Ecstasy

Chapter 4

Yasmin:

My jaw hung loosely, my eyes darted back and forth between angelic Mrs. West and this… man that she claimed to be her grandson. He walked over to her and handed her the pins and yarn while I still battled with the reality of it all.

“Yasmin, dear, do come and have a seat.”

My heart jumped into my throat at the sound of her soft voice while her grandson stood next to her, glaring at me with those stormy blue eyes.

“Y-Yes, Ma’am.”

I hurried and took up the seat next to her, and she handed me the yarn. My hands trembled as I made the loop, my eyes fixed on the crimson yarn, but my body could feel his gaze. I couldn’t resist and stole a side glance and immediately regretted it.

Why was he looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong? Was my habit dirty?

Thoughts whizzed by, and my thighs clenched hard as a rush filled my insides. Why did I react to him like this?

“Yasmin, how about you tell us about yourself?” Mrs. West suggested cheerily.

My stomach churned. I fought to pull my gaze away from my looped and ready yarn and fix it on her, my body shivering, still aware of the dark, handsome man who gazed at me in silence.

“Uhmm…”

My voice had retreated and came out as a squeak that made my cheeks fill with colour in embarrassment.

“...I-I am twen-twenty-one, and I’ve been raised in the… convent my whole life. This… this is actually the fifth time I’ve been outside in my… life.”

Mrs. West’s kind smile faded slightly, and her nimble hands eased up on the pin.

“That’s sad to hear, my dear. You should get out more. It must get boring in there.”

A weak smile stretched my lips, and in those few seconds, my life flashed before my eyes. The convent had been built on routine, a routine I had known my whole life. It was exhausting, but nothing was too great a price to pay for the work of God. That was what my father told me.

I remembered the day as vividly as if it was just yesterday. I told him I wanted to play with the younger sisters, and he took me to his room and beat me with a stick. The hard wood coming down on my palm, the whooshing sound, the blunt thuds, his voice saying that I should pray without ceasing and that the work of God was never done, that I had no time to mess around…

“Yasmin, dear, are you…crying?”

The back of my palm felt wet and cool, and my mouth was filled with a salty taste as a stray tear detoured to my lips. I didn’t even realize I had been crying.

“I’m fine,” I said weakly, with a smile as I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “I was just thinking about how the priest saved my soul and put me on the path to redemption from my youth. It is because of him that I am one with the Lord.”

A frail hand rested on mine, and Mrs. West’s eyes sparkled as she smiled at me.

“That priest must be a wonderful and kind man.”

I beamed.

“Yes, he is.”

In that moment, my eyes strayed and locked with Jacob’s, and I felt my breath get caught. He stood there, arms folded across his broad chest, his perfect lips, sinful and tempting, in a hard line as he regarded me with cold intrigue.

That clench in my thighs, the rush in the deepest parts of my belly, was stronger than ever as I stared back, drenched in fear and… something else, something deeper, sinful, that I just couldn’t put my finger on.

My head dropped, and I made the sign of the cross. This was sin. I would have to go back soon and do penance. The Lord gave us the spirit of discernment. I knew this was bad, and the fact that I felt–Well, I don’t know what I felt–made it all the more vile.

The room was silent, and I heard the faint sound of pins clattering lazily.

“Mrs. West?”

The poor lady had dropped the pins and was snoring loudly. Did she just sleep off? Was she alright?

I felt the room shift. Mrs. West’s sleep dimmed her angelic glow, and I felt a dark, bone-chilling aura fill the room. I looked up and saw him: his arms unfolded as he walked up to me. I was stuck on my seat. My knees were weak, and my lips parted as I struggled to breathe as he loomed over me.

Good girl…

The words echoed in my head. The craving to hear him say it again filled me, and he cupped my face with his palms. My eyes never left his gaze; his fingers trailed my skin–soft, electrifying–as he travelled up my face to my veil and pulled it forward, covering my hair that had been slightly exposed.

“I think gratitude would be in order,” he said darkly, stroking my face gently and making me ache as he pulled away.

“Th-Thank you, Sir,” I whispered breathily, and his lips curled into a half-smile. My heart swelled, every fibre of me screaming. Say those words! Please! Call me a ‘good girl’!

Suddenly he whipped his head away and turned to Mrs. West. Her snoring had stopped, and she lay there, quiet, her mouth slightly agape.

I reached for her hand. It was ice-cold. My heart lurched forward, and I stood up in alarm. Was… was she?

Jacob pulled away from me and cradled her cold, weak body. His eyes darkened as he looked at her lifeless face.

“Is she…”

His jaw tightened, and his muscles tensed up.

“Leave. Now.”

His voice rumbled, and I hurried away in fear. A tear pricked my eye as I lingered at the doorway for a few more seconds before leaving, running out of the house.

Mrs. West had died, and I couldn’t even pray for her soul.

~~~

I knelt at the edge of my bed. The sky was dark, the wind was blustering, and the rain hammered against my window pane. My penance was finally done, and Sister Gwen had dropped a cold piece of bread and a small bowl of oats on my dressing table along with a few insults before slamming my bedroom shut.

I could finally eat, but my appetite had faded. My eyes were shut tight, and my lips moved as I muttered a small prayer for the kind soul of Mrs. West.

“Father, please lead her soul to your bosom. Give her grandson, Jacob, the…”

The words were stolen from my lips; my heart skipped a beat and the deepest parts of my belly were filled with a rush.

His dark tempest blue eyes and their cold stare were etched in my mind’s eye, and my breathing caught, forcing my eyes open. My skin would come alive in the places he had touched, and with trembling fingers, I ran my fingers across my cheeks.

The way he told me to leave was bone-chilling. My eyes shut again for the umpteenth time to try to pray for the peace of Mrs. West’s soul, but all I could see was Jacob and hear his voice, calling me a ‘good girl’. I couldn’t explain it, but I craved to hear those words again and that craving was evil. I could feel it.

There were so many things about him I couldn’t explain: the way he looked at me, the way his gaze controlled my body, the way his voice made me hunger to hear it again. He was sin, wrapped in a beautiful body with silver hair, and to keep myself pure, I… I had to stop seeing him.