Page 80 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Tell me,” Cisco demands.

“What?”

He drags my head back by the hair. “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

“Fucking a priest?” I joke.

He thrusts so hard and deep that white dots swim across my vision.

“Again,” I moan.

He snaps his hips, pistoning hard. His control is gone, but his precision isn’t. That’s the frightening part. This is Cisco unleashed but still devastatingly exact. Each stroke hits with purpose. Each one says “mine” in a language older than vows.

“Fuck,” he grunts, and freezes, balls deep.

“What?” For a split second I think the shadows have come.

“I almost forgot two things. Don’t move.”

I choke on my own laugh, helpless to do otherwise. He slips his arm around my front and rolls me back with him. My vision blurs. Maybe I even black out for a heartbeat because the next thing I know, his hand is wrapping around my throat, hitching under my jaw as he holds my face toward the mirror.

He growls low in my ear, “Look how beautiful you are when I fuck you.”

I barely recognize the thoroughly debased woman lying on the bed, staring back at me. Even in the low light, I can see her cheeks are flushed, eyes feverish, and her hair is a snarl of copper sticking to her skin. Oil shimmers over her heavy breasts, curvy belly, one leg lifted and tangled back over his.

His head is lifted enough to see over my shoulder. Sandy colored hair sticks up in tufts from where I’ve grabbed him. His eyes are dark, unflinching, and wild. I can’t tell if they’re wholly black or brown. Not sure if I care.

“Look how good you take me,” he says, gently nipping my shoulder. “You deserve this, Mercy. You deserve everything. And I promised you three. Forgive me for this next part.” A pained sound slips out of him, as if he’s already regretting something. But he mumbles fuck it to my back, digs his lower arm under my shoulder, and covers my mouth.

At first, I don’t get it. Then he catches my eyes in the mirror. Wild desperation stares back at me.

“I need you to come now,” he pants out.

And then he thrusts up.

I cry out. His hand muffles the sound as he grips my mouth tighter. His other hand slides down, fingers plunging into my pussy, matching the rhythm of his cock in my ass. He fucks me like this, heel of his palm hitting my clit. Harder and faster. I’m a sobbing mess of pleasure and pain, holding on to his neck now with two hands.

“Oh God,” I moan.

“No.” He bites my shoulder. “Me.”

Again, he thrusts. Again. Again. The bed knocks the wall. My vision blurs at the edges. The pressure inside me is huge now, a bright, unbearable thing heating and tightening until I think I might die. He uses the heel of his palm to grind against my clit.

“Come for me, Mercy. Adesso.”

All at once there’s too much sound, too much light behind my eyes, and too much pleasure streaking through every raw nerve. My climax hits, muscles fluttering and quivering around him as he fucks me through it.

Then his forehead drops, landing between my shoulder blades. He lets go of my mouth, grips the sheets. The rhythm of his hips stutters. His breath goes rough and frantic. He whimpers out my name, gasps, and pulls out, cock slipping free with a wet pop. Over my body, he grabs his shaft and pumps fast, the muscles in his forearm flexing.

“See what you do to me.”

His breath hitches, and then releases with a strangled groan into my neck. Thick jets of cum splash across my front and his fist.

“Madonna—Mercy—Dio⁠—”

Each broken word comes with another pulse of his release.

“You—I—cazzo.”