I sigh.
What was I?
I’m not exactly normal now, am I? But my brain doesn’t have the same pressure on it as before, so I have to think my reasoning is sounder than it once was.
The doctors said the cyst made me a risk taker, made me impulsive and more prone to doing stupid stuff.
I wonder what they’d blame this episode with Savio on?
Brain damage from the trauma of surgery?
My lips twist at the thought, but it’s a good thing to remember. If we ever get caught...
“She said those words?” he repeats slowly.
I shrug, thinking he’s saying I’m dumb. “I’ve never heard that phrasing before.”
His frown deepens. “I don’t think I have either.”
“Not in confession? Sheesh. God’s your world, not mine.”
He snorts. “Yes, very much my world.”
I reach up, tug on his ear slightly, and mutter, “You’ve really never heard that particular phrasing before?”
Savio shakes his head. “No. Variants, maybe, but—”
“I think it’s a sign,” I blurt out.
“Not everything is a sign,” he tells me gently, like he thinks I’m crazy again.
“This is. Two deaths, two precursors to those deaths with that phrasing in my presence?” I shudder. “It’s meant to be.”
His brow furrows, and for a second, I can tell he’s not sure what to make of me. I’m giving him what he wants—not arguing with his need to take out the capo like the trash he is. But, also, I’m giving him a reason he doesn’t want to hear.
“God doesn’t send signs like that,” he rasps.
“He didn’t. But maybe he knows what’s in your heart and mine. Maybe this is his way of absolving you.”
Savio winces. “Hardly—”
“You’d have killed without thought before. Now it’s sanctioned.” My tone is resolute, as is my resolve. Each word pounds through me, forcing me to believe more than I did at the start.
Those words were the beginning of my journey.
They were the catalyst that led me to this point.
To him.
And now?
This is the next phase of our lives.
He’s already said he doesn’t want to be a priest anymore. But for this to happen today? For it all to go down as it has?
I know in my heart this is right.
Though his eyes are loaded with doubt, I reach up on tiptoe and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Savio.”
He tenses beneath my kiss. “Y-You can’t.”
“I do.” I’m resolved about that also. “I’ve needed you for so long, and now you’re here.” I let my arms slip around his neck, and I whisper, “I’ll be everything you need too.”
He bites his lip and stares down at me, but the doubt is receding, and I can feel his dick start to harden against my belly. I’m not sure why, not sure what I said to get him horny, but I’m not about to complain.
“Everything?” he rasps, and he looks at me like a kid who’s just realized Christmas comes with gifts, and Easter comes with chocolate.
“Yes,” I promise, staring up at him with all the crazy, fucked up love I’m capable of.
His nostrils flare at the sight, then he connects our mouths and, God help me, it feels different.
Last night, the first time he kissed me felt like a revelation, but now?
Something’s changed.
For him.
Not for me. I already knew I loved him. I’ve been feeling this way since I saw his picture on a TV screen all those years ago.
Savio kisses me like he loves me though, and I just have no choice but to melt into him.
My tongue thrusts into his mouth, and I let my body melt into his even more. It’s incredible how my slenderness somehow fits all his hard planes, but it does. We’re like two jigsaw puzzles, and at last, we’re coming together.
I have no choice but to climb him like he’s a tree. I hook one leg around his hips then jump so I can hook the other around him too. He grabs my ass, pulling at my butt cheeks through my jeans, and when he leans me against the kitchen counter, I envision him taking me there, and I’m not averse to the idea.
But he doesn’t do that.
If anything, his hard kisses turn a little softer. A bit gentler.
He grabs a hold of my thighs and carts me out of the room. Before I know it, we’re climbing up the stairs like that, and he doesn’t stop to breathe, or pant, just carries on until we’re in his bedroom.
He places me on the bed, and only then does he pull back. I watch as he tears out of his shirt, unbuttons his fly, then steps out of his priest garb to turn back into the man I love.
When his boxer briefs are out of the way too, he turns to me. I’d been quite happy with the show, thank you very much. His muscles are kind of excessive, rippling with every move, so I know his training is another coping mechanism. I vow to make him less ripped, an odd sacrifice for sure—and as that thought crosses my mind, he grabs my legs, tugs me toward him, then gets to work on my skinny jeans.
I don’t help. I just lie there, letting him do this, then I laugh when he grumbles, “What the hell are these? Torture devices?”
My lips curve. “The last time you had sex was everyone wearing flares?”
His eyes narrow, and he nips my calf through the denim. “How old do you think I am?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Ancient?”
He snorts. “The BeeJees weren’t famous when I was born, so that should reassure you.”
My grin is sassy, but I squeak when he works off my jeans, revealing my thighs, and surprises the hell out of me—four slaps to one thigh, five to another, nine total. Again. Nine.
What’s with the nine?
But before I can say a word or ask a question, he pushes my legs back so they’re against my stomach. He holds my ankles even as he leans down, swipes his tongue through my folds, which are smushed together thanks to the hold he has me in, then rasps, “Why do you taste like raspberries?”
I blink. “Do I?”
He snorts. “Yes.”
“I have a very good sense of smell and I can’t smell raspberries.”
“You don’t shove your nose in your cunt though, do you?”
Oh, Lord, he did not just say that word.
I have no idea why, but it sends molten heat soaring through me. It’s rude. It’s crude. It’s everything Savio isn’t, and I think that’s why I love it.
He can be dark with me.
I want that.
I want to bathe in his darkness.
He must see what that does to me, because he lets out a growl, swipes his tongue through my lower lips again, and thrusts into my pussy once before he gets to his feet and uses the new position to press a finger into me.
“How are you feeling?” he demands, as he gently explores me. “Sore?”
I blink at him. “Huh?”
His lips twitch. “Are you in pain?”
My mouth watering, I shake my head. If this is pain, then I want to feel it often.
Snickering a little, his mouth hitches up on one side, and at that moment, the shadow of grief, the pain of the past, and the torment in his soul has gone.
Lightened.
He only sees me.
And I’ve never wanted to be seen as much in my life.