Lessons in Sin - Pam Godwin Page 0,46

I crouched, hooked my arms beneath her back and legs, and lifted her featherlight weight, cradling her against me.

As I turned and carried her toward the center of the village, she burrowed closer and buried her face in my neck. It felt astonishingly, horribly right.

“Why would someone kill them?” She wept quietly. “I don’t understand.”

There were depraved people in the world. I knew that too well. I was one of them. But I would’ve never believed any of my students were capable of killing an animal. Some of the girls could be ruthless, but this was psychopathic behavior.

“Evil is inexplicable.” I bowed my head over hers, trying to shield her from the rain. “But it won’t go unpunished. Not in this life or the next.”

I took her to the closest building to protect her from the elements. Perhaps it was the one place I could protect her from me.

With the key from my pocket, I unlocked the towering arched doors of the church and carried her inside.

The familiar scent of incense and candle wax perfumed the air. A single aisle ran down the center, separating twenty rows of wooden pews on either side. I flicked on the dimmest light, illuminating the fourteen floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows, each illustrating one of the Stations of the Cross.

Straight ahead, at the end of the aisle, stood the altar.

I could lock the doors, spread her over that marble slab, and fuck her until she forgot all about the opossums. The simmering heat in my blood demanded it.

But there was also guilt, thick and cold, congealing in my stomach.

This was a church. I never allowed my depraved thoughts to desecrate these walls. She was safe from me here.

I carried her to the first row and lowered into the pew. We were soaked from the rain, quivering uncontrollably, and dripping water all over the place. As I shifted to set her beside me, her arm stiffened around my back, wordlessly demanding I not let go.

“Tinsley.” I held her on my lap and gripped the soggy cardboard. “Give me the box.”

“No.” Her head shook rapidly, her gaze waterlogged and devastated. “I can’t.”

“You can.” I injected steel in my voice. “Do as you’re told.”

Her fingers sprung open, releasing the shoebox, and a sob tore from her throat.

“Good girl.” I set it aside and pulled her against my chest.

She was so small, her lissome limbs curled into a ball on my lap, her head tucked beneath my chin. We needed towels, dry clothes, but that would require going back out in the rain.

So I gave her my body heat and removed the phone from my pocket. After sending off a few quick texts, I set the device aside. Then, under the guise of keeping her warm, I gave into the urge to touch her.

Slowly, agonizingly, I circled my palm across the silky wet skin of her thigh, torturing myself. If I wandered a few inches higher, I would reach heaven.

She’d gifted me a clear, unhampered view of her glistening slit this afternoon. With her bare ass perched in the air and the belt she’d so naughtily earned leaving stripes of angry red flesh, I applauded myself for not impaling her from end to end.

But I wasn’t a saint. In fact, I was still reeling from the hungry, violent sensations that had thrashed through every nerve in my body. She’d left my classroom, but not my mind. Not for a single moment. And now, with her irresistible backside pressed against my swelling cock, I felt sex-crazed and out of control.

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