“I’m not going to take off your underwear. I’m going peel this silk off you like the skin of a fruit, and then I’m going to eat you. I’m going to suck on you like a plum. I’m going to unwrap you like a Christmas present and then you’ll see what a happy boy I am.”
I never expected to have a religious experience while reading a romance novel…but this story was EVERYTHING! There was so much depth to the story and these characters- and I felt so much from every moment.
Perhaps I’d been programmed at birth only to want this one person, and there’s this tiny thing in my mind—not a thought, not even the seed of a thought, but like the frozen root of some dormant plant that might one day years from now drop a seed that can become a full-blown thought—that I can almost remember feeling this way about God once upon a time. That years ago, there used to be a Sean Bell that loved without restraint and reluctance and fear. She reminds me.
I loved Tyler and Poppy’s story in Priest and Midnight Mass and didn’t expect that a more original, thought provoking story could follow those two books…I was so wrong. Sinner touched on so many social issues as well as continued with the religious theme that fits the Bell family perfectly.
It never works. And it’s a stinging thing to note that even as I try my hardest, even as I throw every reason I ever hated God or despised the Church at her, I can’t crack her faith the way her love cracks me. I can’t carve away her connection with God the same way she’s carved a gap into my heart that she refuses to fill.
Not only was this a love story, but Sierra Simone managed bring me back to my own religious roots. Like the Bell family, my Catholic beliefs were left behind me after my own bouts of disbelief. This helped me to connect with Sean Bell on such a deeper level that any character I’ve come across.
I’m losing my mind over her, but for Zenny, I’m merely a stop on the road to sainthood.
The author did an outstanding job of touching on how the characters felt conflict between faith and kink, on the everyday struggles for someone with color and on self exploration. How do you differentiate a call to serve God in the church or serve him through your actions? How can you have faith in God at a time when you’re at your lowest? Is it possible to blame God for the bad in your life and still believe he can bring the good?
If loving Zenny is even close to the way she loves God, I understand why she’s choosing this life.
Not only did this story exceed Priest in the “HOT” factor, but it exceeded all my other expectations.
Sinner is another for my Best of 2018 list!
“Zenny,” I mumble against her lips, some valiant part of me recognizing that this is far, far beyond the kiss she asked for, and also recognizing that I’m going to come all over the inside of my Hugo Boss suit pants if she keeps it up. Even through the clothes, I can feel her heat, her shameless rolls hinting at where she goes soft and wet between her legs.
Fuck, I want to see it. I want to see her pussy. It’s suddenly all I can think about, all I can want or crave, just one glimpse, just a peek.
“I want to see your cunt,” I say hoarsely, lifting my head.
“My…cunt?” She says the word like she’s never said it out loud before.
“Yeah.” My voice is so ragged right now, so desperate, and fuck, I’ve never felt this frantic before. Like I’ll actually combust if I don’t get this one thing, this one small sight of her secret place.
She lets out a shaky breath, her hand dropping from my lapel to her skirt, which she slowly rucks up to her waist as I devour her lips once more, as I bury my face in her neck and kiss every sliver of skin exposed above her collar. I bite at her ear, at her jaw, my hand finding hers as it pulls her skirt up, so that I’m helping her do it, that we’re doing it together, this forbidden act, this forbidden revelation.
Her forbidden body.
That word, forbidden, spikes through my mind, bringing with it equal spikes of lust and fear. Because yes, it’s fucking hot that I shouldn’t be kissing her, I shouldn’t be begging to see her most secret place, my hand shouldn’t be covering hers as it slides up her thigh—but it’s also bad. Bad even for Sean Bell.
Bad, bad, bad.
I’m not a good man, and I’ve never pretended to be. I don’t believe in goodness or God or any happy ending that isn’t paid for in advance.
What do I believe in? Money. Sex. Macallan 18.
They have words for men like me—playboy. Womanizer. Skirt chaser.
My brother used to be a priest, and he only has one word for me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sierra Simone is a USA Today Bestselling former librarian (who spent too much time reading romance novels at the information desk.) She lives with her husband and family in Kansas City
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