Page 2 of Lust

In the small warehouse at the back of the shop, I furiously rip into the boxes containing the new books. Mumbling about being weak, allowing people to walk all over me and how God can’t possibly have meant for women to be such meek and mild humans. Doormat. That’s the word that pops into my head.

I don’t remember my mother and Pa hasn’t dated, well, not as far as I know. No, he can’t have. He’s too devoted to God and the church. The only female figures in my life growing up were women of whichever congregation Pa was presiding over. There have been a few, but we’ve been at the church of Mary Magdalene in London since I was sixteen.

I had a few female friends in school and college, but most stayed away. Who wants to be friends with a girl who isn’t allowed to go to parties, drink, date boys. I mean let’s be honest, I wasn’t at the top of any party invites, and boys either thought I was weird or saw me as a challenge. Bets were made about whowould be the first to kiss me, get to second base, have sex with me.

Female role models were, therefore, in short supply growing up. I became the female version of Pa. My life consisted of school then college and church. Any events were always around the religious calendar. It is how I met Paul and fell in love. A version of love. Now I’m not sure if it was love at all. It certainly wasn’t the love you see in the movies or read about. And it wasn’t love for Paul either.

“Sydney, would you like tea?” Cressida asks from behind me, startling me and interrupting my thoughts. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Daydreaming again?”

“Just thinking. Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Cressida smiles and disappears back into the staff room. I finish checking off the last couple of books from this box and load them onto the trolley ready to take them out to the shop floor.

Cressida is coming out of the staff room with a tray laden with cups of tea in her hands as I reach it.

“Let me grab the door for you,” I say, scooting forward and opening the door to the shop floor.

“Cheers. Your tea is in the ‘hopeless romantic’ cup on the counter.”

“Thanks.” I let the door close once she’s clear and go grab my tea. Hopeless romantic, huh? Yeah, I don’t think so. I carry my cup to the table and sit. Spying a box of biscuits, I help myself and proceed to dunk it. A book left open on the table catches my eye, and I get lost in the words as I lift my biscuit…

He lowersme to the bed, tearing at my clothes, quite literally. I curse and even growl at him when he rips my T-shirt from the bottom to the top in one fucking pull.

“Hey!” I say, gripping his face in my hands firmly. He lets me hold him there, but his hands have other ideas as they swiftly undo my jeans. “I don’t have a lot of clothes in the small bag, you know, so maybe go easy with the ripping, huh?”

“Fuck the clothes, Parker. I’d have you naked all fucking day.” He tugs my jeans, and I lift my arse so he can drag them down my legs. “Giving me easy access to this,” he groans, raising my legs and running his nose up my thong covered pussy. His groan turns to a growl as I raise my hips, offering myself to him and seeking my own relief as my pussy throbs. He obliges, slipping his fingers in my knickers and pulling them to one side before lowering his head and sucking my clit into his mouth.

Reality snaps backin with a plunk as half my biscuit drops into my cup, splashing tea over the side.

“Damn it!” I quickly shove the rest of the biscuit into my mouth and grab the cloth from the draining board, wiping the table and the bottom of my cup. I don’t bother with trying to fish out the biscuit. By now it will be mush at the bottom of my cup.

After rinsing the cloth, I sit back down, refusing to get drawn back into the book. I ignore the hot flush over my cheeks and the pulsing between my legs from the erotic words I just read. I slam the book closed, finish my tea and get back to work.

My shift passes quickly, but thoughts of what that man was doing to the woman in the book continue to invade my mind. Only I’m the woman and the man looks like Roman. It’s not like I’ve never experienced sexual pleasure. In fact, if Pa knew just how far I’ve taken things, he would be utterly ashamed. Reading that book earlier would be nothing compared to the real depths of my fall from grace.

While the church is a little more lenient on sex before marriage, Pa is not. He believes in saving yourself for your husband, that you should only ever have sex with the man you marry. Especially as he deems marriage a sacred vow. Strange considering he’s never married, but he argues that he’s married to God and his mission.

Paul and I fooled around, but we never had sex. Not until I discovered he’d been unfaithful. After discovering his infidelity, I naively believed him when he said he wasn’t strong enough to fight the temptation offered to him. When he got down on his knees and pleaded with me to give him a second chance, that he loved me so much and he’d wished it was me, I lapped it up like a thirsty dog. The next time things got heavy between us, I told him I was ready and didn’t want to wait any longer. So, I gave myself to him. Things were good between us, and we continued with our plans to wed three months later.

The day of our wedding arrived. I was so incredibly happy, and Pa was proud. But it all turned to dust during our vows when a woman burst into the church claiming that she was carrying Paul’s baby. I was heartbroken. Embarrassed beyond belief. And so ashamed that I’d freely given myself to him, trusting him.

I’d never seen Pa so furious. I hadn’t thought it possible to see such hatred in Pa’s eyes. Paul left the church, left town, the next day. The last I heard they were married and expecting another baby. The good Christian in me wishes them a happy life together, but a new and ever pressing rebellious part of me hopes karma will do her worst. Not only was Paul responsible for my first experience of a false love, he is also responsible for the fact I am no longer a virgin. And the reason for all my impure thoughts of late, my growing curiosity and urge to have sex again.

Maybe Pa was right and working here really is a temptation.

A path to damnation.

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

Sheila’s ire at my lateness was wiped out by my having finished the jobs she set out at the start of my shift, and I feel lighter and confident that I’ll keep my job as I leave Novel Notions. Darkness has fallen outside, and a light drizzle begins to fall as I walk down the street. Thankfully, I only live ten minutes away. Having forgotten my umbrella this morning, I’m hopeful I won’t get too wet. That hopefulness is tossed out the window twelve minutes later as I strip off my drenched coat and scarf as they drip all over the hall floor. My clothes beneath haven’t fared much better, and the cold, wet clothes stick to my skin. I’ve never understood how you can get wetter from a light misty drizzle than when it absolutely chucks it down. I do remember reading somewhere that running in the rain makes you wetter than walking. I’ve no idea how true that is.

There is no logic in somethings in life.

I hang my coat and scarf on the coat hooks in the hall and place a small hand towel beneath them to catch the drips, then I jog upstairs to shower. I had one this morning, but my bones are cold, and I need to warm up before heading to Pa’s for dinner.

Once dressed in a slim fitted, knee length plain black dress and having dried my dark brown shoulder length hair, I orderan Uber. Pa doesn’t like me using taxis or Ubers, but it’s still raining, and I don’t fancy sitting through dinner in wet clothes. I’ve just finished applying a light coat of pale pink lip gloss when my phone pings, alerting me my Uber is here. Slipping on a pair of black ballet flats, I head downstairs, swiping my other, dry, coat from the hall, my umbrella and my still damp handbag before leaving.

Since moving out after my relationship with Paul ended, Pa has insisted on us having Sunday dinner together every week. On the odd occasion it’s been moved to a Friday, like today, or Saturday night. Pa is going away first thing tomorrow, something that has become more common recently. He’s always attended conferences, that’s nothing new, but when I asked why there seem to be more these past couple of years, he told me it was because the church is constantly changing these days, and he needs to keep up to date.

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