The Sister and the Sinner Page 5

  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.

  * * *

  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.

  The next afternoon, Mother Agnes seemed more alert than normal. She called for him to come to her, and reached for his hand when he arrived. Mary Francis came with him, eager to share a lucid moment with the woman who had raised her.

  "There you are, you rascal," the old woman said to J.D. "You thought you were going to get away without telling me about what's going on in your life. What's become of you? What are you doing?"

  J.D. was not going to lie to her, but neither would he intentionally hurt this sweet old woman. "Well, there's not much to tell," he fudged. "My father was a prospector all of his life, and I grew up around mining camps full of men. But he made sure I got an education. I can read and write and do my numbers, and I ran away to fight in the war when I was too young to know what a stupid thing that was to do."

  Mother Agnes looked suddenly sad, and shook her head, as if she knew a lot of boys who had done just that. But then she looked back up at the man she thought was her son, and her face brightened until it shone.

  "I've just been, uh . . . wandering mostly since then."

  "No wife? No children?" His pseudo-mother looked aghast.

  "You sound like my father," J.D. chuckled. "And no to both."

  The possible connection to his father went right over the older woman's head. "You must, my son, you must. Children are a blessing." Whether she realized it or not, she reached out and took Mary Francis's hand and J.D.'s and put them together, as if marrying them and blessing their union.

  Mary Francis snatched her hand away immediately; appalled that the Reverend Mother would do such a thing, and half afraid that she had guessed what transpired between the sheets in the room next door. She sighed. It was all such a muddled mess right now. She wished it would just go away, so that her life would go back to the way it was before J.D. had tackled her in the vegetable garden, and all she had to worry about were the pigweeds and where their next meal would come from.

  This man had come into her world and literally turned it upside down. She had gone from sheltered novice to a brazen young woman who had been bare bottom spanked and had been subjected to a woman's pleasure - not once but repeatedly. Mary Francis would have bet that Mother Agnes would have killed herself long before she would have allowed any of those things to happen to her, but then again, Mother Agnes appeared to have had a child out of wedlock, as well. Mary Francis wasn't at all sure whom she could trust. But she was pretty sure that it wasn't an outlaw.

  J.D. read until his voice was all but gone. He closed the Bible and returned it to the nightstand. "Excuse me," he said, surprised to see the old woman was still awake. "I need something to drink."

  Mary Francis rose and would have left with him, but Mother Agnes begged her to stay. Mary Francis took the chair J.D. had vacated, folding her hands anxiously in her lap. Here it would come... condemnation for her sinful acts. She could barely look the Reverend Mother in the face.

  "I'm sure you have questions, my child," the woman said, her voice thin and far away.

  Mary Francis shook her head. She did not want to hear the sordid facts of the Reverend Mother's own downfall. Some things were just best left private. Unfortunately, the Reverend Mother seemed to be in a rare talkative mood.

  "As you know, a vow once made between man and God cannot be broken. It is sacred, a solemn, holy promise. That is why I have been so hard on you, and have not let you make your vows yet. You have to be sure, absolutely sure, that you wish to dedicate your life to God. No - don't interrupt. Let me finish. You say you are ready to do that now, but you have lived a sheltered life. You should leave the convent, and spend a year or two in the world, knowing what we expect of you. Then, then when you know for certain that you are not called to a different vocation, you may return and I will accept you with open arms."

  "But I cannot leave you, Mother," Mary Francis blurted. It was utter nonsense! No one else was here to take care of her!"

  "I know, Mary Francis. I know. I have been selfish, keeping you here by my side in my old age. I just want to know that when I'm gone, you will do this for me. Go out into the world, before you make a commitment to God."

  Mary Francis shook her head, tears filling her vision. "You aren't dying, Mother. You can't! I need you!"

  "I'm not ready to go yet, my child. I have a bit of life left in me. But now, I will tell you about Jake."

  Mary Francis covered her ears, but the old woman grasped for her hand and pulled it down with surprising strength. "Do not be afraid of the truth, child. Just know that I was not always a nun. I was married once. I gave birth to a son. Then the war broke out, and my husband went off to fight. I don't know what became of him, for he never returned. I assumed he had died, but I couldn't marry again, not knowing what became of him. Neither could I take care of myself. I was alone in the world. I had no family, no relatives - the country was broken and divided, like a festering wound that refuses to heal.

  "So I took my son to a monastery, to be raised by monks, and I joined a convent.

  "Maybe, if my husband had been a nicer man, I might have waited for him longer. Maybe I might have
found word of his death, or taken another husband, but I felt all used up. I ran away from the world, and found refuge among the Sisters of Mercy. Then, I found my true calling."

  Mary Francis's lip trembled. Shame filled her spirit. She had lain with a man, because she believed the Reverend Mother had done as much, and now she learned that the woman she had loved and respected was blameless. She had not forsaken her holy vows, she was just one of the rare few that were permitted to experience both vocations - marriage and religious life.

  What did that say for her? Mary Francis had fallen as low as a woman could fall. In scriptural times, she could be stoned to death for her actions. She had not been defiled, as Dinah had been, for she had been a willing accomplice in her own corruption. She fled from the room, bolted down the stairs, and rushed outside, ignoring J.D.'s command to stop and tell him what was the matter. She ran past the garden, through the woods, towards the stream where she sometimes bathed when the weather was nice. There, she flung herself into the stream, fully clothed, and wept bitterly.

  * * *

  J.D. shouted after her, furious that she continued to disobey him. If a belt didn't get her attention, perhaps a switching was in order! He chased after her, and even though she had a head start, he had no trouble following her trail. He paused along the way to cut several small branches of hickory, peeling the bark and leaves away until he had three perfect switches. When he emerged, he was angry enough to peel away her skin as well.

  She was bathing, nude, waist deep in the clean water, soaping herself generously. Breasts, groin, scrubbing, rinsing... scrubbing, rinsing.