Page 53 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

She waits at the threshold, a deep scowl on her face.

“What?”

“Separate rooms. Really?”

A flutter tickles my lower belly. Heat flushes to my cheeks. “I ah—” I glance at the bed. Then back at her. At my clericals. “I just thought . . .”

“Got it.” Her response is clipped.

She drops her sword on the bed and then enters the ensuite, slamming the door closed.

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I collect my bag. I lock the door from the inside before I close it, and then stride down the hallway to the door at the end. My hand pauses on the knob. Next to my room is Maria’s.

Even though she was long dead by the time this place opened, she had permanently reserved a made-up room for both her children. When I queried Marco about it, he told me she doesn’t think Maria is dead.

“No body was found,” she kept insisting to Marco. “She could be out there.”

Through my years of talking with him, “could be out there” has evolved into “she’ll be here any day.”

Never mind that I felt the rosary break in my hand, or that I watched Maria’s blond hair disappear under the water, never to surface again.

Shoving the door open, I enter a clean but brightly decorated corner room. Maroon velvet mixes with antique gold. Floral patterns adorn mahogany furniture. White, sheer curtains billow by the bay window, bringing in fresh rain-scented air.

I drop my heavy bag on the mattress and walk to the window beside the bed. I pull aside the curtains and step out onto the balcony. Rain has started to fall, but the eave above me keeps me sheltered. It’s a full moon, and even though it’s behind clouds, I can see into the neighbor’s lit window a level down. Fortunately, they’re on the highest level of their building, and I can see over the roof to the piazza. Right now, it’s just shadows, flickering lights, and blurry colors as people go about their evening. In the morning, a market will be set up in the courtyard.

Before heading inside, I check the balcony access for security. The only way in here is to rappel down from the osteria’s ceiling, or to leap the thirty-odd feet from the neighbor’s roof, which is unlikely.

Feeling better, I head back inside and startle at a figure on the other side of the bed, but then realize it’s a wall of mirrors. Probably the closet.

“Stupid,” I mutter, and cross to the ensuite to clean up.

My shower is fast and efficient, and over in two minutes. If I don’t get downstairs fast, they will come.

Wrapping a towel around my hips, I return to the bed, pull the zipper open on the duffel bag, and groan at the disarray inside.

Everything is tossed and mixed. Back at the ruins, when I first checked to see the water damage, I was surprised that it hadn’t been too bad. The leather and tight stitching saved most of the contents. But now, in the light, I see that chalk covers much. Some items are damp.

Grumbling, I pull out the ancient book and the Pope’s phone and toss them on the bed. Hopefully they’re not ruined, but I don’t have the bandwidth to check right now. My spare clothes are crinkled and tangled.

I extricate my spare shirt, and Mercy’s special velvet box tumbles out, lid open—empty.

My pulse races. Where are her toys? I shove aside clothes, searching. The Vatican staff better not have confiscated them. What if it was Asmodeus? Fury crowds my vision just as my next swipe of clothes reveals a flash of black silicone resting against my spare trousers.

I pick it up and almost laugh when my rosary beads get tangled with it. I’d not even noticed they weren’t in my pocket. Must have put them in my bag at the papal apartments. I hold the toy in front of my face and rotate it, curious. The cylindrical rod is almost the length of my hand and flares at multiple stages, each with a growing circumference. A single, round jewel adorns the flared base.

It’s a butt plug.

The moment the realization hits, my pulse skyrockets and my breathing grows shallow. The towel gets tight around my hips.

I should put it back in the box.

Instead, I hold it to the light and twirl until it sparkles. My thumb catches on the jewel, and it twists. I gasp, thinking I’ve broken it, but then the plug vibrates.

Hunger stirs within me, and suddenly, I don’t care about being late downstairs. All I care about is getting Mercy into my room without the family seeing.

I glance at the bed, then at the open window, and back at the bed. Yes, I would lay her down and leave the windows open, so the rain on the tin roof muffles the sounds of her pleasure.

I bite the buzzing plug and hold it between my teeth, feel the vibrations enter my body and travel down to my cock. I close my eyes and imagine her lying out naked like a feast while I learn every inch of her flesh, how she stretches and moans when I insert it.