Page 23 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

My pulse flutters. Maybe I am still worried.

Swallowing, I lift my gaze to his, and my voice comes out huskier than intended. “I told you not to take the bait.”

Those delectable lips curve, tugging at his scar, but still he says nothing. He just stares at me while his eyes slowly fill with heat.

We don’t have time for this. The guard I drugged could wake up at any moment.

I return to my clothing, hunt and find my veil on top of one of the Cardinal’s red vestments, a few feet away. I stride toward it.

“I had a plan,” I grind out, bending to pick it up. “Now we have a clusterfuck of a mess. How are we going to prevent discovery while we’re still on the premises?” I shake out the veil. “And don’t even get me started on the CCTV footage outside this room—or visitor logs. Guaranteed there’s also a paper trail somewhere that we need to get rid of.”

When I turn back, Cisco’s no longer by the steam room. He’s standing an inch away from me.

I freeze.

It’s the same chemical reaction that saves my life during battle. Sinners spend years conditioning ourselves not to startle or to fear something unexpected. Instead of triggering adrenaline, we release special hormones that pump the brakes on our nervous system. Lately, I’m out of practice. That my body remembers this now, with a man who’s supposed to be my ally, makes me worried.

“Cisco?”

“They had it coming.” His voice is deep, gruff, and too quiet. His eyes track details over my body, skipping from bare shoulder to chin to cleavage to lower. It’s as if he’s committing me to memory.

“Maybe they did,” I agree. “But it wasn’t part of the plan.”

“They called you a whore.”

“Don’t put this on me.”

“I’m not.” He advances until he’s crowding my space, and I have no choice but to step backward. The cedarwood locker hits my spine, knocking the breath from my lungs.

I press my palm over my beating heart, willing it to calm the fuck down. This is fine. He’s just a little . . . wired. It happens to the best of us after a battle. Give him a few moments, and that exhaustion should kick in.

He leans in. My palms fly up to halt him at the chest, but I snag my towel, and it falls. Cisco’s hips snap forward, catching the falling towel, but now I feel his erection as he presses his face to the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. The rush of air against my skin tickles, and I shiver. His lashes flutter, butterfly kissing me, scattering more tingles.

My whimper triggers a deep, rumbling groan in his throat, and he slams his palms against the lockers beside me, arms caging me in. He drags his nose along my cheek.

“You smell so good, piccola.”

He smells good, too, like clean male sweat and some kind of spice from the steam. His face rolls against my neck, lips moving on flesh, hands sliding down the door to grip my waist.

He pins me and rubs the ridge of his cock over my pussy. I gasp at the sensations shooting into my body. His grinding hips release the trapped towel, and it falls in a heap at my feet. Cisco makes some kind of victorious sound of triumph, a growl caught between a cheer and a whimper, and every feminine bone in my body simmers with lust.

“Shouldn’t you be tired?” I murmur. “Last time you did this, you were exhausted.”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug and then slides his hands up my bare stomach, teeth dragging up my throat to my jaw.

“Maybe I’m just used to feeding now,” he whispers in my ear. “Or maybe I’m still hungry.”

My breath hitches. He tenses, as if sensing an attack. Or maybe he’s hunting with his gift through my sins, searching for all the juicy rotten things I’ve done so that he can eat them. My heart jackhammers beneath my ribs, and I force myself to exhale. Hard.

I gently push him back so I can see his face, but he’s still looking down—at the rise and fall of my breasts, now bare and free, nipples hard.

“Cisco . . . you’re not . . . going to eat me, are you?”

Dark eyes clash with mine, a wolfish grin splits his face, and then he bends down to latch his mouth onto my breast.

“Fuck!” I gasp, arching into him.

He rolls his tongue around my nipple with lazy swirls until he draws a moan from somewhere deep in my throat.