Page 120 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“Says a lot of people who care about you.” He hangs his head and slips into Italian to tell me about the nuns scolding him for mistreating my delicate laundry. They wanted him to care for my clothes because I deserve it. He tells me how the orphans look at me when I’m not watching. How Tawny felt hurt at my outburst earlier because she admires me, and how my friends worry about me … and how he does too.

Every word, every balm-slicked glide of his thumbs sends warmth into my body, heat into my veins, bringing me closer to madness. He’s staring at the floor as he rambles, so he’s not watching his thumbs climb higher up my thighs. My skin tightens. My nipples harden. I’m wet, panting, and picking at the only thing my bound hands can reach—my T-shirt.

He’s telling me beautiful things that should make me feel good, but I’m like this. I’m ruining it. What’s wrong with me?

His thumbs reach the apex of my parted thighs, and I suck in a breath. Cisco lifts his head. Instant recognition. Lips part. Pupils dilate.

“You should stop now,” I whisper.

He licks his lips. “Do you want me to?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want me to…” His gaze drops to between my thighs, to where the T-shirt has bunched enough for him to realize that I gave him my last pair of clean panties.

His exhale is so sharp, so fast, that his breath hits my naked pussy.

I clench and whimper at the sensation. If I don’t touch myself, I’m going to implode. Fuck it. I’m already going to Hell. If he doesn’t like it, he shouldn’t have kidnapped me. I slide my hands down, but he’s there, finger in the cotton binding, halting my progress.

“No,” I beg. “No more games. I just need to⁠—”

“I know, piccola,” he croons.

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what this is like.”

His fingers dig into my knees.

“You think this is easy for me?” he grinds out. “That I don’t think of you, too?”

He pulls something from his pocket and drops it on my lap. My panties. At first, I fear that he’s demanding I put them on and leave. But then I realize they’re still unwashed … and tangled in his rosary beads.

Emotion twists his handsome features, and I can’t breathe.

“All I think about is touching you.” He whispers it like a secret. “In the shower, at dinner, at confession. Doing the fucking laundry, Mercy, it’s you.” His lashes flutter, and he groans softly, “It’s always you.”

I can’t describe the feeling when I get like this. Aroused is too small a word. It’s also insatiable, feverish, fucking feral, and desperate. It’s like every nerve in my body is at the surface of my skin. I am about to explode. A deep, dark, and gnawing desire claws at me.

“I need to⁠—”

“What?” Deep, rough. “Tell me.” His lips press reverently to my inner knee. “What do you need, piccola?”

“Let me go back to the abbey. Let me⁠—”

“No.” Fingers grip hard, bruising flesh.

“What?”

“You need to touch yourself, you do it here. Now.” He parts my knees, opening me wider, and stares straight ahead. Waits.

“Cisco…” It’s not just his vows, but another heart that’s on the line. If Jasmine is his—I can’t even finish the thought. “This is crossing a line.”

“We are not fucking.”

“So you’re just going to watch me?”

“Yes.” Lust darkens his eyes. “I want you to see this is not a sin, not … shameful.”

“I know it’s not,” I snap.