Page 21 of Sinfully His

“My calling,” he corrected, “has served me quite well. I have received all the education I require.”

Again, there seemed to be some kind of undercurrent in the conversation that I just wasn’t picking up on.

I looked back and forth between them. On the surface, everything appeared perfectly normal, but there was just something that was off.

“I’m sure, all those men and their calling to God. It must have been quite the experience.”

“You have no idea,” he said as he lifted his teacup to his lips and drank deeply. I was still trying to figure out what I was missing when I felt his hand on my knee.

I tried to push it away, but it returned, squeezing my knee in warning before his fingers started slowly gathering up my skirt, exposing more of my legs inch by inch. “A place like that can teach you so much about the human condition. The spirit, thebody, and how to help lost little lambs, or fallen angels, find their way back to God. There is no greaterpleasurein life.”

When his hand gripped my bare thigh, I tried to close my legs, even crossing my ankles under the table to stop him from going any further.

His hand squeezed my leg again.

My mother’s attention turned to the maid, ordering her to bring a fresh pot of tea, and he shot me a knowing look.

I knew what he was demanding, and I wanted to refuse him, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My legs opened, giving him the access he wanted.

His hand slid higher up my bare thigh while he and my mother continued to have a pleasant enough conversation that clearly held a hidden meaning.

I stayed perfectly still as his fingers slid up and down the delicate skin of my inner thigh, going higher with each pass. He was teasing me, showing me how little he had to do to get my body to respond to him. I tried to focus on the conversation, but his touch was so consuming.

“Well, as I was saying, this is a very busy season for me,” my mother said.

“I understand that, a lot of appointments and obligations. But you said you wanted to be a part of the festivities and fundraisers this year… and after the incident with the ornaments…”

“Incident, what incident?” she asked, her piercing gaze turning to me with an accusation ready on her lips.

I opened my mouth to answer her, right as Father Manwarring’s knuckle caressed the gusset of my panties, stealing the words from my mouth and the thoughts from my head.

My mouth clamped shut to stop a moan from escaping.

“Oh, it wasn’t her fault. One of the new altar boys dropped the box,” he explained, as his fingers moved to the seam of my panties and played with the elastic that clung to my inner thigh.

I kept my jaw clamped shut as I stared at the table, trying to not make a single sound or expression or do anything that would tip my mother off about what was happening under this table.

“Well. I hope he was punished properly.”

“Probably not by your standards, but I’m sure God will send him to hell for breaking a few knock-off ornaments,” Father Manwarring said, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from either laughing or moaning.

If my mother gave him a look or indicated in any way that she had picked up on what he said, I did not see it. My eyes stayed focused solely on the tablecloth and trying so very hard to keep my face neutral and my hips from bucking up into his hand.

He was driving me crazy, getting so close to touching me where I needed him, and then backing off. He needed to stop or give me what I wanted. Having him toy with me was pure torture.

Part of me wanted to make an excuse to leave the table and run away as fast as I could. Nothing good could come from this, but a much larger part of me saw this as another defiance, though this one was not so micro. It wasn’t the same as running out the door and never returning, or figuring out how to live the life I wanted. But it was something. It was a defiance I could get away with. Even if it was only because Mother didn’t know about it.

I opened my legs wider and adjusted in my seat, tilting my hips up to give his hand better access. If he demanded that I open my legs for him, then I demanded satisfaction.

Fuck micro defiances. If I was going to sin, I was going to make it count.

Father Manwarring slid his fingers over my mound. Even the lightest, most delicate touch felt so good, igniting little sparks of pleasure over my skin.

He petted me, stroking two fingers down the seam of my lips and making my thighs tremble as I tightened my muscles to stop the trembling from taking over my entire body.

All the while my mother sat there, talking about God only knew what and probably lying through her teeth about how much she loved babies, the sick, poor people, and poor sick babies.

The pressure in my core built, and I didn’t understand it. He wasn’t even touching my sex directly. He wasn’t using a lot of pressure or friction, but the pressure built all the same. I knew that if I didn’t do something soon, he was going to make me come and there was no way I could hold that back. I couldn’t be silent for him before, and I couldn’t now.

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