Page 82 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

God, grant me the strength to get through this⁠—

“All you can eat, bro.” Zeke’s voice in my ear.

Wesley claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it.”

I look helplessly at Dom, who just shrugs. “He’s right.”

Twenty-Eight

Mercy

People talk about sexual tension, but they don’t know shit. They never stood in a dripping two-piece at the edge of a pool, nerves a livewire while spectators take bets on whether you’re about to fuck or fight the priest standing toe-to-toe with you.

Securing the floating board’s safety tethers seemed like a clever idea earlier. Someone had to do it, and since I’m the only one in a swimsuit, I volunteered. I’ll take any advantage in this battle of wills between Cisco and me. Orchestrating a wet Bond Girl shot sounded like a good distraction to put him offside. But now I’m standing here, and he’s standing there, looking all simmering, sexual, and forbidden in his clerical blacks. At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I remember my own name, let alone my fighting form.

Rolled sleeves reveal his thick forearms roped with muscle and ink, scars on display as if he wants to remind us all that he was a monster before he ever prayed. The line of his jaw is granite, a tendon flexing in the side. I used to think that look he gave me was sheer disgust. I’m starting to think it’s more like he thinks I’m the devil—his devil—and I want to lick the sweat off his neck just to prove him right.

Except we’re not alone.

We’re surrounded by what sounds like half the abbey and three young, orphaned girls—all placing bets.

“Last chance to change into more appropriate clothes,” I offer, and nod at the circular floating board. “The tension rope I attached only prevents the board from flipping. But if you fall, your shirt could snag on the bolts.”

“I’m fine,” he clips, a little too fast.

Brows raised, I shrug and step to the pool’s edge. “Then let’s do this. Do you want to go first?”

“Ladies first.” He meets me at the edge.

The floating board is ten feet in diameter, made of bamboo with a rubber overlay. One of the tethers I attached is for dragging the board to the pool’s edge so you can walk on it without getting wet. Another tether connects the center of the board to the bottom of the pool in case of flips, keeping spectators safe. Other training tethers reduce the board’s mobility, but I left those off.

Once we’re both on, we will unmoor, and the tension in the bottom cord pulls us to the middle of the pool. I step onto the board with the ease of a ballerina, head to the center where physics gives me an advantage, and spin to face Cisco.

I catch him staring at the water, his complexion a little pale. I don’t think he realized that once we’re in the middle of the pool, there’s no way of returning without getting wet.

“Looking a bit peaky there, Padre. Having second thoughts?”

His gaze snaps to me. “No.”

I love that he’s so competitive. Men like that make the best bed partners. They’re always trying to give you more orgasms, longer orgasms, more⁠—

I’m doing it again. Shaking my head, I refocus on Cisco as he raises a bare foot to step onto the board. A shining glint at his waist alarms me.

“Stop!” I hold out my palm.

He retreats with a frown. “What?”

“You can’t spar with a belt on. Sorry, it’s the rules.” I point at a sign on the wall. “No sharps unless training specified.”

He glances at his team.

“Makes sense, mate.” Wesley shrugs.

A belt buckle isn’t exactly sharp, but it could be. It’s also an advantage for him to use it as a harness or restraint.

Muttering, he flattens his lips and unbuckles. Someone whistles from the Sinner bench. Probably Leila.

“Take it off! Take it off!”