The Sister and the Sinner (6 page)

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Mary Francis knew it was wrong to let him into her bed... and yet, would he spank her if she told him to leave? At first she had wept because of the pain of her spanking, and then because she felt so unworthy. But then her thoughts had turned to all the sisters who had left the convent, and all the settlers who had moved away. Deadwood was nearly a ghost town, and even the church, it seemed, and forsaken her. She feared Father Michael would not be returning. Ever. And Mother Agnes was not long for the world, either. And her outlaw would heal and return to whatever it was that outlaws did. And she would be here, all alone. Forever. Not quite a nun, not quite a woman. Unfulfilled.

And then, he kissed her. It was sweet, and slightly salty, she realized with a start, for his tears had fallen and blended with her own. She cupped his cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb, and kissed him. Tenderly. As though he were a small boy in need of a mother's love.

Oh, dear, Lord Above! She loved him! She had no idea when or how, and he had not stolen it from her. She had given it freely and completely. This was why Mother Agnes had not let her make her vows, the Reverend Mother must have known she was unworthy!

But then, wasn't the Reverend Mother also guilty? Certainly her mind had wandered, for she often didn't recognize Mary Francis, but she had never really thought something was true that wasn't true. No, it was more like her mind had mixed up certain facts, like she thought it was ten or fifteen years earlier, and therefore she assumed Mary Francis was someone else from her past as well. But when she had seen the outlaw, she had cried out, "My boy!"

That had to mean that she had given birth! Even though she was a nun, somehow she had known a man, in the biblical sense, and yet, God had forgiven her all the way to a Reverend Mother. Perhaps through her own sin, she had learned humility.

Maybe God would forgive Mary Francis, as well... for she wanted to know her outlaw! She wanted to know him intimately, even knowing that he was not hers to know. He would leave as soon as he healed. He would take her heart with him, and she would never love another. But at least, she would have this memory, this moment, this gift of hers, for in giving him her heart, perhaps she could give him back his soul. And so she kissed him.

His hands, empowered by her kiss, grew demanding. They moved up her spine, kneading her tender flesh like a mound of virgin bread dough. His kisses were hungry, matching her in their need.

Her small hands, emboldened by her lustful decision, journeyed down his chest, down his hips, to timidly caress that part of a male she had never seen before. She knew what shape it must take, for she had seen billy goats and roosters and even dogs mate, but nothing could have prepared her for the fullness, the softness of his firm, hard shaft. A bead of moisture leaked from the tip, and she moistened her palm with it as her grip grew firmer.

He shifted, pulling his man part out of her artless grasp. She shuddered, blinking tears, fearing she had hurt him.

He whispered softly in her ear. "That felt wonderful, darling. But too much of a good thing and it will all be over too soon."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but trusted him to teach her everything. Her faith was not misplaced.

He touched her breasts. At first they had hurt from the sudden release of the binding, but now a different ache filled them. It was as if they had a mind of their own, for they seemed to reach out toward his touch. The tips swelled to hard peaks, the mounds puckered and dimpled and tingled and wanted him to rub them, pinch them, torture them. And he was more than willing to comply. Then he lowered his head and put his lips on her breasts.

She shuddered, clutching his head to her breast, weaving her fingers through his hair. He suckled one breast while continuing to fondle the other. Then he switched breasts and gave the other the same thorough massage. Silly little moans escaped her lips. She was powerless to restrain them.

Eventually, his hand moved lower, grazing over the tender skin beneath her bosom, the slight indent of her navel, and lower still, until his fingers cupped her woman's fleece below. One finger delved between her folds, discovering a delightfully sensitive nub she had never known existed. She shrieked giddily, then arched her hips to greet his hand, rubbing herself against his chapped skin.

He chuckled, but swatted her bruised bottom just once. She yelped, but the slight pain did nothing to ease the growing tension within her.

"Yes, sir?" she asked demurely, pretending instant obedience.

"Slow down, darling. We have all night. I want to make sure you enjoy it."

"Mm. Consider yourself successful. This is - enjoyable." She put an emphasis on the last word to tease him. He swatted her rump again, but then his fingers returned to her sensitive nub and resumed their enchanting exploration.

She felt something build, like the calm before the storm, when not a breath of wind is in the air but everything is starkly silent in preparation for the great torrent that is about to blow. She drew in a breath, and another, holding it, afraid to miss something terribly important. Then he kissed her, drawing her breath into him and forcing her to breathe again. His fingers rubbed faster, harder, and one finger slipped up inside of her, trying to reach an itch she had never dreamed existed. Faster... harder, and then, she exploded!

Mary Francis literally saw stars. She felt as if she had to fight for breath, and a long, low groan issued forth that she scarcely recognized as her own. She shuddered, pressing her thighs together, clamping his hand inside her most intimate area. He kissed her temple, brushing a stray curl from her face. Then he got out of bed.

She felt bereft, and almost begged him to return, until she realized that he was removing the last of his clothes, as well. He quickly returned, then rolled on top of her, holding himself up with his good arm, although the other arm seemed to have regained much of its strength. She felt his man shaft probing her where she still quivered from the after effects of the knowing. She let her thighs fall apart in silent invitation.

"This may hurt, Mary," he whispered. "But just for a moment, and then it will never hurt again."

Before she could ask what he meant, he stabbed her with his man shaft. Something inside her tore, and tears pricked at her eyes. He held still. His lips brushed across her temples, her forehead, the tip of her nose. "There, Mary. No more pain. Just relax, and let me share this miracle with you."

His words were as effective as his fingers had been. She felt that itch inside begin to build again. Unbelievable! If his finger had felt wonderful, his man shaft was doubly more so! It was incredible, the feel of that thick, sturdy shaft inside her. She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and held him tight. Her arms went around his neck, and she clung to him in quiet desperation. He promised her a miracle. Did she deserve it?

He began to move. Slowly at first, and then with increasing force. In... out. His shaft filled her, then he withdrew, as though teasing her. In again, rubbing at something she couldn't define. Out again, and she was frantic for his return. She released his neck to claw at his back. She arched her back, struggling to find that sweet surrender she had experienced only once before. She panted, gasped, even shrieked a little.

He trapped her happy cries with his lips. He whispered something deliciously decadent in her ear that had to do with beauty and desire of the flesh. Harder... harder... and then, finally, he threw back his head and roared. His shaft shuddered inside her, sending forth its seed. She exploded as well. She shuddered, and happy tears ran down her cheeks. Delightful spasms rocked her, again, and again, in ever-increasing circles, each one bigger but a bit fainter from the one before, like ripples in a pond. Until she was utterly spent and exhausted.

He rolled of her onto his right side, and pulled her into his embrace. She kissed him again, sleepily, but then she rolled onto her right side as well, settling her bottom into his groin like a pair of spoons in a drawer. Mary Francis fell fast asleep, perhaps truly happy for the first time in her life.

J.D. did not sleep at all that night. Shame for what he'd done, despoiling a nun, washed over him. It had been so perfect, so incredibly wonderful! Everything about her was absolutely perfect! Except, she was already taken. She was untouchable. Here he had finally found someone he could spend the rest of his life with, and he could never have her. He would have a few precious days at best, for having known her, he knew he would never be able to resist her. That she had been pure, he had no doubt. He'd breached her virgin's barrier, yet she'd welcomed him with innocent abandon. She would welcome him again. They would enjoy a few, brief days of paradise together. And then, he must leave... and never return again.

Chapter Five

Screaming woke them in the middle of the night, and J.D., naked as the day he was born, was up and crouching at the door, gun in his hand, before Mary Francis managed to get out of bed.

"It's all right! It's Mother Agnes - she's having a nightmare," Mary Francis murmured. "She's prone to them; something about the war. Sometime she likes to scream at the damn Yankees, sometimes it's the dirty Rebs. She never could decide what side she actually favored, I guess."

Her captor didn't seem very convinced, and continued to crouch by the door, looking every inch the outlaw she thought him to be.

"Listen to her," Mary urged, trying to convince him that there was no danger. "The voice is in the room next door. A woman's voice. Not the men who are after you."

Slowly he stood, releasing his grip on the trigger and returning his gun to the holster. "We should go to her," he said.

"I should go to her," Mary Francis amended. "She doesn't always know who I am - you might really scare her."

He nodded, still not fully awake. Mary Francis smiled secretively, proud of a man who could protect his own even while half asleep. She reached for her robe and slipped it on, startled by how different it felt without the layers of linens underneath. She moved passed her outlaw, into the hallway, and darted into the room next door.

"Sh, Reverend Mother... Sh-sh. It's me, Mary Francis," she cooed. "The war is over, and you're safe now."

The woman continued to moan. Mary Francis wrapped her arms around the ailing woman and rocked her, as though their roles were reversed, and she was the mother, and Agnes was a frightened child.

Mary Francis didn't know that much about the war. She had been just a baby when it had ended, and anybody she knew who had suffered through it refused to talk about it. She gathered that it had been ruthless. She knew it had been bloody. And she was grateful it was not something she had had to endure.

Slowly the woman quieted. Her pitiful moans turned to racking coughs. J.D. rushed in with a glass of water, which he offered to Mary Francis. Mother Agnes did not even seem to notice him. She took a few small sips from the glass, then leaned back, exhausted. Mary Francis tucked the quilt up under her chin and smoothed the wrinkles. She prayed a few Hail Marys aloud, as it always seemed to help calm the Reverend Mother, and then she kissed her forehead.

"I think she'll sleep now," she whispered.

"You work so hard," J.D. said.

Mary Francis shrugged. "For God loves a cheerful giver," she answered, quoting one of Mother Agnes's favorite verses.

He took her hand then and together they returned to the other bedroom. They climbed into the narrow bed together, and lay in one another's arms until morning.

Everything was different the next day. Mary Francis still wore the homely black robe of her convent, but he knew she wore nothing underneath - neither the binding nor her bloomers. She moved with a lightness to her step and a smile on her face. J.D. couldn't help but smirk proudly, knowing he had given her that smile.

The sun shone in full force, beckoning the pair of them to spend as much time outside as they could. Mary Francis turned Nana loose after milking her, so the little goat could forage on the fresh, tender greens that seemed to have sprung up over night. J.D. helped her battle the garden weeds, and he mended a section of the fence that had come down in the rain, protecting the precious vegetables from the marauding goat. J.D. stole frequent kisses. He had never known a nun could look so fetching in the shapeless black robe, although without her binding, she was not nearly as shapeless as she had at first appeared. He liked that she had left her veil behind, as well, although he had not asked her to. Those red curls caught the sunlight and bounced along happily with every step she took. Mary Francis looked so vibrant, it was as if she were a garden herself, and J.D. had filled her with the thirst-quenching rain that caused her to sprout new life right before his eyes.

Around noon, he could take it no more. He laid her down on the grassy hillside and took her. A little while later, he claimed her again - this time in the kitchen while she tried to mix up biscuits. She was adorable when she was covered with flour! And when at last they fell into bed, late in the evening, he took her yet again. He didn't know how he found the stamina, for he had not been so virile since he was a youth, but she was a drug, and he was her addict.

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J.D. continued to read to Mother Agnes, sitting with her in the late afternoons to give Mary Francis a break. The old woman continued to call him Jake, and although he corrected her and gave her his real name, she never seemed to notice. He read the verses about a virtuous wife several times, each time imagining Mary Francis in the role. His father would love her, he knew... although he would never forgive his son for despoiling a nun.

He tried to feel guilty. Lying with a nun was just like sleeping with another man's wife - it just wasn't done! But Mary Francis was so sensual, so responsive; it seemed a sin for her to be a nun. It was a weak argument, for sure, but in his love-crazed state, it seemed to work. His shoulder was nearly healed. His reason for hiding was no longer valid. Soon, very soon... he would have to leave.