“Are we going to have sex tonight?” my impatient girl asks in the elevator. “I did so well with your fingers.”

“Darling, two fingers isn’t even close to my cock,” I inform her smugly. But seeing her disappointment, I assure her, “But we’re still going to have lots of fun tonight.”

“I want to have sex,” she complains.

“Now, Miss Intercourse Doesn’t Define Sex, I thought we agreed that I’d set the pace. And it’s all sex, remember?”

She sighs, looking a bit forlorn. “Yes. I remember.”

“Good. You’re mine to treasure, sweetheart, and I want to savor each and every part of you as you flower open.”

I mean all those words, but I am secretly pleased that she’s growing hungry for sex. I’m starving for her too, but not even starvation will drive me past making this amazing for her. And amazing things take time.

Once we’re inside, I give her five minutes to get herself ready for me, and then I want her naked on my bed, a request that’s met with an eyebrow.

“Then you have to get naked too,” she says. “That’s only fair.”

“Okay,” I agree, and she looks suspicious at my easy acquiescence, like it’s a trick somehow. I laugh. “Zenny, I’m happy to get naked for you. It gets me hard knowing you like my body even half as much as I like yours. Now hurry up, so we can start playing.”

She disappears into the bathroom, while I get the bedroom ready, turning off the overhead lights and flicking on a corner lamp, arranging tonight’s props on the bed. I wasn’t kidding about how her obvious lust for me gets me hard, and my cock is heavy and rigid as I unfasten my jeans and pull off my shirt and toe off my shoes. I’m naked except for the jeans—my cock a dusky, thick pole jutting out from the open zipper—as she opens the door the bedroom. The bright light from behind her limns her body in glowing gold, glowing over those long, lithe legs and that taut belly and those pert little tits, currently tipped with hard, tight buds. Her hair is a soft, dark halo, and with the light angled like this, her eyes shine like stars. A naked angel. My naked angel.

My cock throbs and I have to swallow to find my voice. “On the bed,” I whisper, nearly cracking open with need as she walks toward me and the shadows melt away from her body. Every inch of her is perfection personified, and I can’t believe that of all the men in the world, she’s chosen me to share her body with. Her smiles and her worries and her time and her trust.

How did I get so fucking lucky?

And how will I bear it when it ends?

“I changed my mind,” Zenny says, a bit huskily. “You can leave the jeans on.”

And I realize she likes this, seeing my need for her framed so obviously, so painfully. I give her a playful little bow. “Whatever milady desires,” I say.

“You say that now, but I know you’re about to get bossy again—” She freezes when she sees what I’ve got laid out on the bed, and I study her face and her body as she takes in the toys. “Sean?”

I come up behind her, holding her hair away from her neck so I can trail comforting kisses along the curve of her shoulder. The tip of my cock brushes against the dimples at the small of her back, and we both shiver at the same time.

“You said you’d never used a vibrator,” I murmur, my lips still moving across the warm skin of her shoulder. “I thought it would be fun to try it out.”

“Oh,” she says. “I—I didn’t realize they were so big.”

I slide one of my hands down her arm and over her hand, and I guide her fingers to the wand vibrator that has her so spooked. “This doesn’t go inside you,” I promise, letting her examine the toy. “It’s big because it’s so powerful. And this one—” I move her hand over to the much smaller one “—is made for your G-spot. See the flattened knob at the end? You slide it inside and let it tickle you from the inside out.”

Her hand moves on its own to the small jeweled plug at the edge of the towel the toys are laid out on. “And what’s this for?” she asks, picking it up. The light prisms around the scarlet-colored jewel and gleams along the fat bullet of the plug’s body. Zenny’s voice is all innocent curiosity. “Is this for inside me too?”

“Yes, baby. We make it all slippery, see, and we get you all squirming and dirty-feeling, and then I’ll put this in your ass, and it will make you feel better.”

Her breath catches. “It will?”

I nuzzle her. “I know it sounds scary, and we’re not going to do it tonight. But I wanted you to see it, to hold it, to start getting used to the idea.”

“I—I don’t know about anal,” she admits, but she’s still holding the plug in her palm, stroking along the cool metal with her other hand. “It always seemed like something that was more for the man to enjoy than the woman.”

“Too many men have been selfish with it,” I agree. “But have I ever been selfish with your body in a way you didn’t also enjoy?”

She makes a thoughtful hmm. “I suppose you haven’t yet.”

“And you trust me?”

“I trust you.”

“Then I want to try it with you. Anything we do, from anal to sharing a coffee mug in the morning, I’ll stop the minute you ask. And so if we try it and you hate it, we’ll stop and move on to the next thing. There’s so many other things to do, Zenny-bug, that we won’t even notice dropping this one by the side of the road.”

She turns in my arms, which now traps my cock against the softness of her belly. I heroically resist the urge to start grinding into her navel.

“But you really think it will feel good?” she asks.

“I do,” I tell her warmly, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m going to say something that isn’t true for every woman, but I think it’s going to be true for you.”

“Oh?”

I let my hand play over the curve of her hip, dance over the soft bed of curls between her legs. “Once I fuck you,” I say, my voice kind and instructive like a teacher’s, “you’re going to start to feel an emptiness deep inside your cunt.”

I press the blunt pad of my fingertip to her clit and rub at the swollen bud until she spreads her legs and bucks against me, like a needy little kitten. I slide my finger down, pleased to feel that she’s still so incredibly wet, and then I gently breach her entrance with my finger. “Here,” I explain, going deeper, pressing against her inner wall. “Right here, baby. It’s going to pout and whimper when it’s empty. And when your pussy gets wet and your clit begins to stiffen, you’ll feel this new hollowness too. You won’t just need pressure and friction. You’ll need fullness.”

Her hands are flat against my chest now, the metal plug warming between her palm and my skin like a promise. “I will?” she says, her eyes flicking up to me. I gently rub at the inside of her, and I swear if she were a cat, she’d be purring right now.

“You will. And fullness will feel good. And with a plug in your ass and my cock in your cunt, I promise you’ll feel so full that you think your heart might break from it.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll try it.”

I kiss her as I finger her, kiss her and play with her pussy until her hands are doing that cat’s paw kneading at my chest again, fisting and flexing, fisting and flexing. I slide my finger free and then bring it up to Zenny’s mouth, and she sucks it without prompting.

I groan. “Are you sure you’re really a nun?”

The only response is more suction, more tongue flutters against the pad of my finger, and I can’t even see straight. My vision is fucking blurring. From her mouth on my finger.

“That’s how you taste, baby,” I say as she sucks. “Isn’t it so good? So sweet? Fuck, I can’t wait to eat you out again.”

That makes her eyelashes bat in surprise, and I smile, pulling my finger free and pulling her hand away from my chest. I pluck the anal toy out of her hand, give her palm a quick kiss, then tell her to climb on the bed.

“Which way?” she asks, all her finger-sucking bravado melting into self-consciousness. “Should I lay down, or be on all fours, or…”

The idea of Zenny on all fours nearly gives me a heart attack, so in the interest of my health and mortality, I say, “How about on your knees to start, by the headboard. That way you can grab on for balance.”

By the time she’s arranged, her body is all tension and uncertainty, and when I turn on the wand vibrator and it makes a deep, thrumming purr like a car engine, I can see the moment she nearly bolts.

I’m behind her in an instant, kissing her neck, running soothing hands all over her tummy and breasts and legs. “I’m right here, baby,” I croon in her ear. “I’m right here.”

“It sounds like so much,” she says, and I can hear the effort she’s putting into making her voice sound calm.

“It is so much, but only in the best way. Do you want to be my brave girl now? Let me touch you with it?”

She nods, blowing out a breath. “Of course.” I watch, amused, as she braces her body like I’m about to sprinkle spiders all over it or something.

“It’s just a vibrator,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, “I don’t know why I’m so—eek! Sean!”

I’ve put the wide head of the wand against the delicate sole of one foot, tickling her. She shrieks with laughter, and I hold her still against me, only relenting on her foot once she’s nothing but smiles and joy again, until all her apprehension has melted away under the laughter. And then I make a slow, lazy path from her foot to her calf, from her calf to her thigh, keeping the toy far away from any erogenous zones. And she stays melty and relaxed, even slumping forward against the headboard and humming happily as I use the wand to massage at her back and shoulders and neck.

“My grandma used to get these catalogs,” she says, “that had ‘personal neck massagers.’ You know the kind of catalogs that also have things to hide a spare key in and novelty cupcake tins?”

“Mmm,” I say, more interested in the way Zenny’s back ripples with pleasure as I massage the tension away.

“I just realized that those ‘personal massagers’ were vibrators,” Zenny says, and I make a noise indicating how adorably cute that is. “And,” she adds, “I guess if my grandma can handle it, I can too.”

“I’m glad to hear that, babydoll. Spread your legs a little.”

She does, and I’m happy to see that she doesn’t seem nervous anymore. I still go carefully, gently, moving from her shoulders to her arms, from her arms to her chest. And there, I lightly, deliberately, graze the head of the wand over one erect nipple.

The effect is immediate and deliciously gratifying. She lets out a needy gasp and arches to its touch, trying to bring it back. I oblige her, giving each tight little tip all the attention it deserves. And then when I have her arched and breathless and her hips moving and seeking relief, I move the wand down her tummy.

“Oh,” she breathes, and her head comes back to rest against my shoulder. “Oh.”

The wand buzzes playfully around and around her navel, dipping to buzz at the soft curves of her inner thighs. And just when she’s twisting and turning, trying to chase the buzz with her hips, I give her what she needs. I spread my hand over her tummy, tuck her close to me, and then nuzzle the head of the wand against her clit.

“Oh,” Zenny pants out, her voice incandescent with surprised pleasure. “Sean, that—it feels so good…”

I chuckle, arranging one of her perfect thighs so that I can angle the vibrator better against her. “That’s the idea, Zenny-bug. It’s not supposed to feel bad.”

“No,” she mumbles, her body a hot, sinuous writhe against mine. “Not bad. Good.”

I grin, kiss her ear, and then have her brace her hands on the headboard again. I love playing with her like this, with her back to my chest and my arms around her, but all that movement against my dick is going to have me spending my seed in no time, and I don’t want that. I want this to be about her, only about her.

And so after she has her hands on the headboard and she’s raised slightly up on her knees again, I slide the vibrator under her from behind, so that she can control the angle and the pressure, so that she can ride it, and my girl takes to fucking herself against the vibrator like a champ, finding a slow, rolling rhythm that leaves her sweaty and trembling after only a few moments.

I watch the show in front of me, enthralled, hypnotized, my cock past human levels of hardness and into mithril or adamantium categories of hardness. And my balls are already drawn up so tight, and some jagged ache is already scissoring so deliciously deep in my groin, and she is just so beautiful like this, her head hanging between her shoulders, as if she’s overwhelmed with the pleasure, and with every lovely, firm line of her back and waist and ass available to view. Moving her pussy so well over the toy, and I’m so proud of her, and I tell her this. I tell her how brave she is for trying something new, and I tell her how much her trust means to me, how much I treasure it, how much I want to deserve and deserve her. I tell her how beautiful she is, how good her ass and thighs look as she circles her cunt over the toy, how strong and how sweet she looks.

And my words make her moan even more, her body rippling with pent-up need as she gets closer and closer to the edge, and then she accidentally moves herself too far forward and instead of rubbing her pussy against the vibrator, the blunt head of it slides back against the firm eyelet of her asshole.

A shudder runs through her entire being, all the way down to her toes, and then she does it again.

On purpose this time.

I am frozen on my knees, holding this wand for her, watching as this virgin nun rides a vibrator against her ass, listening to her dirty moans and whimpers as she gets closer and closer, and then it happens. Not with the vibrator against her clit or her G-spot or even a nipple. No, my best friend’s little sister comes in a toe-curling, groaning climax with the vibrator against her anus, and I’ve got the best seat in the house.

And with a ragged grunt and a release I can feel jerking at the muscles of my stomach and thighs, I erupt all over her legs and her ass and the bed. I erupt without her touching me, without even touching myself, just from fucking watching her, and I spill everywhere, in huge, hot spurts that lace her skin and my wrist and the wand and basically everywhere, and the fuck of it is that I’m still hard when I’ve finished, and when Zenny turns around, dazed and still quivering, she whispers, “Do it again, show me, show me,” and I do, I show her. I drop the wand and grab myself, and I’ve never done this already messy and sticky from myself, and it’s shockingly filthy, even for Sean Bell, to use my own cum to jack myself off with, but that seems to be the way with Zenny, that she nudges me into the new and the depraved when I thought there were no more new depravities to be had.

In any case, the memory of her firm ass moving against the wand is still painfully, sweetly fresh, and her expression now—avid curiosity and blatant lust—and her hands rubbing up and down my stomach, smearing more cum everywhere—

Well, it doesn’t take long. I come again, this one more powerful and more vicious than the first, tearing through me like a tornado, and Zenny hums with approval as I do, her hands dropping down to squeeze my thighs as I pant and spurt my way through it.

“Jesus Christ,” I manage, after my body is finally drained completely dry. I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck. But a sexy, amazing truck I want to be hit with every day for the rest of my life. “What are you doing to me?”

“Making you very, very…” her voice is a seductive whisper as she leans close enough to my face to kiss me “...very, very…sticky.”

* * *

The next week passes in a tightrope walk of longing and release. I refuse to allow myself to be the reason Zenny falls down on any of her responsibilities, and so I drive her to all of her clinical rotations, classes, and shelter shifts to make her life easier, and I make her do her schoolwork at night before we get to fool around, sitting at the kitchen table with me as I work on contracts and review client emails. It’s agony to miss her all day and then to be so close and still need to keep my distance, but it also assuages some of the guilt I feel about our unusual arrangement. I feel like I’m helping her, supporting her and taking care of her, and feeling that way about a woman I like the way I like Zenny is beyond addictive.

But sometimes Elijah’s face will flash in my mind, like a big YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE warning, and then I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing or a terrible thing that I’m so addicted to Zenny.

“Am I big brothering you too much?” I ask over breakfast.

Zenny looks up from the nursing textbook in her lap, blinking. “Explain,” she commands.

“Making you move in. Driving you places. Making sure you finish your homework. Fixing your coffee in the morning.” I bring said coffee over to her to punctuate my point.

She accepts her coffee with a grin. “It is very, very terrible having a sexy millionaire play personal barista, personal chauffeur, and personal orgasm attendant with me.”

I sit down in the chair across from her, leaning forward on the table and wrapping my hands around hers, which are currently wrapped around the warm mug.

“I’m serious, Zenny-bug,” I say.

“Alright,” she says and seems to give it some thought. “Okay, well, I chose to move in here for the month, and yes, that was under the influence of many orgasms, but I don’t regret it. I actually like that my success matters to you as much as it matters to me. I’m used to—” her hands flutter under mine as she searches for the right words “—going it alone, having to be the best but also having to make it look easy, you know? I get tired, and it’s nice to feel like someone’s in the game with me, like it’s not all on my shoulders anymore. Which it still is in a practical sense, but at least it feels easier. At least it’s less lonely. And a lot more fun.”

I perk up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I just…” Why can’t I get over this? “You’re so young.”

“Hmm.” When I look up, she’s got her head tilted and her lips pursed as if this is an academic problem and not a deeply personal one. “Well,” she asks, “I suppose the question is if you’d be like this with any other woman you cared about?”

I think of my lovers in the past, and while I’ve slept with women all across the range of race, religion, and age, there’s a problem with that question, and it’s a simple one. “There are no other women I care about like this,” I explain. “You’re the first, and frankly, given my age, I think you’ll probably be the only one.”

Her mouth parts but she’s not breathing, as if I’ve said something monumental or something insane—or something monumentally insane—but I haven’t. It’s just a plain statement of fact. And it’s a fact that I thought she already knew.

She finally takes in a breath and averts her gaze to the window. The morning light plays across her face, burnishing the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones with the faintest luster of gold. “Sean, I don’t know what to say to that.”

My eyebrows furrow in puzzlement. What does she think she needs to say? It was just an objective truth, like the color of the sky or the reading order of the Wakefield Saga novels. It doesn’t need a response.

But then I realize that perhaps she thinks I would like her to respond in kind, to make some kind of declaration about her feelings in turn, which of course I don’t expect…

I mean, I definitely don’t expect it, and it hadn’t occurred to me before, but now that it has occurred to me, I can feel this thing inside my chest, a gap. It’s almost like a physical space, and somehow I know that if she said something back to me—that she liked me, that she cared about me, anything—it would fill up that mysterious chink, and somehow that would make me feel better.

“Back to my age,” she says, and I nearly let out a bleak laugh. We’ve ventured into strange territory indeed if our massive age gap feels like a safer topic of conversation.

“Yes?”

It’s her turn to cup my hands now and she gives me a smile, one of those Zenny smiles full of contradictions, because I can tell she’s trying to be reassuring but that she’s also troubled about something. I don’t like this, any of it, the troubled smile or knowing I’ve made her uncomfortable, but I also can’t bear to take back what I said about her being the only one for me.

“I appreciate you checking in with me, and while there might be some women in my position who would feel stifled or patronized, I’m okay with it. I like it, actually. I feel rather, well, doted on, and it’s nice. And I also trust that if I ask you to back off, you will.”

“Anything. Anything you say or want, and I’ll do it.”

“I believe you,” she says, and I wish that she didn’t look so worried as she said it.

Three weeks left, I remember. Only three weeks left.

* * *

As the days go by, she’s growing bolder and bolder in bed, using those words I like: pussy, dick, come. Fuck. She’s growing antsy for my cock, which is exactly what I wanted, for her to be peeling apart with lust, bursting with it, aching and heavy and ripe with it—and tonight’s the night I’ll finally give her what she’s so eager to have.

But two things first.

First order of business: I think I’ve found a place for the sisters, a renovated warehouse sitting empty on the north end of downtown, with an owner who’s desperate for any kind of tax relief on the vacant property. It would need a kitchen and dormitory space, but not only is it centrally located to bus stops and interstates, but it has ample room for a birthing center in an adjoining property that the owner is willing to lease out as well.

I take some time out of my afternoon to tour it personally, politely listening to the owner chatter on about all his financial woes since taking the property on and how hard it is to find commercial tenants in this part of town and—

Okay, maybe I’m not so politely listening to him because I ignore the rest of what he says. It’s irrelevant—I’ve seen his financials and I know that the write-off that the nuns would bring would give him a huge boost. We leave on a handshake deal and I call my assistant to see if he’ll arrange a meeting between me and the prioress.

He calls me back a few minutes later.

“So the prioress says that she already met with Charles Northcutt. Well, she and Zenobia Iverson met with him. Before lunch.”

Roaring red flames my vision, making everything crimson and hateful.

I’m.

Going.

To.

Kill.

Him.

I call Zenny immediately, but I know she won’t answer because she’s in class and she’s one of those nice humans who silences her phone in those situations. I fume for a minute—not at her, never at her—but at Northcutt. At whatever he’s done.

And when I get back to the office, surprise, surprise, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably left early to get his devil horns sanded down before the fundraiser tonight.

Which brings me to the second order of business: there’s a fucking fundraiser tonight, and it was supposed to be glamorous and fun and the perfect prelude to finally taking my little nun to bed, but unfortunately now it’s going to have to be the scene of a homicide. Northcutt-icide.

I’m going to kill him.