They trace over my wings, making me shiver, the skin pucker with goose flesh, and I arch my spine a little, needing to move as that delicate touch forces me to respond.
When I’ve stopped panting, he rights me, propping me up once more until I’m sitting on his lap, and when I am, he twists me to straddle his thighs, and I spread my legs so that his cock nudges against my pussy.
He reaches between us, all the while his eyes are on me, and grabs his dick. When he pushes it into me, I tense, because he’s thick and I’m small, but slowly, my slick pussy accepts him.
Just the tip.
I take a deep breath, force myself to open up to him in all things, then take as much of him as I can in this position.
I’ve never felt so open, so exposed until that moment, and I’ve been in surgery. I’ve had people helping me do the most menial tasks that everyone takes for granted until we’re no longer able.
This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been in my whole life, and I could think of no other person I want to be like this with than Savio.
He stuns me by surging onto his feet, one arm banded under my butt, the other at my hips, prompting me to grip him around the waist and squeeze him tightly. When he walks us to the door, his dick moves, doing weird things inside me that have me squirming, as well as make me slide down him so I’m impaled on him more. I half expect him to walk us to the shower or something, but he doesn’t.
He goes over to the wall beside the dresser and he turns around.
Then he walks back until his spine is against it.
My brow furrows when I see pain flash over his face, and though I want to protest, the strangest wave of emotion crosses his features.
Sweet oblivion.
It’s like a high. I can see it in his eyes. The pinpricks of his pupils.
“Ride me,” he says thickly.
I want to, I love that he feels that way, that he can find freedom in my body, but I’m a frickin’ virgin.
It’s not like I’ve ever done this before.
How do I even—
Before I can wonder too long over the situation, he shifts his hold on me and grabs my thighs and helps, giving me leverage.
It’s awkward, and not at all sexy—at least, not to me, but to him?
His face is relaxed, the hard lines about his mouth, around his eyes, and between his brows are gone, soft.
His lips are parted as he takes deep breaths, and I can feel just how in the zone he is.
This is pleasurable for him.
The sharp bite of pain with the ecstasy of being in a pussy again...
Of being in my pussy.
How can I deny him this?
So I work hard, even though it does what I’m not supposed to do—exerts me. I get tired quickly, so I’m relieved like hell when he grabs my ass, parts my cheeks, then begins to rear up into me.
When he comes, I can feel his seed exploding inside me. The slick warmth is like a sweet firebomb that detonates my own release.
As my head falls back, eyes rolling until the lids close on them, I experience the same sweet oblivion as he does, and even better?
His cum seeps out of me.
United in blood, tears, and cum.
Heaven.
Savio
I left her sleeping in my bed to get up to go about my daily chores. It feels distinctly odd to be doing them when I’ve just broken one of the key vows of the priesthood. I should feel ashamed, I should feel like I need to punish myself, but I don’t.
If anything, there’s a harmony inside me that’s better than a choral performance of “Morning Has Broken.”
I feel like that.
Like the sun is shining on me at long last, like an eternal night has broken, and day is here for me once more.
Nothing can get me down.
Not even the fact she slept through me scrubbing down the wall beside the dresser—it’s a nightmare waiting to happen when blood dries—can get me down.
I’ll admit to being worried.
I was selfish.
She worked hard to get me off, and it definitely knocked me for six. I felt like my brain was going to implode on itself, and I’ve never, ever come like that before.
Just thinking about it makes me uncomfortably hard, especially as I’m in the middle of preparing for service.
I’ve already blackened my vows, but to get a hard-on in church?
Unthinkable.
But not thinking about her in my bed is also impossible.
She’s so strange.
So weird.
So... perfect.
I can’t even describe it.
I know she’s insane, and I know she’s ill, yet I can’t help but believe her when she says I’m hers and she’s mine.
It’s proof I’m insane also, but for the first time in too long, I can embrace that. I can think it without shying away from it and wondering if I’ll ever get locked up in an asylum.
If she’s a little kooky, then why can’t I be?
We can be weird together, and maybe we’ll balance each other out.
The thought makes me smile as I flip through the Bible and make a few mental annotations for my service today.
A cough sounds in the church, and I peer at the aisle, my brows rising when I see someone standing at the top. I squint a little, since I’m bathed in the morning light and he’s standing in the dark.
When I register who he is, though, my mood plummets.
The day had started so well.
Marco Corelli.
If ever there was sin personified, it’s him.
That he has the audacity to even walk in here tells me a lot about my predecessor. I already knew he was a charlatan, what with the way he allowed the food bank and the soup kitchen to flounder the way they were when I arrived here, but knowing that Corelli was welcomed?
My anger surges inside me.
I know why he’s here too.
He only comes after a purge, and the last one was just on the brink of the old Father leaving and my taking his seat in this parish.
There’s more blood on his hands than anyone I’ve met since Algeria. If anyone needs eradicating, it’s him.
The part of my soul that craves vengeance and penance snarls at the sight of him.
Paulo Lorenzo is a nothing, a nobody by comparison. This bastard?
He affects the city in ways few will ever understand.
But I do.
I know from the homeless I deal with how he uses them as mules. I know Corelli is how men like Gianni stay afloat.
He’s scum.
True Godfather material.
There’s a reason he’s come here today.
A reason that has nothing to do with the sins he’s committed.
This is a sign.
A shaky breath escapes me even as I go through the motions of stepping down from the lectern. My heels tap against the stone flagons as I walk toward him.
Yesterday, I might have refused to take his confession.
Yesterday, I might have listened to said confession and refused to absolve him.
Today?
I’ll listen.
I’ll take his confession.
I’ll absolve him.
Because Andrea is right.
It’s bullshit.
God will not let this scum into heaven, and if that means I’m going to hell, too, because there is no salvation in confession, I’m more than okay with that.
Especially if this fucker burns right alongside me.
I don’t greet him, do nothing other than make eye contact with him.
When I jerk my chin upright, telling him silently to follow me, his eyes narrow, and I know that’s because he’s used to having his ass licked. These bastards get the royal treatment by far too many, but not me.