Page 112 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

I barely register the current penitent’s next line. Something about a sweet tooth and a stolen bun before dinner. But then she pauses. Waits.

I clear my throat. My voice still wavers when I speak. “Have you made an Act of Contrition, Sorella?”

She answers yes, and my blessing is a blur.

“In nomine Christi, I forgive your sins.”

I speak the absolution and, without thinking, use the hand I always use to make the Sign of the Cross—the one holding my rosary. Mercy’s scent doubles from the way the air moves in the confined space, and I bite back a groan. More. I can’t help it. I press her panties to my face, suck in a deep breath, and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s better than whiskey. Pure liquid gold, warm in my lungs.

God, I have a new addiction.

The nun is speaking. I freeze. Did she see?

“Ten Hail Marys,” I quickly tell her. “You may go.”

She thanks me and leaves. The door thuds closed. I close the lattice screen, flick off the light, and then don’t move. I just sit there in the dark, eyes closed, cock so hard I might die from it.

I have faced down insurmountable odds, tragedy, misery, and knowing I will spend an eternity in Hell. Yet nothing feels worse than the idea of facing tomorrow without the sun.

Another shuffle outside reveals a waiting penitent. I slip the panties back into my pocket this time, clenching my fist to avoid digging them out again. With a deep, steadying breath, I turn on the light and open the lattice screen.

The door on the other side creaks open, and I glimpse a flash of coppery hair through the lattice before it goes dark. My lungs seize.

She came.

“Well, I’m here,” she sighs, resigned. “Happy?”

I can’t answer.

“For fuck’s sake,” she curses. “Fine, I’ll say the spiel. Whatever.” Another heaving sigh. “Bend me, Father, for I have sinned⁠—”

“Scusa?” The strangled word bursts out of me.

“Sorry?”

“Did you say, ‘Bend me, Father?’”

“I said, Bless me, Father.” She scoffs. “And they say I’m the one with a dirty mind.”

Fabric rustles. Through the faint diamond shapes in the wooden screen, I see that Mercy’s hair is even redder in the confessional light. White fabric flashes. I angle my head to see more. There. Smooth, bare legs and the navy flap of a coat. She sits back, mostly out of my view.

Except for those legs. More specifically, the closest one that she’s bent and propped up on the door.

Stop looking.

I sit back so fast I accidentally hit the back of my head against the wood panel and wince. The silence stretches.

My lips part. Close. I don’t know what to say.

“Fuck it,” she mutters. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Because you lost the wager.”

Silence. Then a deep, throaty laugh that makes my insides melt. She sighs, stretches her second leg up to join the first, and her coat slips a little more.

“So.” She plucks at something. Fabric scratches. “What now?”

“Now you confess.”