Lessons in Sin

I wanted to see her welts. I wanted to feel them, bite them, and add more.

So rather than offering up prayers for her emotional pain, I offered up my hand beneath her skirt and fantasized about spreading her wide and spearing her virgin holes. She would beg me to stop, which would only make me fuck her harder, more viciously, until she begged me to make her come. If she took it like a good girl, I would—

“Magnus?” She shifted, deliberately pressing down on my erection as she squinted at me, her lips a grim slash of accusation. “You’re not thinking about my opossums.”

This gorgeous woman. Always calling me out on my shit. Even when she was grief-stricken.

“No.” With a groan, I gripped her hips and dragged her against my hardness. “I’m a wretched man.”

“The worst.” She dashed a hand against her wet cheek, her eyes swimming with pain.

I stilled, and my toes flexed in my wet sneakers. I needed her off my lap so I could comfort her appropriately.

“Oh, Magnus.” A sob escaped her. “It hurts so much.”

She shivered in her wet clothes, watching me with hurt in her eyes. Making my chest implode. Christ Almighty, I would cut off both my arms if it would take her pain away.

“What do you need, Tinsley?” I touched my thumb to her cheek and traced the path of her tears. “Tell me.”

“I need…” Her throat worked as she bravely tried to contain her emotion. “Oh God, this is hard for me to admit.”

She was a magnetic force, the pull to her unstoppable.

My entire being drifted closer, my hands to the back of her head, my lips to her quivering jaw. “Trust me.”

“I—”

“Trust me.”

“What I really need is…” She released a tremulous sigh, rested a palm on my chest, and met my gaze. “You. The way you are in this moment. I feel like it’s okay to be sad with you, like I can let down my guard in your arms.”

Every intake of oxygen carried the scent of lemon from her skin. It scrambled all reasonable thought, leaving me unbalanced and aching for the one thing I couldn’t have.

It was dangerous enough to crave the things I did. But to crave them with Tinsley? I couldn’t.

She shouldn’t ever let her guard down with me. Especially not with those tears tracking down her face.

Need shimmered through me, possessing me like a seductive demon. My lips gravitated to her cheek, sipping the salty moisture, tasting her grief, and offering the only comfort I knew how to give.

My mouth didn’t usually deliver pleasure, but I knew how to kiss a woman into mindlessness.

Angling my head, I grazed my breath across her cheekbone. Ran my tongue over the curve of her earlobe. Nipped along her graceful jaw. Lingered at the corner of her full pouty lips.

“Whimper for me.” My command hovered on that almost-kiss, dancing from my tongue to hers.

She swallowed, whimpered, and parted her lips a hair’s breadth from mine.

Exhales chasing inhales, we breathed together, suspended in the space between a kiss and not-kiss. I only needed to ease a millimeter closer, and I could take her, devour her, and never let her come up for air.

Her huge eyes watched me, her body canting, trying to claim my mouth.

I gripped her hair, stalling her movements. Reminding her I was the one in control.

She lifted her hand from my chest. With her mouth so close, I shut my eyes, willing her to touch me again, even the slightest, most innocent contact. I ached for it. But none came, and when I opened my eyes, she was staring at the shoebox.

“Will you bury them?” Her gaze flitted to mine, seeking.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t picture myself doing such a thing, but for her, I would do anything. “Yes.”

“Thank you.” She cupped my face, her expression overflowing with gratefulness.

As she leaned toward me again, I caught her throat in a warning grip, warding her off. Fighting with myself.

“Tinsley.” I grasped the last threads of my sanity. “We can’t.”

“I know.”

The door opened, and we flew apart.

She tumbled into the pew as I stood, turning toward the entrance. I knew we were going to have company. I’d texted the groundskeeper when I carried Tinsley in here.

Then I’d lost all my brain cells.

Felix lumbered in, wearing a heavy raincoat and carrying a duffel bag.

He was one of those old men who lived in denim overalls and jumped at the chance to help anyone in need. He was the first person I’d hired nine years ago.

Over the past six weeks, he’d kept an eye on Tinsley and her wild companions, watching the opossums for signs of rabies and other diseases.

In my text, I’d given him a heads-up on the shoebox and asked that he collect it and bring blankets or towels.

“Father Magnus,” he said in greeting and gave Tinsley a soft smile. “Miss Constantine.” He set the bag down beside the front row and lifted the lid on the box, peeking inside. “Oh, dear. This must’ve been an awful thing to find. I’m sorry for that.”