Page 45 of Sinner (Priest 2)
“Are you nervous, baby?”
“Yes,” she confesses, her hands going up to my shoulders and fisting in the shirt there.
“Fun-nervous or bad-nervous?”
She thinks for a minute, which I appreciate, because I need her to be sure. I need to be sure. I wasn’t bullshitting her when I said I was worried about our age difference, because the things I want to do with her are not just dirty, but like, dirty dirty. The kinds of things you don’t admit to wanting in the harsh light of day, the kinds of things that make even a man like me blush.
Keep her safe.
“Fun-nervous,” she says. “If you would—” she stops.
“Tell me, Zenny.”
She takes a breath, pins her eyes on mine. “I’m ready for more. I’m nervous, yes, but it’s excitement, not fear.”
“Good.”
“So,” she swallows, “give me more. It’s fun and I like it, and I’ll call you an asshole when I’m ready for you to back off.”
It’s my turn to swallow. Her green-lighting more in that signature combination of careful and bold is almost enough to make me throw all my plans out the window and just kiss the hell out of her until we end up on the floor in a hungry press of hips and mouths. To fuck the soft split between her legs until I’ve fucked away this fierce infatuation, the alarming affection and possessiveness I already feel for her after such a short time.
Sean, I scold myself. Fucking stop it. I was the one who was all I’m doing this for you earlier, and I’ll hold myself to that if it kills me.
this is for her
this is for her
this is for her.
“Okay,” I say, finally gathering myself. “I’m trusting you to call me out on being an asshole. Now take off your jeans, darling. It will make it easier for me to play with you.”
She kicks off her flip-flops and wriggles out of her jeans with a perfunctory kind of shimmy, and I find myself strangely drawn to the sight. I’ve paid lots of women lots of money to undress for me, I’ve fucked society wives determined to show off every expensive stitch of their La Perla or Agent Provocateur—but I’ve never seen a girl undress like this, artlessly and quickly, without performance. It feels intimate, somehow, and it makes me wonder what else I could get hard watching her doing. Brushing her teeth or putting on lotion. Tying shoelaces.
Then she’s in front of me, all bare skin and thin silk. Her nipples are begging to be sucked, her belly is tight, and her hands twist together in front of her panties, as if she wants to hide herself from me and is trying not to.
I step forward, deciding to give her hands something to do. “Hands on my shoulders like before,” I tell her. And then I add, a little sternly, “No hiding from me. You’re fucking beautiful and I’ll stare at every inch of you until I get my fill.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders again, a little smile playing across her mouth. I can guess why.
“You like being called beautiful?” I ask, brushing my lips across her forehead. Then across her cheeks. Her eyelashes flutter in girlish happiness and I both curse and thank every man that came before me who didn’t give this woman every compliment and tender word she deserved. It’s ridiculous that she’s twenty-one and she’s never been properly petted and praised, and yet thank God, because otherwise I wouldn’t be the one in front of her, here and now, with my fingers tickling gently along the top of her panties.
“You are beautiful, Zenny,” I say with my lips still against her cheek. My fingers slide beneath the elastic border and her belly tenses even more. “Your face is stunning, your body is a work of art. But it’s you I can’t stop thinking about, how you ask for things and how you argue, how you tease and how you rant and how you glow when you talk about what matters to you. When I say the word beautiful, sweetheart, know I mean it.”
She nods, about to answer, when the pad of my middle finger brushes against a narrow triangle of short curls.
“Oh Zenny,” I say, my cock giving an abrupt, painful throb. “Oh baby.”
“What is it?” she whispers, tilting her head to meet my eyes.
“On the couch,” I say hoarsely, pulling my hand from her panties and giving her ass a little swat. “On your back.”
She moves backward, turning uncertainly toward the living room as she does and giving me a view of her perfect ass. Firm enough to curve, soft enough to bounce a little as she walks, sloping into strong thighs and up into hips made to have my hands curled around them. I can already imagine the heart shape her ass will make when she’s bent over for me.
Fuck. Me.
With a stilted breath, she lowers herself onto the sofa, dark curls like a halo around her head on the cushions and her bra and panties pulling tight against her skin as she arranges herself. And I prowl up to
her like a cat, like a predator, like a hungry man coming to a banquet table.
