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Sauntering to the bed, I fist the closest bedclothes and bring them to my nose, groaning at the crisp berry scent that belongs to Mercy. I drop the sheets and attempt to focus on my work. But the harder I try to ignore the pull of her bed, the more it calls to me. And eventually, I have no choice but to give in…
CHAPTER FIVE
Sister Mercy
Prayers finished early. Since Mother Superior assured me all of the soldiers were having lunch outside the convent and I’m free to roam, I decide to use my spare time to have a much needed shower. After the bus journey last night, I’m feeling kind of dusty, not to mention the newer, lumpier bed has made my back sore and I think the hot water will do the trick.
Standing beneath the shower spray, I can’t seem to keep my mind from drifting back to Private Griffin. I hope he’s not in my room when I return. I also very much hope he is there. How confusing is that? His handsome face makes me sigh and irritates me at the same time. Even during prayers, I continued to consider how his bristly chin would feel if he were to…well, if he were to kiss me…
Which will never, ever happen.
I can’t believe I had such a thought while kneeling in front of the altar.
I’m lucky a lightning bolt didn’t smash through the stained glass and strike me dead. Honestly, it would serve me right. It isn’t proper to wrap my thighs around a man. I think I knew that deep down, so why did I do it?
Why can’t I seem to stop wanting to do it again?
I take a quick peek outside the shower to make sure no one else is present in the bathroom, then I sneak the razor out of my habit, where I’ve hung it on a wooden peg. Shaving one’s legs isn’t necessarily against the rules, but I don’t think the other nuns would be impressed if they knew how regularly I perform the ritual. There’s just something about smooth legs against my sheets that makes me feel girly and clean. I’ve completed the task and I’m about to stow my razor back in its hiding place when my hand detours and I find myself making a neat, inverted triangle out of my pubic hair.
And then I change my mind and do away with it altogether.
“Oh dear, Mercy,” I whisper, trailing a finger over the pale, silky skin left behind. “The devil is preying on your soul.”
There’s a wicked desire stirring in me to tease my finger lower, to see how it might feel, but I’ve sinned enough for one day, so I hurry to dry off, instead. Getting dressed in the steamy bathroom sounds awful, so I decide to hasten to my room without being seen. I put on my thin, white slip and leave off my habit, intending to get dressed once I’ve arrived at my room. Surely Private Griffin is no longer there and is having his lunch with the rest of the soldiers.
Ignoring my shameful disappointment, I fly down the stone hallway barefoot with my wet hair around my shoulders, slipping quietly into my room—and then I skid to a halt.
Private Griffin is very much still in my room.
In fact, he’s in my bed, lying on his stomach. Grunting and bucking his hips.
What is he…doing?
A low throb begins to beat low in my belly, my thighs turning to rubber. I should turn and leave, because although I don’t know what he’s doing, it’s obvious I’ve come upon a deeply intimate moment. I can’t help but feel, down deep in my bones, like the moment also belongs to me.
Without thinking, I move closer, fascinated by the clanking of his open belt. Metal strikes metal every time the private thrusts his hips. From my new vantage point, I can see there is a mound of sheets bunched beneath his belly button and he appears to be ramming himself against it, hard enough to make the bed groan. His mouth is open, eyes squeezed shut, as he drives his hips furiously into the tight cluster of sheets.
It’s hard to tear my eyes from the private, but I look down at my own body and find my nipples pebbled against the thin, damp bodice of my slip, dusky pink visible clear through the material. And as I walk around back of the private and notice his shirt has ridden up, allowing me to witness the savage flex of his buttocks and lower back, liquid heat pools between my thighs and I whimper involuntarily.
A ripple of awareness shifts Griffin’s back muscles and his movements slow, but they do not stop. “Come here and look what you do to me, Mercy.”
I’m already moving, as if in a trance, to the side of the bed.
