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They say nuns are off-limits. I say, “Watch me.” They say obsession is a sin. Good thing I stopped caring about sin a long time ago. She says I’m a sinner. She’s not wrong. But when I’ve got her confessing her darkest desires to me in ways that would make the Devil blush, what does that make her? A firecracker in a habit, all rosaries and righteous fury, thinking she can scare me off with sharp words and that holier-than-thou glare. Cute. I’ve stared death in the face and made it flinch. I don’t lose sleep over a wannabe saint with a sharp tongue. Lucky for me, she’s not a nun yet. The more she fights, the more I want to corrupt every vow she’s about to make. God may forgive me, but she won’t. Good. I like my women unforgiving, trashing and begging.
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Nikolai’s Tainted Nun Chapter 2~ Sinner & Sin
Chapter 2⟿❂⟾SYLVIA⟿❂⟾If sneaking into the shelter without being caught were an Olympic sport, I’d take gold. Well, maybe bronze.Okay, lying is a sin. I’d probably trip over my own feet, crash into a nun, and get excommunicated on the spot.“Just a few more steps,” I whispered to myself, my heart pounding louder than the damn church bells on Sunday morning.My left sock betrayed me by sliding on the smooth floor. “Shit!” I hissed, then clamped a hand over my mouth. A nun isn’t supposed to cuss!I was going to hell. Straight to hell. Not even purgatory was going to bother with me at this rate.I shuffled forward, cringing with every creak and groan the ancient staircase made under my weight. I could already imagine Mother Beatrice’s face if she caught me, that withering glare that could peel paint off walls.Halfway up, the sound of footsteps froze me in place. Oh no. Ohhh no.I turned so slowly I could hear my neck creak. And there she was. Mother Beatrice, in all her holy wrath,
Last Updated : 2025-01-16Nikolai’s Tainted Nun Chapter 1~ God Has A Twisted Sense Of Humor
NIKOLAI⟿❂⟾Chapter 1⟿❂⟾PRESENT DAY ⟿❂⟾People always say storms cleanse the soul. That’s a lie.Storms drown out screams, wash away blood, and mask the sound of sins being committed. I should know because I’ve used enough of them to my advantage.Tonight was no different.I stepped into the ruined chapel, shaking rain off my coat, and lit a cigarette. The place was a disaster: shattered stained glass, overturned pews, and enough mold on the walls to give a health inspector a heart attack. My money had kept the building standing this long. Now, it barely looked worth saving.“Don’t move!”The tiny voice snapped through the silence like a whip.I froze mid-drag and turned. At first, I thought I was imagining things. Maybe the storm was messing with my head. But no, there she was: a woman in a plain gray dress, clutching a rosary like it was a weapon. Her hair was tied back too tight, her face scrubbed too clean. She had remarkable grey eyes that blazed like she wanted to set me on f
Last Updated : 2025-01-16Nikolai’s Tainted Nun Prologue~ At 22…
PROLOGUENIKOLAI⟿❂⟾New York, 7 Years Ago⟿❂⟾“Kill him.”Matteo fucking Gianni, my father, didn’t believe in wasting words, and I didn’t believe in saying them either. He slid the manila folder across like it held nothing more interesting than the lunch menu at his favorite restaurant. Dino Donatello. Mid-40s. Ran weapons and girls out of Staten Island, made deals with anyone who waved a dollar in his face, and skimmed more than his share off our shipments. He’d successfully worked his way into my father’s bad books, and now he’d have to be burned with those books.It was a simple job. Walk in, handle it, walk out. A routine.“Don’t think,” my father added, not even looking at me as he poured himself a glass of scotch. “Just get it done.”I’d learned not to argue with him by the time I turned 15. At 22, I wasn’t stupid enough to start now. So I nodded, took the file, and headed out without another word.The Donatello house was a two-story dump at the edge of a rundown neighborhood.
Last Updated : 2025-01-09
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Prologue~ At 22…
PROLOGUENIKOLAI⟿❂⟾New York, 7 Years Ago⟿❂⟾“Kill him.”Matteo fucking Gianni, my father, didn’t believe in wasting words, and I didn’t believe in saying them either. He slid the manila folder across like it held nothing more interesting than the lunch menu at his favorite restaurant. Dino Donatello. Mid-40s. Ran weapons and girls out of Staten Island, made deals with anyone who waved a dollar in his face, and skimmed more than his share off our shipments. He’d successfully worked his way into my father’s bad books, and now he’d have to be burned with those books.It was a simple job. Walk in, handle it, walk out. A routine.“Don’t think,” my father added, not even looking at me as he poured himself a glass of scotch. “Just get it done.”I’d learned not to argue with him by the time I turned 15. At 22, I wasn’t stupid enough to start now. So I nodded, took the file, and headed out without another word.The Donatello house was a two-story dump at the edge of a rundown neighborhood....
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