Lessons in Sin

Scrubbing floors wasn’t teaching her a damn thing. But I made no allowances. If she broke a rule, she paid the penalty. I was nothing if not consistent.

Thirty minutes into her punishment, she’d worked herself into the far corner. She also had that skirt inched up around her waist again, and this time, I didn’t look away.

Bent over on her knees, she gave me a direct view of her heart-shaped bottom in white cotton. The high-cut underwear followed the curves of toned, youthful thighs. The swath of thin material between her legs clung to her flesh, carving an explicit, mouthwatering valley from one virgin hole to the other.

I shifted in the chair behind my desk as heat rushed below my belt and tightened between my legs.

That damn skirt hadn’t bunched around her waist on its own. I now suspected it hadn’t been the breeze that exposed her this morning, either.

She was playing with danger, taunting the beast, enticing something she couldn’t handle. Whatever this was, whatever her intentions, I would have to reprimand her.

But I was hard as a rock, burning up, unraveling from the inside out. My sacred control was slipping. I couldn’t walk over there. I couldn’t go to her with my dick standing up and hunger pounding in my veins.

So I forced my gaze to my laptop and worked through tomorrow’s lesson plans. By the time she stored the supplies in the closet, I had the composure and presence of mind to deal with her.

“I finished the floor.” She snatched a pen from my desk and twirled it. “What now?”

“Now we address your attention-seeking behavior.”

The pen stopped spinning.

“Beyond the thrill-seeking element, exposing yourself to your teacher is a wanton, pathetic attempt to get noticed.” I sent a dark look across the desk. “It’s a cry for attention.”

Unflinching, she met my glare. “A cry for attention?”

“It’s a misdialed way of expressing insecurity, jealousy, and loneliness.”

“Okay.” She carefully set down the pen and rolled her shoulders. “So that’s one way to look at it.”

“If there’s another way…” I flicked a hand, motioning. “Go ahead. The floor is yours.”

“All right.” She stepped around the desk, one foot before the other, until she stood at my side within arm’s reach. “Your position suggests that attention is inherently bad for you, that it’s a sinful or gluttonous thing to crave, like adultery or drugs. But isn’t the need for attention essential to being human? What is marriage without the attention of a spouse? What is priesthood without the attention of his flock? What is a child without the attention of her parents?” She looked away, blinked, and returned to me. “Isn’t the gift of attention one of the most selfless and impactful things we can give one another?”

She stood taller, regarding me with eyes of searching blue.

Intelligent eyes.

Beautiful mind.

Every day with her was a wild ride of tight turns, steep slopes, and unpredictable adjustments. I’d never been so mentally and physically aroused in my life.

“Yes.” My voice rasped, and I cleared my throat. “But do you understand that attention isn’t the same as affection?”

“I know that.”

“And showing your backside to your teacher is a quest for negative attention.”

“Negative?” She pressed her fist to the desk. “Because the image of my body is negative? Or is it my panties that you find negative? You’ve already seen them before. Because you demanded I remove them, I might add. So what exactly do you find negative beneath my skirt?”

“Do not twist my words, Miss Constantine.” My voice cracked like a whip, making her take a step back. “When you misbehave for the sole purpose of seeking attention, the punishment becomes a reward. That’s negative attention, which I will not give. So I’m letting you off with this warning. I do not want to see your underwear again.”

I twisted away, turning my attention to the laptop.

She lingered for a moment, her breathing fast and shallow. Then she ambled to the door.

At the threshold, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. “You were right about one thing. I am lonely, Father Magnus.”

As she slipped into the hall, I felt a deep, uncomfortable pang pull through my gut and burrow all the way down to my bones. I didn’t have a name for it. I had no idea what it was. All I knew was that I needed it gone.

I needed her to come back.

“Tinsley.” I listened to the sounds of her steps slow, halt, and retrace her path.

When she reappeared in the doorway, my relief was immediate, the warmth in my chest absolute.

“One more thing.” I reached into my desk drawer and removed her phone from the charger. “What’s your number?”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she approached, rattling off the digits. I entered the number into my phone and sent a text to hers.

“The Winter Formal is coming up.” I handed over her device. “Perhaps one of your siblings will bring you a dress.”