Page 17 of Sinner (Priest 2)
“We haven’t seen each other for fourteen years,” I say, miffed and amused at the same time. “For all you know, I’m a very principled man.”
She rolls her eyes. “I talk to Elijah almost every day. I know enough to know your only principles are about money.”
“Untrue,” I protest.
“Really?”
“Uh, yes, really. Witness me panicking that I had carnal thoughts about you last night.”
She waves a hand. “That’s more about your fraternity with Elijah than actual ethics.”
“I don’t see a meaningful difference between the two.”
“Are you still having carnal thoughts about me?” she asks abruptly, and she asks it with that tempting combination of boldness and vulnerability that I can’t resist. Like she wants to know the answer so badly that she’s willing to expose her own curiosity and desire—and more than desire itself, but the desire to be desired. And it betrays so much about her—her youth and energy and spirit and innocence and honesty and longing, and it’s potent, it’s so fucking potent.
“Do you want the honest guy thing still?” I ask, because I have no problem being honest, but after I answer her, she might have a problem with it. And I want to give her the choice to back away from this conversation now, before I reveal exactly how impure and worldly a secular man can be around a holy woman.
“Yes,” she whispers, peering up at me.
I open my mouth to answer her, remembering only at the very last instant that there’s at least one other person here, that Zenny wants to be a nun, that it wouldn’t be good for her to be caught with me whispering dirty things in her ear, and I don’t want to be interrupted anyway. I need her to hear exactly what I’m going to say to her so that she understands how serious this all is.
I glance around the cafeteria to make sure we’re alone, and then I take her elbow and lead her into the kitchen, which is partitioned off with a swinging door. Once inside, I let go and she instinctively takes a step back, pressing herself against the wall.
Smart girl.
I do all the good guy things: I stand well away from the door so she has a clear exit, I put my hands in my pockets, and I ask for a final time, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
She lifts her chin the tiniest bit, and I see her nervousness, her uncertainty. But she says, “Yes, please,” in a calm, clear voice.
Fine, then.
“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you today,” I say, watching her blanch with surprise at my blunt lewdness. “I can’t stop thinking about pushing that jumper up to your waist and nuzzling into your cunt until my face smells like you. I want to bite your tits through that white shirt. I want to see that cross necklace sliding around your collarbone as I find out if you prefer two fingers or three.”
Her lips part but no sound comes out. Her eyes are wide and searching mine, and she’s breathing fast, so fast that I know for sure that she’s hearing and understanding every word.
“Has Elijah told you how many women I’ve fucked? How many women I’ve made come? It’s a big number, Zenny, because I love to fuck. I love to make women come. I love to see their snug little cunts, I love to taste them and push my big cock into them until they stretch. I love having my hands full of their hair while I fuck their mouths. I love feeling a girl’s ass clench around my finger as I tongue her clit.”
She swallows.
“And I want all those things with you. Right now.” I unbutton my suit jacket, parting it so she can see exactly how urgently I want it. Want her.
“Oh,” she breathes, her eyes dropping to the thick outline in my trousers. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
She can’t stop staring at my erection, her teeth sinking into that plush lower lip as she looks.
“So you see the problem,” I say in a businesslike tone as I button my jacket again, mostly concealing the aching hard-on that’s currently dripping precum at the sight of her biting her lip. I can’t stop thinking about how those lips would give and mold under my own, how they would yield to my teeth, stretch around my organ as I carefully, tenderly slid in to the back of her throat.
She struggles to drag her eyes back up to my face, and when she gets there, she finds me smirking a little. Her cheeks warm again, possibly in embarrassment or in arousal, or some combination of the two. “The problem is you being turned on?”
I take a step forward, my hands back in my pockets. “I’m a dirty man, sweetheart. I fuck strippers. I’ve taken conference calls with another man’s wife sucking me off under my desk. You think I’m ashamed of my cock? That I’m ashamed of wanting to fuck? Nothing’s further from the truth.”
Her pupils are huge now, her eyes just the barest rings of copper around massive pools of black. “Then I don’t understand,” she whispers.
I take another step forward, and ano
ther, until we’re toe to toe. I reach up, moving slowly enough for me to catch her gaze and raise an eyebrow. Is this okay? I’m asking silently, and she gives me a slow, wide-eyed nod. I trace a line down the point of her chin, dropping to finger the starchy collar of her shirt. “The problem isn’t that I want to fuck you. The problem is that I care about you. I care about Elijah.”
