Page 81 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

When it’s done, Cisco tucks me against his body and smashes his face into the crook of my neck, breathing wet and heavy into my hair. Rain drifts in with the billowing curtains and cools our skin. For a long moment, all we can do is lie there.

The aftermath is usually where my shame shows up, or at the very least, there’s some kind of misery after the endorphin crash. The ache of knowing another high is over, and soon I’ll have to find another when my body demands it.

Instead, there is this.

The smell of sex, olive oil, and a humid Italian summer.

His lips press once to the corner of my shoulder. His hand splays tenderly over my stomach, thumb tracing idle circles.

There’s this old room, the rain. Peace.

Me, a Sinner. Him, a priest.

A broken laugh slips out of me.

Cisco lifts his head. “What?”

I turn enough to see his eyes are dark, wrecked, and so openly vulnerable it hurts.

“Nothing.” My lips curve into a goofy, bliss-drunk smile. “Just thinking that for people who are supposedly damned to Hell, we’re very good at living like we’re in Heaven.”

I roll over and embrace him, sighing at his heady scent.

His hand glides down to grip my bottom and squeeze. “You feel good, piccola?”

“I feel fucked.” I kiss his throat. “So yes.”

He groans. “Dio, save me.”

“Nope. Just me.”

This time he chuckles and kisses me sweetly back.

As his breathing settles, my thoughts wander, trying to catalog the sensations so I can find words for this moment. My skin sings. My heart thunders. Every muscle aches, every nerve ending is raw, but I feel so good I could cry.

I dimly remember that once I thought love was a con job. A thing men say to get you on your knees, or a thing women say to convince themselves the pain is worth it. But this—right here, right now—this is sweet annihilation.

This is ruinous life.

Twenty-Seven

Cisco

The Naples summer sun beats down from a blinding blue sky, baking my skin. A swarm of black flies buzzes around my head, biting and relentless.

They are a plague this year.

I sit on a towel beside my parents and Maria, watching the ocean between glimpses of the crowd.

“Let me get a gelato.” Maria swats at the air. “I can see the shop from the promenade.”

My mother adjusts her sunglasses. “Darling, you are too young to go alone.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m old enough.” Maria scowls, kicking burning hot sand into my shins. I’m too hot to growl at her.

Elena flattens her lips. “We will be home soon. Go and paddle in the water now while you still have a chance.”

“I don’t want—eeii!” Maria shrieks at a particularly large fly, smacking it with her hand. She points at it and growls, “I told you not to bother me today.”