Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance (Beautiful Series)
Beautiful Sinner: Chapter 11

WHO AM I to stop her?

When she and the tattooed boy leave together, clearly heading back to the house, I have no right to say anything. Shortly after, I wish the rest of the group well and I avoid the house as best as I can. I take a long walk around town, smoking what’s left in my emergency smokes hidden in the flower pot behind the church. I go to my office and try to focus my brain on the quarterly budget and the fundraising proposals. I can’t.

The numbers on the sheet aren’t enough to steal my mind away from the memory of her smile as he whispered in her ear. The way she whispered in mine just a few weeks ago. And the moment I feel the envy as it crawls up my spine, I stop what I’m doing and I open my bible.

A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones…

I know these words as well as I know my own soul. This is my job, my duty. This vocation gave me direction when nothing else did, and I may not be a perfect priest, but it is up to me to share this infinite wisdom, but how the fuck can I do that now that the doubt has crept its way in.

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil…

It feels wrong to ask God for the strength to stay true. My faith is strong enough. But then again, I’ve never been tempted before. Not like this.

It’s not her full lips and round features that claim my thoughts every night. It’s the warmth of her laugh and the ease of her conversation. If I’m truly being tested, God didn’t just send a beautiful woman, he sent the only one capable of truly waking my dead spirit.

I should sleep in the rectory tonight. It’s the only wise decision, but I don’t. I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I tried. I know I’ll feel better once I get back to the house and replace her sleeping in her own room alone where she belongs.

As I walk back just past midnight, I think about the envy I felt tonight. The envy for what that kid had but also what he is allowed to have. What if I had turned back toward her with a mischievous smile the way he did when she whispered in my ear? Would we have rushed out of the pub together, excitement on our faces and sex on our minds?

Would one night of indulgent sex have fulfilled me? Offered me what this life does? Purpose, power, and promise.

No. It would have felt good in the moment, but it would be my twenties all over again. A constant chase for that high, only to realize that after twenty different girls in one year, the whole inside of me cannot be filled with something carnal and fleeting.

The house is quiet when I walk in, but I hear something indistinct on the second floor as I pass on my way up to the third. Pausing on the stairs, I glance toward the closed doors. I don’t know what rooms this group has been divided into, but there are definitely some guests awake.

It could be the crowd I left at the bar. They must be just getting home and still awake.

Then I hear a moan. It’s high-pitched and undeniable.

Clearly a cry of pleasure, and I’ve come to know that voice anywhere. Pushing the rising envy away again, I keep climbing until I reach the third floor and come face to face with Cadence’s open door, empty inside.

Something spoils inside of me. It’s the jealousy staining all of the resolve I’ve just spent the last three hours building. Every ounce of reasoning is gone.

It’s replaced with anger. Resentment. An aching desire to discipline.

So instead of going quietly into my room to pray and rest, I turn around and stop at the lounge chairs situated in the small alcove on the second floor. Sitting in the dark, I hear the movement in the room and the sporadic whimpers before it grows silent. This is my penance.

Like a cilice around my waist, I make myself listen to what I can’t have. It feels like knives in my stomach, and it only feeds the rage boiling inside of me.

Awful thoughts about Cadence dance through my mind. It’s my only defense.

When the door finally opens, and I watch her emerge with her normally silky black hair matted against her head, I wait in the dark for the moment she notices me. There is no post-sex smile on her face. In fact, she’s worrying her lip and holding her shoulder sunken forward with shame.

“Jesus Christ, Callum,” she hisses in a low whisper.

I don’t answer, and for one long moment, we stare at each other, me watching from the shadows like a predator and her fresh from the arms of a complete stranger daring me to say something about it.

Then I spot a change in her expression. Sadness washes over her face as she turns away from me and storms up the stairs.

“Cadence,” I call to her as a warning, my voice taking on a tone three octaves lower than normal.

She ignores me as she reaches her room, but I reach a hand out, grabbing her forearm and spinning her so that she’s facing me. There is shock in her eyes, but I don’t let go of her arm.

“Go to bed, Callum.” She tries to yank herself out of my grasp, but I only steer her away from the stairs and closer to her open door so that we’re out of earshot of the guests downstairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap, my teeth bared and my face within an inch of hers. I stare into her eyes, which are growing more and more heated by the moment. “You can’t sleep with the guests, Cadence.”

“Oh, please,” she says, dismissing me. I feel the anger boiling out, and I know we’re about to fight, in the middle of the night over something I’m not allowed to say out loud.

“You’re lucky I don’t fire you right now. I probably should.”

“Fine, then fire me,” she spits back, her body pressed against mine. I can feel her tits move with every word. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

My teeth are clenched as I press myself closer, practically in her room. She doesn’t want to know what I really want. I can barely process it myself.

“This isn’t about the job. It’s about you judging me.” I’ve never seen Cadence so angry. Her face is contorted in frustration, like she’s fighting back emotion.

“I’m your boss, Cadence, and these are the rules.”

“Well, fuck your rules. You’re just being an asshole.”

“And you’re being a slut.” I wish I could say those words slipped out without my control, but that’s not true. I’ve let those words marinate for the last few hours…or weeks. It’s the easiest thing to think about someone who wants to give everyone else the thing you want. It’s not about me…it’s about her.

And I know it’s wrong. It was different when I was drunk and barely knew her. I know it makes me the worst fucking priest in the world, and the way her eyes immediately mist over and and her lips hang open, my heart splinters. Serving the rage I was feeling does not give me relief.

It gives me regret.

“Fuck. You,” she says just before she pushes my foot out of the way and slams the door in my face. I deserved that. I deserve far worse, to be honest.