Lessons in Sin

“That’s very noble of you, Father Magnus. I suppose you’re a better human than me.” She planted her hands on the desk and leaned in. “But that doesn’t mean you’re better at making decisions regarding my life. What becomes of me here, this year, impacts my entire future. Look at me.” She pointed at her face. “Look closely at my eyes, my expression. You’re staring at a woman who longs for one great passion, and always it lies beyond the next asshole.”

“If you’re calling me an asshole—”

“You’re the biggest one yet. But guess what?” She bared her teeth. “I want this more than you do.”

“You want what exactly? What is this one great passion?”

“Anything. Everything. Independence, self-discovery, romantic love, spiritual or professional fulfillment—whatever it is, it’s mine.” Her rasping breaths fell in a beguiling tumble of sounds, striking the air with tenacity. “The passion is in pursuing the life I want, and no one is going to take that from me.”

“Very well.” I gathered the papers on my desk and opened my laptop. “You can long for your one great passion while you’re on hands and knees scrubbing the floor of my classroom.”

“What? Why?”

“Zero tolerance, Miss Constantine.”

“Zero tolerance for what?” She gripped the edge of the desk. “Was it the asshole comment?”

“The comment, the attitude, the blatant disrespect.” I kept my gaze on the screen, dismissing her. “You know where to find the bucket and cleaning supplies.”

“Disrespect?” She laughed mockingly. “It’s called a backbone, and it’s pronounced, Go fuck yourself.” She spun away and stormed toward the door. “Scrub your own goddamn floors.”

I was out of the chair before the last part left her mouth. My longer strides beat her to the door, and as she reached for the latch, my hand was already on the wood, holding it closed.

Her breath caught audibly, and she slowly turned her neck. Her gaze landed on my legs and inched upward, sneaked a drive-by glance at my groin, and skated to my chest. The narrow gap between us forced her head to tip back, back, back, until a constellation of dainty, bewitching features filled my horizon.

The air buzzed with tension and animosity.

Then, with a twitch of her lashes, those blue eyes, both hot and fearful, locked on to mine. “Either send me home or spank me. I’m not scrubbing your floors.”

“Careful, Tinsley.” I fought every instinct that demanded I reach out and grab her by the throat. “You have no idea what you’re asking.”

Dragging her over my lap and welting her upturned ass didn’t begin to address what she deserved. Or what the sickness inside me craved.

As if reading my thoughts, she gulped, and the blood drained from her face.

“When you finish the floors in here, you’ll do the next room over and the one across from it, as well.”

A muscle leaped in her jaw. “I—”

“Think through what you’re about to say. There are six classrooms on this floor. There’s also a church and gymnasium with expansive wood flooring.”

“If I’m playing janitor all day, when will I learn?”

“Don’t worry about that, princess. I’ll read to you while you work.”

She groaned miserably. A sound that left me feeling deliciously winded as she marched off to the supply closet.

This tiny elven minx was going to be the death of me.

CHAPTER 13

MAGNUS

Scrubbing floors set the foundation for Tinsley’s daily lessons at Sion Academy.

Over the next four weeks, she spent more time learning while on her hands and knees than sitting at a desk. As she crawled along with a soapy sponge, I walked beside her, delivering lectures on physics, comparative government and politics, Latin literature, and Catholicism.

She hadn’t lied about her memory. When she heard something, she could recall it later, almost verbatim. Every test she aced proved she was absorbing my lessons.

The one thing she failed to learn, however, was obedience.

She’d had a few tardies and curfew violations, but the bulk of her misconduct began and ended with her mouth.

She was a vulgar, loquacious wiseass, too smart for her own good, and lived every moment as if her only mission was to annoy me. No one had ever dared to talk to me the way she did, and no punishment seemed harsh enough to deter her.

After four weeks of social isolation, withheld meals, psychological humiliation, and manual labor, I knew what she needed.

Physical suffering.

Bodily pain.

She needed my belt across her ass, over and over and over.

In the years I’d taught here, I’d only used a strap and cane on three occasions. Those had been extreme cases, where the students were so wild and unmanageable that a physical beating hadn’t even fazed them. It hadn’t affected me, either. I had no physical interest in the girls, and in the end, all three were expelled.

Expulsion was what Tinsley wanted. Therefore, it was the one thing I wouldn’t give her.