Page 137 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Yes,” I murmur against his lips. “Yes, I’ll be your wife.”

The letter instantly crumples in his fist. “You will?”

“Whatever you want.”

His eyes darken at my words, and for a moment, I think I glimpse his old demonic side. But as I slide down his front, and the darkness burns hotter, I realize the hunger is all need. When I take him into my mouth, he throws away the letter and cups my head with two hands.

“Open,” he says, and thrusts in. “Sì. Così.” Yes, like this. “Take all of me,” he growls, forcing himself deeper despite my throat trying to close around his girth. “Dio—Mercy—you feel so good.”

He pumps twice, already so hard that he leaks over my tongue.

I come off him and murmur, “You taste good too.”

“I need—” He thrusts in again. And again. His grip slips on my headscarf, and with a frustrated snarl, he pulls it off. Spearing fingers into my hair, he rasps. “Open wide, piccola.” I do, and he’s back in deep, too overcome with desire to go slow. “You make me want to lose control.” He pushes my head down as he flexes up with his hips. Down. Up. “I can’t help myself.”

“Then don’t,” I gasp out.

He pulls me off, tosses me on my back against the pillows, and looks down at me from wild eyes. His broad chest expands with his stilted breath.

“I need you,” he growls, stark eyes locking with mine.

“I need you too,” I confess, and then we’re attacking each other’s clothes—desperate to get them off.

We fumble at buttons with shaky fingers, kiss lopsided, clash teeth, pop buttons. We’re a mess. A sweaty, shaking mess. But we’re also the only things that make sense to each other, and we can’t slow down. It’s like all the chaos of the past month has finally hit like a hurricane, and our bodies are the only safe harbor.

His clothes take longer than mine to get off, and he’s taking too long to remove his collar and shirt, so I straddle his naked lap.

“Wait,” he grits out, sleeve caught on his wrist.

“Not this time.” I fit his cock to my slick, sensitive entrance and sink.

“Ah, fuck,” he gasps and falls back on his hands, one sleeve still on and now forgotten. His eyes dip to where we join and rapidly fill with heat. “Dio, look how beautiful you take me.”

I’m struck by the raw honesty of his expression: his breath going ragged, his muscles bunching and glistening with a sheen of perspiration, the want in his eyes. Emotion squeezes my throat, and something snaps inside me. Need him. Need him now. Palms slamming against his chest, I start fucking him. I ride his cock with small movements that somehow feel big.

Cisco feels it too—everything feels too much. Our eyes clash, and then he’s up, hands supporting my lower back so he can bend me backward and take my nipple into his mouth and suck.

“Oh, God yes,” I cry out, grinding into him harder, chasing the friction against my clit. “More,” I pant out. “More.”

He sucks harder, then moves to the other breast, but it doesn’t last long.

“Closer,” he pants, wrapping his arms around me. “I need you closer,” he gasps into my neck, hugging me tight.

“I want it too.” My fingers spear into his damp hair. “Cisco—I⁠—”

No more words come. We need each other so much, want each other too much; we can only let our bodies speak for our hearts. Our lovemaking is a mindless, physical thing we can’t control. I meet his thrusts with my own. But then we’re grinding, then we’re rocking slowly and kissing each other’s faces, our mouths, and then we’re rutting, and we’re biting. We’re scratching and gasping, whimpering and begging. The pressure intensifies. Pleasure coils low in my belly. I can’t get enough, but I need more. With him, I’ll always need more.

I must make some kind of desperate sound, because Cisco groans low into my ear, “I have you, anima mia.” He angles our hips differently. “I have you.”

On his next thrust, my orgasm breaks. It hits me with such intensity that I scream, limbs locked and flooded with pure blinding ecstasy. He fucks me through it, hands on hips, driving into me from beneath, giving me everything until I’m done. Only then does he let go himself. Mouth against my throat, teeth clamping onto flesh, he gives one final thrust and then holds me seated. He comes with a deep growl that turns into a groan, hugging me so tight that it’s hard to breathe.

He holds me in place until he’s empty, and I’m full, or we are both. I can’t tell anymore, but it feels so good. So right. It’s perfect.

Some time after, we’re lying in each other’s arms on the pillows, staring at the fairy lights twinkling like stars in the rafters. My head is on his shoulder, and my fingers trace lazy circles over his abdomen. I’m careful to avoid the new arcane tattoos he’s already had inked to replace the old ones. He loves the sensation, and his eyelids keep drooping, reminding me of a cat when you pat it. All I need now is for him to purr.

But he won’t drift off to sleep. He keeps opening his eyes when they close, and I glimpse a little divot appearing between his brows.

His worries are already returning. Such a big heart, my Padre.