He slowly rose, letting his fingertips climb my legs from calves to knees to thighs. When he reached my rear, he gave the welts another squeeze as if he couldn’t help himself.
I swallowed a gulp. “You’re a sadist.”
“Does putting a label on it make you feel better?”
“You can get help for the condition.”
“I did get help. I came here, became a priest, and abstained for nine years.” He straightened my underwear and skirt, his movements efficient and gentle. “Then you came along.”
“I’m sorry.” My chest constricted. “Send me home.”
“Never.” He leaned his weight against me and brushed my hair off my shoulder, exposing my throat. “If you leave, I’ll haul you back.”
“What? You’ll come for me?”
“Yes. Then you’ll come for me.”
His breath visited my neck, announcing his intent. He kissed the dips and curves there, soft and languorous, and palmed my ass, rough and aggressive. Claiming me. Scrambling my brain.
“Magnus—”
He grabbed my throat, hard enough to spin up my pulse, and brushed his lips against my ear.
“Be a good girl this afternoon.” A dark, dominating whisper.
Then he released me, opened the door, and walked back to his desk.
CHAPTER 20
TINSLEY
My afternoon plans were decided when Daisy ran into me in the hall.
“You’re going to football practice with me.” She gripped my arm and dragged me toward the elderly priest waiting outside.
I let it happen because I had nothing better to do. Besides, it would be nice to step outside the campus walls.
Father Isaac smiled and waved when he saw us.
I gave him a chin lift and turned to Daisy. “I didn’t realize they made helmets big enough for your fat head.”
Of course, I knew she was going to watch football practice, not participate in it.
“You’re lucky you’re my best friend.” She slung a bag over her shoulder and followed the priest to the gate.
“Oh?” I walked along beside her. “So now I’m worthy of your friendship?”
“I guess.” She lifted a noncommittal shoulder.
“Is this you feeling sorry for me because of what Alice did last night?”
“No. This is me feeling sorry for you because you have no friends.” Her tone was so cold I wanted to punch her.
Then she laughed, her eyes dancing playfully, and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
When we reached the football field, we found a quiet spot in the bleachers. She didn’t waste any time pulling out notebooks and camera equipment.
“Yearbook,” she said when she caught me staring.
I knew she was on the yearbook committee, and now it made sense that she wanted to come to a practice. Since Sion Academy didn’t have a football team, St. John de Brebeuf represented both of our schools.
As she set off to interview coaches and players, I was content to watch the boys run through their drills. There were plenty of studs on the team. Cute ones. Beefy ones. A lot of them stared and winked at me from across the field. But my interest in their kind had changed over the past six weeks.
Maybe I should call my mother and tell her that her decision to send me to an all-girls Catholic school had cured my curiosity with boys. I was no longer interested in giving blow jobs to college guys who worked at Burger King. Now I only wanted to spread my legs for men twice my age who bit and spanked and wore clerical collars.
No, I couldn’t tell her that. Not unless I wanted her murderous Irish henchman, Ronan, to show up. I bet Magnus could hold his own in a fistfight. But against an assassin aiming a gun? I didn’t want to find out.
I wished I could go back to hating the volatile priest. Then I wouldn’t care about this shit. But now it worried me. If my family found out that he’d touched me? That he’d buried his nose between my legs and smelled me? I couldn’t think about what would happen to him without making myself sick.
Trapping my tongue between my molars, I bit down and used the pain to distract me from my thoughts.
On the field, the St. John’s players waved and showboated, trying to get my attention. Father Isaac lingered off to the side, talking to Father Crisanto while keeping his old eyes on Daisy and me.
After practice, Daisy chased down a few of the key players for interviews. It wasn’t long before the star quarterback plopped down beside me, reeking of sweat and cut grass.
“Hey, Tinsley.” Tucker flashed me a smile, though it looked a little tight at the corners. “You look beautiful as always.”
“Thanks.” No smile from me.
He was an all-American boy—a playboy if the rumors were true—accustomed to getting who and what he wanted. If he wanted me, he would have to work for it.
Blond hair, brown eyes, with an explosion of muscles along his six-foot-three frame, he was conventionally handsome. Six weeks ago, I would’ve thrown myself at him.