Page 122 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“Show me,” I demand. “I want to see you touch yourself too.”

Our gazes clash. I hold my breath. Dare him with my eyes, Do it. Don’t make this all about me.

A tattooed hand slides up the seam of his cassock and starts popping buttons at the collar. He’s not wearing an undershirt, so when the black fabric falls open, it’s just a hard abdomen, olive skin, and more tattoos. Dark hair trails down from his belly button to his trousers. The dusky tip of his cock breaches his waistband.

The zipper is loud as he tugs it down, still one-handed. It’s as though if he lets me go, the dream disappears. We wake up.

He watches me watching him, and it’s so hot, so erotic, that I work my clit faster, tense with anticipation.

“Slow,” he scolds me.

The daggers I shoot him bring a crooked smile to his lips. He knows he’s in control here, knows I’m so enthralled with him, and he loves it.

He pulls out his heavy cock, and I moan. The sheer size, the thickness, the veined perfection. The way it darkens strangled in his fist. His arm trembles. He’s waiting for me.

We look at each other, and there’s a moment, a flicker of time, we both know this is wrong. This fucks everything up. Forget about cracks in the seals on the gates of Hell. This will blow it open.

“Wet it,” I rasp. “Your cock. Before you stroke, I want you to wet it.”

He stands abruptly, cassock falling, and he yanks my hips forward.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“Wetting.” He glides his shaft through my slick folds, knocking my fingers away. Up and down, over my sensitive clit, slicking himself in my arousal.

“That’s not what I meant,” I moan, but it’s no use. Hot, blissful pleasure starts to build, coiling tight. I can’t focus on anything else.

“Like this?” He grinds his glide into me harder. Up, down. Up, down. He does everything except enter me. “Feels so good. Fuck, I missed this.” He wraps his fist around his shaft, tosses his head back, and strokes himself. His knuckles graze gently over my clit, sparking more pleasure.

“Oh my God, like that.” I rock into him.

Cisco inches closer, pressing the underside of his shaft harder. “More?”

“We shouldn’t.” But I nod.

I could come like this. It’s his face, his beautiful eyes, and the way he’s surrendering to the pleasure. Sweat pebbles on his upper lip, those kissable fucking lips I desperately want to bite.

“You’re so fucking hot,” I moan. “You know that, right?”

The arrogant quirk of his lips makes me growl like an animal and rock my hips into his fist.

“Cazzo,” he grunts, and then mutters a curse at the ceiling, something in Italian about driving him crazy. A sick thrill rolls through me. I love seeing him undone. I want more.

I hike up my T-shirt and rub my wrists against my nipple, but it’s frustrating with the binding. So I bring the collar to my teeth.

His gaze snaps down and hardens. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He drags my hands back to my cunt, holds me there, and thrusts upward through my hands.

“Yes,” he growls. “Like this.”

My whimper makes him smile.

“You will earn it, piccola. Remember?”

“You’re a bastard.”