoon and night. I’d kept her to myself, monopolizing her. But rather than ruining our relationship, our time together had only deepened our bond.
I was in a romantic relationship with her long before it became sexual. And now she knew all my secrets. She knew me better than anyone.
Amid the evergreens, between the snow-hardened earth and the expansive blue heavens, my heart beat stronger than it ever had before. A weight had been lifted, and my angel wasn’t running.
Not yet anyway.
She was contemplative, quiet, her gaze skipping from my eyes to my hands on her lap and back again.
“Let’s head back.” She untangled her body from mine and stepped back, turning toward the trail.
We hiked back in silence, the snowy path rising to meet our boots and the bright sky illuminating the way. I watched her with new strength and inner peace as she marveled at every animal track, cloud formation, and bird within sight.
When we reached the cabin, I pulled her toward the door. But she dug in her feet and withdrew her hand.
“I’m going to hang out with the beavers for a while.” The look she tossed me was not an invitation to join her.
If I were a sensitive, insecure man, I would’ve taken issue with it. But I wasn’t. She could have her space. I respected her need to absorb my hideous past, and I would give her time. So long as she didn’t run. That would be a mistake.
I caught her by the throat and yanked her against me, relishing the spark in her eyes and the snag in her breath.
“I’ll make dinner.” I hauled her mouth to mine, kissing her until she melted. Then I set her away with a whisper in her ear. “Behave.”
I left her there, headed to the kitchen, and made lobster pie, with tail, claw and knuckle meat, smothered in a buttery cracker and tomalley dressing. It took me an hour to prepare while following an online recipe. My mouth watered as I slid it into the oven, but my attention stayed on the windows.
While I sliced cornbread and cleaned up, I watched her. Thirty feet from the house, she sat on a rock beside the stream, her unfocused eyes on the beaver dam, her expression lost in thought.
With nothing left to do in the kitchen, I moved to the sitting room and lowered onto the couch with a rosary. Then I occupied my mind and heart with prayer, my fingers rhythmically moving along the sacred beads, my whispered words like a chant.
I’d sought priesthood for the wrong reasons, but it had been the right decision. After nine years in this life, I felt reformed, absolved, healed.
After nine years, I felt my path taking a sharp turn and shooting in another direction.
When the back door opened, every molecule in my body sizzled to life. I kept my head bowed over the rosary beads, eyes closed, mouthing the prayers, even as all my senses followed her approach.
The sounds of her coat, hat, gloves, boots—everything hit the floor. A second later, I felt her standing before me, silently waiting for me to finish. I let her wait, focusing on the words. Then I set the beads aside.
Her arms hung in repose at her sides, her stare bright and flinty. “You’re a hard man.”
A hard man to love.
She didn’t have to voice the subtext. It shouted from her eyes.
“Does God forgive the person you were?” she asked.
Nine years of Crisanto’s counseling made it easy to answer. “Yes.”
“Do you? Do you forgive yourself, Magnus?”
I’d never asked myself that question, and I paused, poring over the significance before landing on the truth. “Yes.”
She nodded slowly, tugging on her bottom lip before stepping forward and setting a knee on the cushion beside me. I leaned back, inviting her to climb on, and she didn’t hesitate.
Straddling my hips, she circled her arms around my neck, enveloping me with the fragrance of lemon drops, fresh snow, and mountain air.
“I’m still not afraid of you.” She brought our foreheads together. “Do you know why?”
“Tell me.”
“You encourage me to learn and go to college. You trust me with the secrets you hide from others. You hold me when I cry over opossums. You clean the gym floor in the dark when I bleed. You crave my humiliation in private, but you never degrade me in front of others. You raise me up. You protec
t me. You’re my constant defender.” She ghosted her lips across my cheek. “So no, I’m not scared of you. I treasure you beyond words.”
Shameless bastard that I was, I grew hard. Rock-fucking-hard beneath her sweet little ass. I wanted her. I needed to bury myself inside her and make her come on my cock again and again and again.
“But hear this, Magnus Falke.” She gripped my jaw, eyes flashing. “If you ever cut or burn me, I will fuck up your world.”
“I have no doubt, Miss Constantine.”
“Do I smell lobster?” She grinned.
“Dinner will wait.”
I slanted my mouth over hers and eased my tongue past her teeth. Unrushed. Sharply focused. My lips anticipated it, needing her sweetness and magical aura that was unlike anything in the universe.
She was my greatest fantasy, shimmering with life and pumping blood through my cock. I craved her every breath, thought, and tight hole. Whether or not I deserved her, I was going to claim all of her tonight. Right now.
I put away the lobster pie and carried her to the bedroom, overcome with excitement and sexual longing. I felt it in the friction of our lips, the heat of our kiss, and the tremors in my legs. Everything shook as I laid her on the bed—muscle, breath, and heart. I was beyond redemption and didn’t care.
She was my enlightenment, my everything. She showed me how to have sex without pain and experience it on a whole new level. A lost-and-found, can’t-get-naked-fast-enough, all-consuming, soulful level. Without her, the world would never move again.
Within seconds, I stripped off our clothes. Our kisses turned messy, incapable of parting for air. We rolled across the mattress, moaning, hips grinding, wanting to fuck so badly. I was a starved animal, freed from my cage, and she was the sin racing through my veins.
But I forced myself to slow and take my time. With my lips and hands on her delectable body, I taught her what it meant to be worshiped by a fallen priest.
For the next hour, I memorized her. The image of her underneath me spun my breathing out of sync. She was stunning, beautiful, so goddamn perfect I wanted to spend the rest of my life at her feet in devotion. As I kissed and caressed her beauty, I was all instinct and emotion, desperate to have her. Not just her body. I was desperate for her love and long-term happiness.
