Beautiful Sinner: a standalone forbidden romance

by Sara Cate

  And I suddenly feel anxious and restless for it. I need it now. And not in a horny, fuck me now sort of way. I need it now because the sooner I get Taron into my system, I can get other guys out. I don’t want Clint to be the last guy I fucked. And I don’t want Callum to be the last guy I almost kissed.

  “You want to head back?” I ask when our lips part.

  Taron’s eyes go wide and a smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Fuck yeah.”

  Eleven

  Callum

  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 find 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.

  Twelve

  Callum

  Somehow, I sleep like the dead that night. But my words to Cadence are the first thing I hear when I wake up in the morning, like an echo of a bad memory. I fucked up.

  The anger I felt has drained away, leaving me feeling rotten and cold.

  I called her a slut—again.

  I meant it.

  I’ve never been so drunk on jealousy in my life, but I was angry at Cadence. Not that I had any right to be, but I hated the way she gave her body away. I hated that she would not see this guy again after today, and she let someone who would never be as close to her as I was...touch her, taste her, fuck her.
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br />   If that’s not envy, then I don’t know what is.

  Sitting up in my bed, my feet flat on the floor, I bow my head and I pray—aggressively. Running the beads of my rosary through my fingers, I get lost in the rhythm of my prayer. It settles my mind, getting lost in the chant as it clears away the fog.

  Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

  The full prayer repeats in my head until it feels as if I’m no longer the one thinking it. I am no longer in control. I am lost to the cadence. This is what I love about my faith, how it runs like water through every moment of doubt or fear.

  After nearly an hour, I get off my ass and get dressed, feeling somehow renewed. It’s Tuesday, which means I need to tend to the farm today before I focus on tomorrow’s Mass. I will have to face her today...all day. And I have no idea how she’ll behave.

  Part of me hopes she’s holding onto her anger and she serves it to me. But another part of me is afraid we will never recover from this. After the incident in Dublin last week and now this, she may never let her guard down with me again. I may never hear her stupid jokes or be on the receiving end of that warm smile.

  Probably for the best.

  She’s not down at breakfast, but it’s past nine, which is late around here. Bridget is in a mood too, probably annoyed that her only two staff members took off to the pub to leave her alone in the house last night. I have too much to feel like shit for to start feeling bad for that.

  “She’s already in the barn,” she snaps at me, when she catches me looking for Cadence. Does she know something? Did she hear our fight? Or Cadence’s visit to our guest’s room?

  As I hop into the van, I rifle through the glove box for a hidden pack of smokes. I light up on my way over to the barn, noticing the way the dark clouds roll in from the west, so I pull out the weather app on my phone. Whatever we have to do out in the barn today, we need to do it fast because there’s a guster rolling in and won’t give us much warning.

  I spot movement in the stable as I pull up. Judging by the aggressive way she’s raking the stall, she’s pissed. I can guarantee I’m the last person she wants to see.

  Without a greeting, we make eye contact for a brief second before I head to the back of the barn to pull down the extra hay bales for Misty.

  I spend the next hour working tirelessly, my mind running a mile a minute with all the things I’m too scared to say. She’s stomping around in the barn, doing her daily chores without complaint and actually completing them well.

  A thunder cracks in the sky, practically shaking the walls of the barn, and I spot movement in the sky over the water. Misty starts to grow restless in her stable. When I come out to check on her, I find Cadence standing in her stall, stroking the horse’s nose and mumbling gently to her. It’s a far cry from the girl who was too afraid to even get close to her six weeks ago.

  She stares back at me for a moment, and I hardly recognize her. She normally has bright eyes, glowing skin, a heavy layer or makeup to highlight every perfect feature. Today, there are heavy round bags under her eyes and a steely-cold frown on her face. If I had any hopes she was going to forget about what I said last night, that’s gone now.

  “Cadence,” I say quietly, hoping to start a conversation.

  She doesn’t look away or fight back so I continue.

  “I want to apologize for what I said last—”

  “Don’t bother,” she says, breaking me off. “You were right. I am a slut.” Her tone is cold and emotionless, like she’s defeated, giving me the final word and accepting that insult as truth. It has me gripping the pitchfork harder between my hands.

  “Stop it.” I’m not playing with her, and my harsh snap shows it, but she doesn’t listen.

  “You know, I may be a slut, Callum, but at least I can admit it. At least I own what I am.”

  There she goes. She’s bringing out the weapons now, and I’m desperate to fight.

  “Oh yeah? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re a hypocrite. You’re just jealous.”

  My brow knots together as I toss down the pitchfork in anger. If she wanted to pin these feelings on me, I’m ready for it. “Jealous of what?”

  “Jealous of me, Callum. Jealous that I get to live my life. That I don’t need God to tell me what to do all the time. I can fuck whoever I want, whenever I want. Meanwhile you’re stuck with that stupid collar around your neck because you can’t think for yourself.” She leaves Misty’s side and steps out of the stable toward me. She still has the rake in her hand as she walks into the clearing between the barn and stable.

  “I have no regrets, Cadence. Don’t attack my position at the church. You know nothing about it.”

  “I know it’s the only way you can get people to listen to you. I heard you at Mass. I know you’re a good speaker. But you’re nothing without it.”

  My jaw clenches. The smiling American girl full of personality and joy is equally as spiteful and cruel as she is happy and fun.

  “Cadence,” I warn her again.

  She steps closer. There is so much pain and rage written on her delicate features that it makes her unrecognizable. “Don’t you dare apologize to me. You’re not sorry, Callum. You do think I’m a slut. Just admit it. I’m the only one who can call you out on how fake you are!”

  Lightning lights up the dark clouds in the distance.

  “Get in the barn,” I snap, ignoring her words, but she doesn’t listen.

  “Or maybe you weren’t jealous of me at all. Maybe you were jealous of him.”

  I don’t hear her words. All I see is the metal and wood in her hands and the approaching storm. “Cadence, goddammit!” I shout.

  I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain—ever. I don’t claim to have a clean mouth by any means, but I don’t do that. And the only reason I do it now is to get her attention because even her eyes go wide. “Drop the rake.” My voice booms enough to snap her out of her spell.

  Just as she drops it, a thunderous crack shakes the barn. It’s so loud, my ears ring, and I barely hear Misty screaming from her stall.

  I hear Cadence’s scream, and I register the strike fast enough to grab her by the wrist and pull her into my arms. Quickly, I take her into the barn and hold her shaking body against me as I look up to inspect the roof.

  The lightning rods on the buildings do their job. They keep the lightning from burning everything we own to the ground. We can’t help the fact that it’s loud as fuck and you never really get used to it.

  When my ears stop ringing, I hear her muffled cries. In a daze, I pull her away to check her. The strike didn’t hit her. She dropped the rake in time. But she’s still shaking like a leaf and tears are flowing down her cheeks.

  I yank her body back against mine and stroke her back as she sobs. It’s not about the lightning anymore. I can figure that much out myself.

  She cries for what feels like an hour but is probably closer to ten minutes. I don’t know exactly what it is that’s causing the tears. Maybe it’s me calling her a slut, or regret over sleeping with that guy. It could be the fear from the lightning or missing home. My guess is a combination of all of these things. Nevertheless, I hold her while she does it.

  The feel of her soft body in my hands is something I try to memorize. Her warm breath through my thin shirt. The way she fits with her face against my chest, right where my heart hides. How good her hair smells. How easily I could press my lips against the top of her head.

  When she starts to quiet and the clouds finally release the rain, I let the words I’d been holding onto go free.

  “You’re right. I do hide behind my collar. I do like that people listen to me. Most of the time, I do feel like a fraud, Cadence.”

  She pulls her tear-soaked face away from m
y shirt and looks up at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, but she never looked more beautiful than she does right now, raw and vulnerable and real.

  Her gaze lingers on my face and the silence between us is louder than all of the unspoken words. It’s not about what we said to each other but about finally accepting that whether or not we should feel things, we do anyway.

  We can accept that everything between us is so intense it’s hard to define. This quiet moment changes something.

  It changes everything.

  For any other man, this would be the moment I kiss her. And God help me, I want to.

  I want to feel those full lips against mine so bad I’m afraid this desire will haunt me for the rest of my days. I wish she never stepped foot in my hotel because of how badly I want to press my tongue past her lips and feel what it’s like inside her. To own her. To please her.

  She feels it too, I’m certain of it.

  Her lips part. She’s waiting for me to make the first move. I see yearning in her softened eyes.

  Seconds become heavy, weighted moments until the waiting becomes unbearable, and I look away.

  “Let’s get back to the house.”

  Disappointment colors her features as she nods her head and wipes her eyes.

  I offer to pull the truck up closer so she doesn’t have to get wet, but she declines. I think she wants to feel the rain, as if it could wash away the last thirty minutes. Or thirty days.

  The short drive feels long as we sit next to each other wordlessly. I can’t go inside. It would be best if I went back to the rectory, sleep there for a while. So I pull up to the front and leave the engine running as she starts to climb out. But I can’t let this conversation go, so just before she gets out, I speak up.

  “Cadence.” She turns around and stares at me, and maybe there’s hope in her eyes. Hope that I’ll tell her to get back in so we can stay in this quiet bubble where the outside world doesn’t matter and vows mean nothing.