Page 28 of Daddy's Sinner

I clear my throat, trying to calm my racing heart. “Just browsing,” I say, but the words come out more like a squeak.

He smirks, that same playful, almost dangerous glint in his eyes. “Browsing? For more forbidden pleasures, I see.” His voice is a silky tease, laced with the kind of heat that makes my stomach flutter.

I shift on my feet, suddenly very aware of how exposed I feel under his gaze. “I… I was just curious,” I mumble, trying to gather my wits. His presence has a way of unraveling me, and I hate how easily he seems to notice.

He takes a step closer, the air between us thickening with tension. “Curiosity can be very seductive, don’t you think?” His voice drops to a whisper, and the sound sends a thrill through me, like a spark igniting a fire. I feel my cheeks flush under his scrutiny, my mind racing with thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

Why does he always affect me like this? Who is he, really? And why does he seem to see right through me, straight to the parts of myself I keep hidden from everyone else? My heart pounds in my chest, and for a moment, I wonder what would happen if I just gave in—if I let myself be as reckless as Zia had been.

He’s close now, so close that I can smell the faint scent of his cologne—dark, woody, and intoxicating. But there’s something else mixed in, something unexpected—the faint aroma of incense, like the kind burned in church. The combination surprises me, catching me off guard. His presence is overwhelming, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Every nerve in my body is alive, buzzing with a mix of fear and excitement. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I can’t help it. He’s like a dark temptation, a sin I’m desperate to commit.

“Just curious?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “Or is there something more you’re looking for, Marisol?”

The sound of my name on his lips sends a jolt through me and I nearly drop the book in my hands. My thoughts are a chaotic whirl of desire and panic. Why does my name coming from his lips sound so sinful when he says it?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, but the lie is obvious, even to me.

His smile widens, a predator’s grin. “Liar,” he whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. “But I like that about you. Always pretending to be so good, so obedient. But I see the truth, Marisol. I see what you really are.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a heat pooling low in my belly. His words are like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous, and I’m helpless to resist. My mind screams at me to run, to get away from him before it’s too late, but my body betrays me. I’m rooted to the spot, mesmerized by his presence, craving more. Needing more.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I hate how weak I sound, how desperate.

He leans in closer, so close that his lips almost brush mine. “What do I want? I want to watch you unravel, Marisol. I want to see you give in to everything you’ve been denying yourself. Don’t you want that too?”

Yes.

The answer is yes, and it terrifies me. I can feel my pulse racing, my skin tingling with anticipation. This is wrong, all wrong, but I can’t bring myself to care. All I can think about is how it would feel to let go, to let him take control, to finally surrender to the dark desires I’ve been hiding for so long.

Before I can answer, the bell above the door chimes, signaling the arrival of another customer. The spell between us breaks, and he steps back, his smile fading just slightly. “Until next time,” he murmurs, his voice a promise that makes my pulse quicken.

I watch him disappear between the shelves, his presence lingering like a ghost, haunting the corners of my thoughts. Who is he, and what is it about him that leaves me so unsteady, so vulnerable? My hand tremblesslightly as I consider putting the forbidden romance back on the shelf, but his words echo in my mind, stirring something dangerous inside me.

Just as I’m about to return the book, the soft chime of the doorbell catches my attention. I glance up and see him leaving the shop. He doesn’t look back, but his departure feels deliberate, like a final tease, leaving me on edge. Instead of placing the book back on the shelf, I clutch it tighter.What’s one more forbidden romance on my shelf?The idea of running, of defying my own destiny, gnaws at me.Could I do it?Could I break free, as Zia tried to? Or am I too trapped, too caught in the web of expectations and duties? Alex’s words, his presence, have planted a seed of doubt in me, one I can’t easily shake.

I try to clear my thoughts, but they keep circling back to him, to the strange, unspoken connection between us. A connection that, for better or worse, I know will draw me back to him again.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander through the aisles aimlessly, my fingers trailing over the spines of books without truly seeing them. The encounter with the mysterious man, Alex, plays over and over in my mind, each replay making my pulse quicken. Was it just a chance meeting, or was there something more, something deeper to his sudden appearance in my life? I know I shouldn’t be obsessing like this. It’s dangerous—Daddy owns this town, and even talking to a stranger, let alone a man like him, could earn me punishment. But I can’t help it. Seeing him, hearing his voice, has awakened something in me, something I can’t quite control.

I make my way to the checkout counter, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of Alex. The shopkeeper, Tania, is there, giving me a strange look as she chews on her gum. Her blue eyeshadow is heavily caked on her eyelids, and her blonde hair is teased to perfection, just like always. Tania’s known for her sharp tongue and even sharper wit—she never holds back. As she rings up my purchase, she leans in closer, her perfume cloying, almost suffocating.

“Wouldn’t think a girl like you would read this kind of book. It’s sexy,” she says casually, her voice dripping with curiosity. My cheeks flush as I fumble for words, the heat rising in my face. The last thing I need is someone like Tania getting suspicious.

Noticing my discomfort, Tania just chuckles, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t worry, honey, your secrets are safe with me,” she says with a wink, sliding the book into a discreet brown paper bag. I mumble a quick thank you and hastily make my exit from the bookstore, eager to escape the prying eyes and tantalizing whispers that seem to follow me wherever I go in this town. With my head down and my bag pressed tightly against my chest, I hurry back to my house, avoiding the town square and the park—places where idle chit-chat and curious glances are all too common. My heart pounds in a frantic rhythm as I quicken my pace, dodging the familiar faces that could pull me into their webs of gossip.

But instead of finding my way home, I find myself inexplicably drawn to the church. I don’t know why I’m here, but something compels me to this place. It’s as if destiny itself has guided my feet to this sacred ground. I stand before the church doors, frozen in place, feeling an invisible force pulling me closer. My hands tremble as I reach for the door, half-expecting someone to stop me, but the town is too busy whispering behind closed doors. Besides, who would question me going into a church?

I push the door open, and a cool draft greets me, carrying the scent of old wood and incense. The door creaks shut behind me, leaving me alone in the dimly lit sanctuary.

“Are you here to confess your literary sins?”

A deep, familiar voice echoes through the church, laced with amusement and a hint of something darker. I jump, clutching the brown paper bag to my chest. Turning around, I see the man from the bookstore, the one who has haunted my thoughts. But now, seeing him here, I could almost laugh at the irony.

“A priest? You’re a priest?” I stammer, eyes wide with disbelief as I take in the sight of him. His onyx eyes gleam with an unsettling mixture of purity and sin, and his lips curl into a wry grin, revealing teeth that are almost too perfect, too white against the shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“I wear many hats,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over the black button-down he wears—definitely not the robes of a priest. His eyes drift down to the brown paper bag I’m clutching, and he raises an eyebrow, teasing me with that knowing look.

“You were just at the bookstore?” I ask, utterly bewildered. He steps forward, muscles rippling beneath his shirt, with a predatory smile playing on his lips.

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