Page 86 of Sinner (Priest 2)
Except.
Except now that I’m home and things are quiet, it’s really hard to drown out the lingering hospital feelings. I can hear the beeps and the murmurs, I can see Mom’s face, that uncomfortable combination of sick-sunken and steroid-swollen. I can hear Dad crying softly to himself in the lounge, see the steam curling off the free, oil-black coffee as the respiratory therapist talked us through how the BiPAP would work.
And now that I’m alone, now that I don’t have to be strong for anyone or take notes or take charge or anything else—everything crashes into me like a train from nowhere.
Not going to die tonight.
But she is going to die, isn’t she? Maybe not tonight, maybe not even this time at the hospital, but she’s going to die and I failed her. I threw all my money in all the directions I could, I barely let her out of my sight, I spent every waking minute trying to get her well—and I failed.
The knowledge of it rolls through me, those prairie storms I’m always thinking of, vast and charged and ready to tear through trees and chew through houses.
You failed
You failed
You failed
She’s going to die
She’s going to die she’s going to die she’sgoingtodie—
With a vicious gesture, I slam my laptop closed and grab my keys, trying to escape the clouds roiling black and electric in my mind.
“Sean!” Zenny squeaks as I wrap my arms around her from behind. “You scared me!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, nuzzling her neck. “I couldn’t wait until you were done with your shift. I needed you.”
She’s in the shelter kitchen, finishing up with the dishes. Now that the meal is over and the supply pantry of fresh clothes and toiletries has closed, the shelter is emptied out. Zenny’s told me before that it’s common during the warm nights of summer; people will come in to shower and to eat, but prefer to be on their own afterwards.
“Maybe some of them feel awkward about the charity,” she’d said when she was explaining it to me. “And some of them are suspicious of us, think that we’ll try to preach to them.”
And in a way, I can understand. Sometimes freedom is worth the discomfort.
My hands find the hem of Zenny’s jumper and gently ruck it up to her thighs, and I give a masculine noise of distress when I discover that what I thought were leggings are socks that end just above her knees—some kind of schoolgirl fantasy and nun fantasy fused together into one.
“Fuck, baby,” I say, my fingertips playing with the edge of her socks. The skin above is soft and smooth and warm. It tickles her where I touch. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She giggles, breathless and happy and also trying to protest. “Sean! We can’t do this here!”
“There’s no guests at the shelter tonight,” I say, nipping at her ear. “And Sister Mary Theresa just left. It’s just us and the front door is locked.”
“Oh,” she says, her tone of protest giving way to something more…intrigued. “We’re alone?”
“We’re alone. And I want to play a little game.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s called Sean Finally Gets to Fuck Zenny in her Nun Outfit.”
She lets out a surprised laugh, which quickly turns into an intake of breath as I spin her around and crowd her against the counter, my cock pressing rough and needy into the soft stretch of her belly. I shape my hands to her pert little tits, moving my thumbs over her nipples, which are hard and budded even through the layers of shirt and jumper between us.
“Remember our first kiss?” I ask, brushing my nose against hers. “Right here?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“Let’s pretend we’re there again.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
