The Sister and the Sinner Read online

  He was truly mesmerized by the sight. Through the trees the dappled sun shone on her upturned face. She looked as natural as a wood nymph, and he was loath to disturb her. But then he realized that her motions were anything but natural, and that she was scrubbing the same spots - breasts, belly, inner thighs - until she had angry red marks on her skin.

  J.D. ran out into the water, not even bothering to shed his clothing. He took away the lye soap she was using as well as the rough rag and began to kiss those raw areas she'd created trying to get herself clean again, suspecting he was the one who had made her feel dirty in the first place.

  "No, baby, no. You don't need to do that. You're the cleanest, purest person I know, and nothing I ever did to you could ever change that." He tilted her face up to his and saw it streaked with tears. J.D. lifted her up with amazing ease, another sign that it was time for him to leave, and carried her to the bank of the river. He set her down and covered her with himself as well as soft, butterfly kisses pressed to each of the red splotches. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I'm sorry, sweetheart... I wish I could make it better."

  She was sobbing so piteously it made his heart shrivel up in his chest, and her small hands kept trying to cover her breasts and privates, failing miserably at their tasks until he finally captured both of her hands in his.

  "There's nothing about yourself that you need to hide from me, Mary Francis." He searched those dewy eyes deeply, although she kept trying to avoid his. "Please let me try to make this right for you." He almost added "before I go", but had the presence of mind to stop himself before he said it.

  Mary Francis didn't know what to do or say. She hadn't expected him to find her here. She had enjoyed their lovemaking with complete abandon; she could not even place the blame solely on his head. She was as guilty - guiltier - as he was. Guiltier by far, because she was a woman of God. She had been raised in a convent, not a mining camp. She knew better. Or at least, she should have.

  It was her disappointment in Mother Agnes that had pushed her over the edge. That, and her aching loneliness... but none of that mattered. She had sinned. She would never be able to look at Mother Agnes again, but what she would be reminded of her terrible sin.

  And the worst part was, not only was she unfit to be a nun, but now she was unfit to be a wife, as well. No man would want her, now that her innocence had been taken. She was truly, completely, utterly, alone.

  Of course, J.D. wasn't waiting for a response from her. He was doing exactly what he wanted, which was what he would always do. But this time was different from all of the rest of the times his hands had taken possession of her; there was something poignant in his touch.

  Almost as if he were saying good bye.

  Chapter Six

  He took his time, lingering at spots he hadn't before - the top of her shoulder, the curve of her waist, the delicate, fine fingers of her left hand. This time was entirely for her. He would hold himself in check even if he died in the act, but he couldn't think of a better way to go.

  J.D. started by kissing the top of her head, running his hands through her hair, desperately wishing he could see it when it was grown down past her bottom. Then he nibbled at her neck, licking softly, then pressed soft kisses over her damp cheeks, kissing each eyelid, still swollen and wet with tears. He knew she wasn't fully on board with this yet, and aimed to convert her. With a thoughtfully bestowed kiss to her forehead, he took her mouth a bit more aggressively than he had anywhere else to that point, tipping her chin up and tucking it into his good shoulder, slanting his lips across hers to open them then plundering her mouth with his tongue until those slim arms crept up - against their will, he knew - to tentatively wrap themselves around his neck.

  Victory, or part of it, anyway, but he could still taste the tears that were dammed at their lips. He moved down the slender column of her throat, licking and nibbling away then across her collarbones, down each arm, paying special attention to the inside of each elbow and the inside of each forearm, where he had found most ladies were usually quite neglected. Then he pressed warm wet kisses to each of her palms, and sucked the tips of each of her fingers, sliding his mouth down the entire length of each of her thumbs before pressing each of her palms to his own warm face as he changed positions.

  Stretched out beside her, he made teasing patterns over every inch of the luscious skin that was available to him, but avoiding her nipples deliberately, watching her begin to moan and writhe and almost plead with him, but not quite ready to do what he had intentionally not done. Eventually, he leaned over and, placing his mouth just barely over the tip of one of those turgid peaks, he sucked it slowly, very, very slowly, into his mouth.

  Mary Francis saw stars as he continued to suckle at her breast, feeling lightheaded from the flood of sensations. She knew she was panting in a very unladylike manner, but she couldn't help herself. He had introduced her to the pleasures of the flesh, and she was powerless to stop. He always made her body sing. It was wrong, so wrong... she knew it was sinful, and yet, she made no effort to stop him.

  J.D. alternated, leaving a wet trail between each breast, always gently teasing the forlorn one that wasn't receiving the anxious attentions of his lips and mouth, guiding her higher and higher, gauging her reactions and where she was in her journey to fulfillment by the sounds of her mewls and moans. He also made sure to kiss each of the red marks she had made in scrubbing herself so vigorously.

  When he reached down to open her legs, she willingly complied. She was soaking wet, as he'd hoped, and it wasn't from having just been in the river. Her womanhood was swollen to the size of a small pebble, and he set about caressing it with his sandpaper fingers, feeling her jerk spasmodically, grabbing at his arm, until he settled into a predictable rhythm.

  Mary Francis finally let go of the death grip she had on his arm and sighed, her eyes closing blissfully as if she'd just found Heaven, but within a very few seconds, her sighs changed tempo and became much more agitated and frenzied. Her hips rose to meet his fingers, and that flame capped head of hers was rolling back and forth. Her breath hissed in between nearly clenched teeth, and he knew she was very, very close.

  He had intended that this be just for her, but he found he couldn't be as selfless as he wished. He parted his trousers and freed his massive manhood, ready to claim her and take her to the heights that they had enjoyed together so many times over the last few days.

  He heard her whimper as he entered her, not cries of pain or shame, but little moans of ecstasy. Her eyes were closed, her face turned away from him.

  "Open your eyes, love," he commanded, however softly.

  She fought the command for only a second. Then she gazed at him, baring her heart and soul.

  She loved him... it was as plain as day. He hadn't meant to make her love him! What a mess he'd made of everything. He could never have her; she could never marry him. All they could share was this day, this moment, this grassy bank along the river somewhere outside of Deadwood, in the year of 1882.

  J.D. put his heart in his eyes as he pressed slowly, carefully forward. He made love as if it were the first time, as if it were the last time. He made sure it was as good for her as he could possibly make it. He watched every expression that came to her face, to see the exact moment when she was ready shatter.

  Her eyes went wide, and then she took a sudden, deep breath and grabbed his biceps. "Ah, uh, mmmmmmm." Mary Francis couldn't help it - she had to close her eyes. It always caught her by surprise; that new, throbbing need to be stretched and filled.

  "Ah-ah-ah. Open." He wanted to see her, to treasure every mood, every nuance that she shared with him. Those beautiful eyes flew open and she blushed as he plunged inside, making her catch her breath each time as her body was forced to find new ways to accommodate his invasion.

  He buried himself completely, deeply within her, and, as much as he wanted to savor the moment, he absolutely could not remain still. He had to move. J.D. reached down and coaxed one of her legs up, ar
ound his hip, and began to thrust - not quite uncontrollably, but awfully close. He tried to temper it as best he could, but he never had much control at this point around her. She brought out the animal in him.

  Luckily, she was right there with him. No longer filled with grief and remorse, she shattered again and again, having reached her own pinnacle before him. She cried out, pressing her face into his chest, and impishly, unexpectedly, licked his nipple. That sent him over, and into those agonizingly pleasant spasms of paradise.

  They lay there, on the bank of the stream, for the longest time afterwards, naked together as if that was the way they should always be. J.D. reached over and grabbed a cornflower, with which he teased and tickled her sensitive skin as he leaned on his elbow above her.

  "Thank you," he said.

  She cocked her head, drawing those delicate red eyebrows into a curious line above the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. "For what?"

  "For granting me a safe haven while I healed. For not turning Higgens and his band onto me. For sharing yourself."

  A deep blush crept up her pale white flesh. "You're welcome."

  She made as if to go, but he didn't release her.

  "We still have several things to discuss, young lady."

  Mary Francis did not like it when he used that tone with her. It usually didn't mean very good things for the health and welfare of particular parts of her anatomy. "No we don't!" she snapped.

  "We most definitely do. Tell me why you were scrubbing away your skin in the river. Tell me why you fled from me, although I commanded you to stop. Tell me what upset you - did Mother Agnes say something?"

  Mary Francis closed her eyes, new tears leaking down her face. He caught the tears with his fingers and brushed them away. "Talk to me, Mary Francis," he said sternly.

  She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "It just came to me," she confessed. "I had argued that it was okay to lay with you, since even Mother Agnes had sinned... but she didn't. She was married first, and joined a convent when her husband didn't return from the war. And I've... I've fallen... I'm a sinner, and yet, I really enjoy the sin. I don't know that I can make the same promise at the prostitutes did in the Bible, to 'go and sin no more.' It was just too much."

  He held her, not knowing what to do to help. He was as much a part of the sin as she, more so, because he was older, and supposedly, wiser. But he couldn't find it in his heart to regret the precious moments they had shared, and prayed she would treasure them as well.

  "I need you," she began, then bit her lower lip.

  He kissed her lower lip, surprised that it wasn't constantly bruised for as much as she worried it. "I'm here, darling."

  She pulled out of his grasp and sat up, surprisingly comfortable with her nakedness. "I need you to punish me," she said.

  He could not have been more surprised than if she'd told him to grow wings and fly away. "What?"

  "You heard. I want you to spank me. Hard. I know that you are leaving, so after you spank me, I need you to go. Just go. I'll be okay. But I've been sinful, and maybe if you punish me for it, I'll be able to forgive myself."

  "Sweetheart, how can you ask me this? Making love with you has been the highpoint of my life. God made man and woman, and I can't believe that what we've shared is something dirty."

  "Please, J.D. I've not asked anything of you in all the time you've been here. Do this for me."

  Angrily, he got to his feet. He stomped through the woods, returning to the convent without another word. He would give her the spanking of her life, but he would have to calm down first, so he didn't break her in two.

  Mary Francis carried her wet robe, walking gracefully, and fully naked, through the woods. After J.D. left, she would never be naked again. She would return to wearing bloomers and bindings, and all the layers of her office. She would repent and repent, and whenever a bittersweet memory of their lovemaking returned, she would try to focus on the way he spanked her, too.

  She hung her robe on the clothesline in the yard, then stepped inside.

  J.D. was in the dining room, his expression dark and threatening. Part of her wanted to beg his forgiveness, to tell him she'd changed her mind, but she knew she needed this. She could never survive his leaving her if he didn't punish her. She went into the dining room, her hands at her sides, doing nothing to hide her nakedness.

  He held a hickory switch in his hand. She gulped, knowing the sting of the switch, although Mother Agnes had never used it on her. Sister Claire had switched her several times when she'd been a young teen, for doing poorly in her studies. Mary Francis learned to read perfectly and write with the prettiest penmanship because of it.

  He pulled out a chair and sat down, gesturing for her to put herself over his lap. It felt different, and strangely humiliating, she thought, as she complied. He put his weaker arm over her back, then rested his right hand on her bottom. "I'm sorry I have to do this," was all he said, before he began to spank her in earnest.

  He hadn't spanked her with his hand before. It was so intimate, and yet, quite painful. She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to think about him looking at her there, or touching her there. Trying hard not to enjoy her punishment. It wasn't working. She wiggled a bit, eliciting a series of stinging swats that had her rethinking the entire idea of punishment.

  He rose, and for a brief moment she thought they were through, until she remembered the switch he'd been holding previously. Now he directed her to bend over the table. She did so, holding her breath while she waited for what must surely follow.

  And when it did, she cried out piteously, for never had she felt such a sting before. He was not using one switch, or two, but all three at once! Three separate and distinct welts rose immediately from where the switches had landed, and before she could quite catch her breath, they struck again. Six welts, some overlapping the first set.

  "Oh, no! No! Please, don't do this," she sobbed.

  He did not speak, but continued to switch her viciously.

  Nine, twelve, fifteen welts. Eighteen. She couldn't count. She twisted away, trying to pull free, but he grabbed her arm and held it behind her back. He continued to switch her legs and thighs, even though she fought to get away. She tripped over the chair, and he adjusted his swing to return his focus to her bottom. She coughed and sobbed and gasped for breath. She could no longer speak, so hard was she crying. She couldn't beg him to stop. She couldn't insist that he stop. Powerless, she could only lay there across the chair and accept it.

  J.D. knew he was being cruel, but the agony he felt in his heart was crushing him. He needed to make her suffer as much as he was. How dare she treat their love as something dirty! Something shameful! So what if she couldn't marry him... couldn't she at least treasure his memory?

  There were things he'd wanted to tell her. That he wasn't an outlaw, for one. He hated it that she thought he was a wanted man, a criminal, and wondered why she loved him anyway. He was a Pinkerton man, working to protect the innocent from evil doers. In a way, his line of work was a lot like hers, although he'd never thought of it that way before. The Sisters of Mercy took care of the weak and the poor, providing spiritual guidance along with their charitable deeds. He took care of the weak and the robbed, by making sure that the guilty thieves were thrown in jail.

  But it didn't matter now. None of it mattered. He had to leave, and he would never return. She would forget about the wounded outlaw she had once loved and nursed, and go on with her life. As for him, he would never be able to do either.

  One of the switches broke, and he tossed it aside, continuing to punish her with just two. When the second and third switches broke, he stopped. He stared at the brutal stripes he'd inflicted upon her, the skin broken and bleeding in places. Grief overcame him, and he gathered her into his arms and wept.

  She comforted him! She, whom he had so viciously attacked, patted his shoulder and forgave him. She was crying, as well, but she smiled through her tears. He almost hated her for that.
/>   "You need to go now," she managed to say. "But go in peace."

  He claimed her lips one last time. One last kiss. One last embrace. And then, he fled from the convent without a backwards glance.

  He was gone as mysteriously as he had appeared, disappearing into the woods and out of her life as if he had never been in it, leaving her more bereft than she had ever felt before in her life, mourning the loss of someone she never really knew. Someone she would never know.

  Chapter Seven

  Mary Francis indulged herself, giving in to her grief for the remainder of the day. She did little beyond crying and sleeping, barely eating, and crying herself to sleep.

  But the next day she knew she had to get up. She had to get dressed - completely - and return to the ritual that had become her life. Pulling weeds, beating rugs, sweeping floors, milking the goat, and seeing to the needs of her patient. While once she might have found a simple pleasure in completing each task, now they brought her no joy. J.D. had ruined them all for her. Memories of him helping her pull weeds filled her thoughts. How he'd tried to milk the goat for her once, and ended up wearing more of the milk than what he managed to get into the pail. Memories of him reading aloud from the Bible to Mother Agnes, of how tender he was with the old woman... he'd left, but he'd neglected to take his spirit with him. Instead it remained here, everywhere, haunting her throughout her day.

  She had already resolved that she would stay with Mother Agnes until the inevitable end, but now she considered what to do beyond that. Perhaps she would try to get a post as a teacher or a governess or something. She would not stay in the convent. She knew she could never wipe the thoughts of "knowing" someone, in the biblical sense, from her, and even though the welts he'd inflicted on her poor legs and bottom took nearly two weeks to heal, the pain was as nothing compared to the emptiness in her heart.

  About two weeks to the day, things began arriving.