Page 83 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

I smirk over my shoulder. Yep, Leila. And from Zeke’s dark scowl, this is payback for him ogling me earlier. Those two are going to have great sex tonight.

Still muttering, Cisco tosses the belt and empties his pockets. Then he gives me an exaggerated “Do I have permission now?” type face.

“Welcome aboard, Captain.”

He steps onto the board with the effortless ease of a wild cat—or wolf. But the instant his full weight lands, the platform rocks. Instant destabilization.

I pretend to be knocked off balance, playing up the inexperienced angle.

“Whoops.” I windmill my hands.

His knees bend, and he crouches, hands out for balance.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yep.” I gesture at the mooring. “You want to release us, or shall I?”

“I will do it,” he mumbles, and carefully gets down on hands and knees to unhook the tether.

The instant we unlatch, the floating board glides toward the center of the pool. While Cisco is occupied getting to his feet, I quickly salute the orphans as we float past, loving how they giggle at my performance.

We reach the center, and I brace for the rebound, limbs loose and fluid. Cisco stumbles but is quick to regain his balance. Then we face each other, and a hush falls over the pool hall, anticipation vibrating in the air.

It takes a moment for the rocking to settle, which makes this the perfect opportunity to discuss match boundaries.

“Okay, Padre, what are the rules of engagement?”

His gaze dips to my cleavage—a flick, almost too fast to notice—then right back up.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to smile. This swimsuit isn’t made for big-busted women. The tight support pushes the flesh up high and over the V-neck collar. Every time we wobble, the girls do too. All part of my strategy.

“Standard rules,” he announces, accent dragging. “First to tap out or go overboard loses.”

“That it?” I tilt my hips, grinning. “No hard limits?”

“You wouldn’t respect them.”

“True. Safe words, then?” I purr. “Or is mercy off the menu?”

Our voices travel over water, and the crowd flares. Leila hoots. Orphans giggle. Someone yells, “Just kick him in the balls already.”

But my favorite reaction is the way his fists clench, and his knuckles blanch.

“You wouldn’t use a safe word,” he replies finally.

“You got me.” I pout. “I like it when it hurts a little.”

“Sì.” He gives my thighs a meaningful look. “Remember what this is.”

It feels like a reprimand, like a parental chide.

“Foreplay?” I wink.

It doesn’t achieve the desired response. Instead of getting flustered, he grows impatient. Lips pressing together, tugging at that scar.

He holds up his hand to Raven. “Three minutes.”

My eye twitches.