Chapter 19
NINETEEN
I wake in the library, covered with a cream knitted throw. My hand reaches out instinctively to the space beside me, searching for the warmth of him that's now absent. Then, I notice it, a slip of paper is resting where Sin should be.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
I smile, reaching for my phone from the small wooden table beside me and send a text to him.
Magnolia: Still quoting Romeo and Juliet, I see.
The memories of last night hit me like a tank, the way his hands were all over me.
The way in which he worshipped my body, dotting kisses gently on my skin and sending me into a frenzy of euphoric melancholy.
Sin: It’s my new favorite book.
No matter how good, how natural it felt… the light of day has made every bit of guilt smother me.
We’re not married, and before last month I had never even had my first kiss. Now, I’ve not only slept beside a man, but I have kissed him, been touched by him, and dare I say… I’m falling for him.
Falling so fast and so purely.
I jump off the chaise, needing my body to move to catch up with my racing heart.
Sin: What are you doing today aside from thinking of me?
I stare at the phone, wanting to crawl out of my skin. I need a shower, a way to erase what I’ve done. This new life, these new people, however nice and caring they may be, have made me stray from my core values.
The little devil on my shoulder whispers to me, telling me it was okay and that my body is mine and I can do what I please with it, and my body most definitely wanted Sin last night.
But the other side, the angel…
She has opposing views.
I slip into my room, gathering up a change of clothes before heading to the shower. I silence my phone and toss it into a random drawer.
As I wash my body off, I feel equally guilty for wanting to scrub him away. What is wrong with me?
The rest of my shower is spent in an agonizing argument with myself. Through brushing my freshly shampooed hair and regretting that I don’t have Sin’s cologne clinging to it anymore.
For obvious reasons I chose the most modest thing I own. Guilt is not only showcasing in my heart but it’s portraying my body on the outside now.
White tights, a plaid skirt and a white T-shirt. The uniform of my life. I don’t own any flats now, but I do have a pair of black pumps that I slip on.
Returning to the chaise, I escape into my new books. Straying from the romances that remind me of him, I opt for a thriller and read all day and long into the night.
Now it’s getting close to bedtime and the house has been abnormally quiet. I haven’t eaten, so I dip into the fridge and pull out a tray of fresh fruit.
“Shit!” I scream, turning to face Sin, nearly throwing a piece of pineapple at him. He’s gazing up and down my body slowly, intently. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
With crossed arms he shakes his head, his tone not reflecting the look in his gaze. “Why have you been ignoring me all day?”
I bite my lip and so does he. “I was busy.”
“Busy?” He stalks towards me. “Busy looking like that?” he growls lightly, picking me up and tossing my legs around him.
I gasp, my core heating as he sets me on the cold, marble counter.
“Please tell me you didn’t leave the house in that because if you did I guarantee you were the center of attention of every man in this fucking city.”
I blush, sighing. “I was trying to dress modestly.”
“For what reason?” He plucks the piece of pineapple from my hand, gently sucking the juice from the tips of my fingers.. “This will make you taste sweet for me.”
“Sin!” He doesn’t understand what he's doing to me, how this makes me feel. How much I yearn for him, but also the other part of me that wants to repent. With his soft lips on my neck, I whisper out before this can go any further, “I need to repent.”
He stops immediately, and I feel a warm sensation against my skin from the way his breathing grows from quick and shallow to long and drawn out. “Repent for what?” he asks, his ghost eyes watching me, framed by thick lashes and dark brows that make me envy him.
“This,” I whisper, gesturing between us.
Sin takes his hand, starting at my ankles he works his way up slowly. “Repent me?” he asks, his tone growing cold as he touches the smooth fabric of my tights.
I toss my head back, biting my lip as he reaches my inner thigh. “Yes. I can’t, this is wrong.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?” he growls.
“No.”
He knows he’s making me come undone again; his other hand sweeps behind my back to push me into him. “Say it, Magnolia. What do you need forgiveness for?”
“Nothing we’re doing is right.”
“Nothing we’re doing is wrong,” he counters.
“It feels wrong,” I lie to myself. It feels more natural than anything I’ve ever experienced.
By the expression on his face, you would think that I skewered him with those words.
He runs a hand down his face, drawing out his frustration. “You are everything in this world that is right.”
“No, I’m a sinner.”
“We all are. They brainwashed you.”
His lips are a hair’s breadth away now. “God wouldn’t like this,” I breathe against him.
He steps back, anger rushing over him.
“Sin.” I want him back against me as much as I need air.
I’m suffocating in all he is.
“I shouldn’t be worshipping someone in this way,” I admit.
“Come.” He beckons me with a crook of his finger as he turns and stalks out of the kitchen.
Without a second’s hesitation I follow him out onto the street. We turn right down a small alley beside the house and to a brick two-car garage that I didn’t realize was his until he keys in the code, and it opens.
A midnight black car sits in one of the spots, the other empty. He opens the passenger door and waits for me to go inside. I slide into the cool leather seat and buckle.
Moments later, Sin gets in the driver's seat, messing with a set of keys. “Are you mad at me?” I speak into the silence, worried for his answer. For as much as I want to repent, I equally want to obey him.
He looks forward, not turning in my direction an inch. His quiet response is deafened by the loud purr of the engine. I note his white knuckles around the wheel as we peel out and onto the street. He does reach his hand over to check that I’m buckled but other than that, radio silence.
Ten minutes—that feels like an hour—later we pull up to a cathedral. The lights are out, basking the arches in a sinister moonlit glow. “The priest won't be here this late,” I tell him.
He gives me an incredulous look. “This is New York City. It’s only nine at night. They’re usually here until midnight.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Sometimes I come here.”
I peer over at him in awe. This man who embodies sin, who seems to thrive in the dark, who sometimes comes to this very church to do what I’m about to do. “Thank you.”
Sin extends his arm to me, leading us inside.
The worn wooden pews are illuminated by amber lights that hang on the walls throughout the entire cathedral.
“I’ll wait for you right here,” he tells me, his deep voice rumbling through the empty space .
Before going to the booth, I take some time at the altar, praying for Saint Mary’s and myself.
I open the wooden door to the confessional booth and step in; it creaks closed. Running through the motions of Hail Mary, wondering where in the world to begin.
My confessions before were innocent, simple. Like reading a book I wasn’t supposed to or cursing, watching a movie that wasn’t allowed. Things that wouldn't make me blush like the things I’m about to admit.
Taking a deep breath, I clutch my hands together, my fingers entwined in a silent prayer. I stay this way for a long time, attempting to muster the courage to speak.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy on my soul, but there's a yearning, an urgency to release the secrets that are beginning to affect me to my core.
"I have done terrible things the past few weeks," I confess, the admission a speck of the truth.
The voice on the other side is kind and soothing. "Go on, my child," the priest encourages, granting me the space to share my burdens.
Taking a deep breath, I begin. "I left the only home I’ve ever known and moved in with a man I barely knew,” I admit, my eyes welling up with tears. This is a very rushed version of the truth, but the real story would take too long. He may know someone at Saint Mary’s, and I don’t want to be forced to leave Sin. Maybe he and I can come into common ground so that I won't have to feel this way .
"I have shared my first kiss, and we have done… other unspeakable things."
"You are brave for admitting this,” the priest reassures. "God's grace is here for you, ready to embrace you in forgiveness and healing."
Tears slip down my cheeks as I unburden myself. "I feel like I’m straying.”
The priest's voice is gentle and understanding. "Recognizing our failures is the first step towards redemption. God's love is vast, my child, and through genuine repentance, we find the strength to change."
“Please help me lift this burden of guilt. What do I need to do Father, to repent?” The words hurt my heart because the things I feel for Sin don’t feel wrong.
“Pray for forgiveness.”
I listen to his advice, but it doesn’t feel right. “I have something else to confess,” I admit.
“Go on.”
“I don’t feel bad for any of it, I feel guilty, but I think that’s just fear that was instilled in me. But deep into my core, I do not feel bad.”
Silence follows. “Have you been in bed with him?”
I adjust myself in the seat. “Not in that way.”
“Have you thought about it?” An Italian accent sneaks its way through the booth.
That’s when I recognize the earthy rumble of his voice, the familiar tune. I look through the thin slits for the first time, adjusting my eyes until I see him.
“Come here, Magnolia,” he purrs, tapping his knee.
“Sin!” I know how ironic it is to shout that name inside of a confessional booth, but I am so caught off guard. I confessed my darkest sins to the dark knight of New York City.
“I won't ask again,” he states.
I stand up quickly, my gaze still peering through the tiny slivers on the elaborate brass wall between us. “We have to go!”
“No one is here. I locked the door.”
“Seriously!” I breathe out. “How did I not know that was you?”
“I have practiced an English accent for years that would confuse even my family. Now, come”
I whisper back, not believing that we’re alone at all, “It’s wrong.”
“Don’t play that bullshit with me, Magnolia,” he growls. “I heard you say you don’t feel guilty for feeling these things about me.”
“I can’t,” I say, but I blush. Thinking of how exciting this is. I’m a terrible person.
“I’m dead serious, come here or I’ll come to you.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie to you. I never would.” His voice is a low timber. “I embellished. The church is open always, but the priests leave at nine.”
I look around the old wooden booth. “Do you actually come here?”
“I used to,” he says quietly, “but it’s not my scene. Enough questions from you; it’s my turn. Why do you pray, Magnolia? ”
This should be an easy answer, but it’s not. I was raised this way, not to seek therapy or a friend but to talk to a higher power.
Sin answers for me before I can decide how to word it. “It’s what you’re used to, right?” When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’m here, and I’m real.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.” From being taught these things without ever asking to be, to thinking all of it is true, to discovering a world outside of those castle walls of my orphanage and seeing the good in people that the bible would detest.
Sin stands, walks out into the cathedral, and lets out a long, slow sigh before opening my door. He stands before me and snaps his finger downward; I obey and sit.
“This is real,” he says, leaning down to bury our faces together. “I will not allow you to feel an ounce of guilt for giving into temptation for taking every good thing this wretched world has to offer to you. If we weren’t meant to feel these things,”—his hand grazes along the side of my breast, traveling down to my waist as his dress shoe crooks a ledge of wooden door, closing it shut, cramming us dangerously close into the confessional booth together—“our bodies wouldn’t react the way they do.”
He is so tall that he must bend his entire body to kiss me, to wrap his hands through my hair.
I moan into his mouth, gasping when he grabs my wrist and places my hand on the bulge of his dress pants. “Do you want it?” he whispers into my ear .
Something about the way he stands and grips the button of his pants, waiting for a response, sends me into a frenzy of need. This is so wrong, so delightfully tempting. But we were given free will.
I bite my lip, nodding in approval and gazing in awe as he unzips, unleashing himself in front of my face.
“It’s all perfectly natural.” He smirks, stroking himself. “As long as you want it too, that’s all that matters.”
I’m so shocked that I can’t speak. I’ve never seen one this close before, and I doubt this size is typical. He is enormous.
“I want you,” I say, because it’s the truth.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The moment the approval leaves my lips, Sin shoves himself deep down my throat. “You’re such a good girl, Magnolia,” he purrs, craning his neck back in euphoria as I take in every inch of him.
I gag and he groans, slowly rolling in and out of me.
“The first cock to ever be in any of your holes,” he croons, shoving in deeper before stepping back and staring at me. “That little devil on your shoulder isn't evil, Magnolia. It’s not a demon at all. It’s your thoughts. Your decisions that you were raised to believe were wrong. You can choose how you want to live.”
I take him in my hands, unable to cover him with both. I mimic his actions when he was stroking himself and he looks at me with sinister delight.
“The angel on your shoulder is the one who lies, Magnolia.” He leans down to kiss my neck. “Now…” He grips my sh oulders and pushes my back against the cool, worn wood of the pew. “I need to test my pineapple theory.”
Sin dips onto his knees, grasping my calves, pulling my legs on either side of his head. I grip my fingers on anything available. “You’ve never orgasmed, have you?”
His perfect teeth grip the fabric of my tights, ripping a hole between my legs to give him better access.
“No,” I cry out in bliss as his tongue sweeps across my most sensitive area.
“You taste so sweet.”
I braid my hands through his thick hair, rustling the perfect style.
“They brainwashed you, Magnolia. Can’t you see the way I make you feel?”
“Mhmm,” I moan out, “but…” It is so hard to talk. “What if you’re brainwashing me now?” I gasp, not knowing who to trust. My heart leads me only to him, but can I even trust myself?
A deep, throaty laugh escapes him. I feel the rumble of it against me as he lifts his face and replaces his tongue with his finger. “I am allowed to. I am allowed to make you believe whatever I want.” He dips one finger into me, slowly and methodically. Nothing has ever been inside of me before, the sounds of my wetness surprise me, the feeling so strong. “Because I own every single fucking inch of you.”
“Oh my God.” I shout as I come undone; a throbbing sensation buckles me in place.
With his thumb, he rubs gentle circles. “This is your clit, and it was made to make you feel good. See the way I touch it and your body reacts? Jerking and thrashing?”
I can’t respond verbally; my entire body is shaking from pleasure as I moan his name.
“Yes, Magnolia. Fucking come for me,” he sneers. “Look at me, Magnolia.”
I do, watching his enchanting dark eyes under thick lashes. The way they seem like they want to devour my soul. “I am your God now,” he tells me.
Sin licks my inner thigh as his fingers work their magic. “You obey me.”
His finger dips into me again as he sits up, leaning down to put his lips near mine. “You worship me,” he demands. “You pray to me.”
“Yes, Sin.” His lips collide with mine, tongue twirling as I taste myself on him.
“Say it,” he whispers into my mouth.
My body tenses in anticipation as he leans down once again.
I’m a mess. His tongue twirls against me, gently sucking and spinning.
Only when his large hand slides up to rest on my throat, his other hand utilizing two fingers now to dip in and out of me, do I give into temptation.
Freedom. That’s what Sin is offering.
More than I can say for anything else I have been taught. To be purely free to make my own mistakes and decisions is something I want more than anything .
To not feel guilt, to give into temptation and greed and gluttony. It all sounds dangerously delightful.
I know there is no coming back from this, except for confessing. But I will never be able to repent the way I used to. I would rather repent with Sin down my throat every single day of my life because he is my omen.
Only when his warm tongue returns, and he twirls and gently sucks do I grip his shoulders, digging my nails into his golden skin and scream the words he ordered me to.
“You’re my God now.”