Humility/Pride Pride is considered to be the root of all sin, and from it the other deadly sins spring.
Wasn't it a coincidence then, that pride was the first sin she fell victim to when it came to him.
The birth had been a tricky one, lasting until the small hours of the morning, the baby's shoulder having caught on the pelvis of its mother. It had taken a terrifyingly long time to fix, Doctor Turner becoming increasingly worried and agitated as the minutes ticked by and the baby's heart rate started to slow. She could see the sweat beading on his brow, his arms shaking slightly from exhaustion as he finally managed to force the baby free, the tiny infant sliding into his hands with a great wail.
The entire room slid into a state of relief, the first harbingers of the morning sunlight cresting through the lace curtains just as he placed the baby on the mother's stomach, letting the tiny child cry as he leaned back, a sigh slipping from his lungs as he closed his eyes.
"A beautiful little girl," Sister Bernadette mused, rubbing the infant's back with a towel as Mrs. Nichols let out a shuddering laugh, tired hands gingerly tracing their way through the baby's sparse hair.
They only remained another hour, the placenta appearing only ten minutes after the baby did, completely intact. By the time they walked out of the flat, the street was slowly coming to life, the summer sun gaining strength as it rose higher in the east.
"You were wonderful in there Sister, I couldn't have done it without you," he said, tossing her a tired smile as they walked.
"Oh, you would have done just fine without me," she said in reply, her desire for humility present in the way she formed her words, never wanting to draw attention to her own actions.
"I doubt it," he chuckled. "We've only an hour and a half before clinic, doesn't seem like there's any point to me attempting to go back home and sleep," Doctor Turner muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as he started to walk towards the church hall, Sister Bernadette keeping pace with him, her bike at her side.
"I'm sure there's plenty to do at the hall," she mused, casting him a glance out of the side of her eye. She couldn't help but notice the way the early dawn light struck his features, the golden rays catching on his lashes and making them glow with hints of auburn. The few strands of grey in his hair turned copper, bringing out the dark green that flecked his irises as his fringe fell into his face. She couldn't help but think him to be the most handsome thing she had ever seen in that moment. They slipped into an easy silence then, seeming to both respect the quiet atmosphere of Poplar in the morning, the only people passing them being workers on their way to the docks as they wandered to the hall, slipping through the doors and into the complete stillness of the empty room.
She went to deposit her bag in the kitchen, popping her head back out the minute she heard the pained groan echoing off the walls.
"Doctor? Are you quite all right?" she asked, alarm rising in her chest as she watched him touch his shoulder, breath hissing out from between his clenched teeth.
"I haven't had to fight through a birth like that in ages," he confessed, trying to offer her a slight smile as he sat down on one of the chairs in the centre of the hall, wincing as he tried to maneuver his arm. "Apparently I did not prepare adequately for such a work out." She couldn't stop herself if she tried, wandering across the dull tiles until she stood adjacent to him, frowning as she watched his features contort at the motion he was trying to achieve.
"May I?" she queried, motioning towards him. He regarded her with a look of trepidation for a moment before giving her a slight nod.
"I suppose you can only improve things," he joked, eyes tracking her as she dashed back into the kitchen.
"Take your coat off then, and the shirt," she called, missing the way his eyes widened before he obeyed, grimacing as he removed the multiple layers until he sat in just his trousers and vest, suspenders curling at his sides as he finished placing the fabric on the chair next to him. She reappeared then, a slight blush on her features as she ducked behind him. "I'm sorry, this is probably going to be a little cold," she said, pouring a small amount of oil onto her hands before she reached forward, rubbing it into the flesh of his shoulder.
"Ahh," he groaned, torn between the pain the motion caused and the relief that her tiny fingers were already bringing to him in the simple motions of pushing the oil into his skin.
"Sorry," she apologised, trying to keep her mind on the movement of her hands and not the way the noise had struck a chord within her, her heart racing beneath her ribs at the sound.
"Its fine," he assured her, trying to relax against the hard back of the chair as she continued her ministrations. Her fingers skimmed under the edge of his vest, pressing tightly to the muscle and sinew that spanned from his neck to his shoulder, her thumb sweeping up towards his neck while her fingers pressed into slight hollow where his collarbone lay, her short nails scraping at the skin. He couldn't help but let out a moan, his head dropping back as his eyes closed. He hadn't realised how furious the entire right side of his body had become from the delivery until that moment, Sister Bernadette's hands giving him more relief and pleasure in that moment than his own hands had in months.
She chuckled softly behind him, digits drawing tight circles against his skin, moving from his neck to his collar bone to his shoulder, rotating his arm slightly as she went. He released a symphony of grunts and groans, loving the feeling of her hands on him.
For her part, Sister Bernadette tried desperately to concentrate on what she was doing, but it was becoming increasingly harder and harder as each minute slipped by. His flesh was slick beneath her hands thanks to the oil, heat slipping from him into the pads of her fingers as they pressed first in one spot then another. It was a sensation she had never truly had before, the skin not of a patient, but of a man who she found exceedingly attractive. The sounds he was making however were what was truly getting to her. Was this was he sounded like when he was given pleasure? Was this what he sounded like when making love? Was this how he sounded when a woman was atop him, riding him?
"Oh... yes, ah," he moaned, bringing the images she was trying to push away to the forefront of her mind. She imagined him suddenly beneath her, in the middle of the floor of the church hall, his skin glistening from a combination of oil and sweat as she straddled him, her thighs bracketing his waist as she moved above him. In her mind his head thrashed against the tiles, groans slipping from his lips every few seconds as she shifted, her hips creating a frantic rhythm as she ground against him, her own naked skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight, his hands coming up to palm at her breasts.
"Does that feel good?" she asked in reality. "Do I make you feel good?" she added in her mind. Her voiced question came out more breathy than she intended, her heart racing, a throbbing rising between her legs until she could barely stand, her fingers shaking as she pressed into a particularly sore spot of his rotator cuff.
"Oh God, yes," he gasped. In her mind she imagined him breaking apart with that sentiment, his hips surging up off the floor and against hers, his hands wrapping around her hips and yanking her pelvis tightly against him as he jerked against her. The rush of wetness she felt from her centre made her dizzy, heat spreading up her neck from beneath her wimple as she managed to release the last bit of tension in his arm. His head fell forward as she gingerly removed her hands from his skin, the flesh now pink from the pressure of her fingers and flecked with tiny lines from where her nails skimmed against him. "You are a goddess," he breathed, a chuckle rumbling out of his chest as he managed to stand, rotating his shoulder to show her that she had repaired the damage. She smiled, head thick with the fog of arousal as he reached down to get his shirt.
"I'm just going to... wash my hands," she mumbled, hastily leaving the hall and heading to the lavatory. She locked the door behind her swiftly, glad of the early hour as she frantically yanked at her skirts, pulling them up just enough to slide her hand beneath the fabric. Her fingers, still warm from friction and tinged with oil slid easily through the wetness that enveloped her centre, a hiss escaping her at the feeling of her nail catching against her swollen clit.
She recalled the sounds the doctor had been making with such ease and clarity, the way his chest heaved as he released the chorus of reverberations tainted with physical pleasure. Her head thudded against the wooden door as she gasped, tracing over her centre with increasing vigour.
"That's right, I'm the one to make you feel this way, let me show you what I can do, how I can make you feel," she panted into the silent room, the images she had conjured in the hall rushing back to her. The sight of his skin, darker than her own, glowing with perspiration. The image of her tiny hands against his chest, her palms pressed to his pectoral muscles as her thighs burned from her movements. She imagined him flipping her onto her back, her spine pressing into the tiles that had been heated from his own flesh, pushing her legs up higher until they were on his shoulders, his arms bracketing her as he pounded into her.
"You're the only one who makes me feel like this. I can't control myself around you," he confessed in her mind, leaning his head down until he could latch his teeth onto her neck, biting into the tendons.
She shattered against her own fingers, hips jumping against her hand as she released a soft gasp to the room, her knees buckling and causing her to slide down the door, landing on the floor in a heap of fabric and contracting muscles. She rested there for a few moments, catching her breath before standing on shaky legs, washing her hands and fixing her clothes.
Glancing up at herself in the mirror she noticed an odd smugness about her eyes. The woman looking back at her was one who was filled with both shame of her actions and one that was riddled with pride. Even though she hadn't actually bedded the doctor, she knew she had given him pleasure when no one else could, even if it was from the pressure of her fingers against his skin.