Page 90 of Sinner (Priest 2)
Reasons why I should tell Zenny I love her right now:
1. I love her.
2. She needs to know.
3. She likes the honest guy thing.
4. An old nun told me to.
Reasons why I should wait to tell her:
1. She’s bent over a sink.
And really, I think, as I smooth interested hands over her waist and ass, I’m going to love her even more after we do anal, so what’s the rush? It can wait.
It can wait.
Except.
Sigh. Huff. Grumble.
“Zenny, we can’t do this here,” I explain softly. My hands are still everywhere on her, fondling and caressing and loving, despite my words, because fuck it, I can’t help it. Not when she’s like this, bent over and peering back at me with a daring kind of half-smile.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a fucking kitchen,” I say, giving her sides a quick tickle as I say it.
She giggles at my touch, but then pouts at me. “I don’t want to wait,” she says. “I want to be able to look back and say I was spontaneous, say that for once I didn’t care about what anyone else thought, I didn’t do something to be the best at it. That I did it just because I wanted to. Just for me. I could barely make myself choose this in the beginning but now…” she gives me a shy smile. “Being with you has made it easier. It feels easy to demand the things I want. Good, even.”
Ugh, I hate all this casual talk of looking back, this implication of her future life apart from me…and yet at the same time, pride burnishes a warm glow inside my chest. Pride for her. If I couldn’t have my wish of worshipping her for the rest of my days, then this would be my second wish—that she’d grow into her own needs. That she’d find a balance between pouring her love into the world and loving herself.
But, be that as it may… “That makes me glad, sweetheart. I promise it does. But I don’t want to hurt you, and anal is, well, delicate, at the best of times.”
“Can’t we at least try?” she asks, wriggling her cute bottom at me, and it’s absurd that I, Sean Fucking Bell, am trying to talk a woman out of anal, but that’s what Zenny’s done to me. She’s unbuttoned me and shaken me out all over the ground and now I’m just a mess of jumbled pieces, nothing resembling the arrogant know-it-all I was just a few weeks ago.
“I don’t have toys to warm you up—”
“Use your fingers, then. Are you Sean Bell or what?”
“—or lube come to that—”
“It’s a kitchen! I’m sure there’s oil in here somewhere.”
“Baby, I can’t use a condom and oil. It will break the latex.”
There’s a pause, and I watch Zenny’s teeth dig into her lower lip. I think for a moment—with a rueful sort of relief—that she’s finally conceded, that she’s finally accepted that it’s bananas to have kitchen-sink anal, and then she says, “Then don’t wear a condom.”
This would be a good time for me to remember how to pray.
“Zenny…” I breathe. My hands are still on her body, rubbing circles and lines along her silk-soft skin. I know I should say more, I should resist, but being bare inside her…even if it’s just once…
“You’re clean, and so am I. And it’s not risking pregnancy,” she says, and then—sensing my weakness— “Teach me how it can feel good, Sean. Please.”
Fuck. I can’t refuse the teacher game and she knows it. I curl over her body, defeated, my willpower melted away like a snowflake on a tongue.
“Okay,” I mumble into the delicate bird-wing of her shoulder blade. “But you have to let me do it the way it needs to be done.”
“As long as you hurry up,” she says, wiggling against me. Fuck.
