Page 85 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“Stop being so accommodating.”

“No limits,” he repeats. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Fuck him.

Fuck him and the moral horse he rode in on. How dare he be so goddamn supportive? So … right here and visible, and out in the open. I’m not used to a man who’ll brave public humiliation for me. He’ll let me pummel him until he’s bloody and bruised. He’ll let me break every bone in his body if he thinks it’s making me feel better. He’s not even doing it for the glory or for the kind of kudos you get from being a martyr. I’m the only one who knows the truth behind his motives, which makes this even more uncomfortable.

It’s almost like he cares about me.

Fuck him for being so perfect. How dare he? I want to drag him straight to Hell and back. I want to make him lose it, to tear off his collar. I want to hear him snarl my name and say fuck the rules. Fuck the Church. Fuck me.

But I’ll settle for wiping the floor with that smug face.

I glance at Raven and nod. “Start the timer.”

“Timer started. Three minutes!”

The crowd comes alive, shouting encouragement, whooping, and cheering.

Cisco doesn’t blink. His stare is all for me. But he’s too far away for a strike, so I circle closer to the center of the board, again forcing him to mimic me or risk balance.

“So, all that talk about wanting me in confession was a lie.” I strike out at his face.

He dodges easily.

“Ooh,” I coo. “Being my willing punching bag was also a lie.”

“No,” he clips. “That was instinct. Hit me again.”

I scoff. “I swear to God if you don’t fight back, I’m going to push you in the water. Be done with this.”

The conflict is visible on his face, but he says nothing. Inside, I am a roiling maelstrom of rage.

“You know what?” I ask. “I don’t think this has anything to do with me. It’s about you being in control.”

A vein pops in Cisco’s forehead. Yeah, that’s the way—challenge his control. Him and his pressed slacks and neat, trimmed hair. I’ll bet even ruffling it will drive him nuts.

I launch forward and deliberately make a clumsy hit so that I glance off and tumble toward the edge. A shriek slips from my lips, and as expected, he catches me.

“Oops.” I giggle. “That would have ruined the match.”

He tries to deposit me on steady feet, but I add the force of momentum to my weight and tip us off balance, toppling to the ground. Before we hit, he rolls and yanks me tight to his chest. Protecting me from impact? We land in a pile of limbs, him on his spine with me on top.

The wind is knocked out of him. “Oof.”

“You could at least pretend to fight.”

I slap him across the face, hard. His head whips to the side, red mark blooming on his cheekbone. Cheers erupt, but again, he does nothing except literally turning the other cheek.

“You’re infuriating.” I grab him by the shirt, lift his heavy weight, and shove him down hard until his teeth knock.

“That’s all you have?” He laughs. “The chickens are laughing.”

My knee snaps up hard between his legs, aiming for his groin. He suddenly blocks, thigh up and hips twisting.

“Seems like you lied about that, too, Padre.” I roll off him and climb to my feet. “You wouldn’t be protecting your cock if you weren’t thinking about using it again.”

“Instinct,” he grunts, pushing up.