Page 87 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part 1

“You should let go,” I warn.

“Why would I do that?” he shoots back. “You might go and do something stupid like jump into the water.”

He registers my grin too late. I collapse my knee and drop to a stable, one-legged crouch. My position jerks him forward, bending at the hips. The next part happens so fast, it’s muscle memory. One moment, he’s falling forward, the next I’m whipping my free leg up toward his neck, hands fisting his shirt, wrenching and twisting our positions. Buttons pop. Fabric tears. Tattoos and tanned skin flash.

The board lurches hard, making it impossible for either of us to stop what’s happening—my scissor kick. My shoulder blades hit the deck, the impact jolting through me just as his face buries in my crotch. He drops to one knee to keep us from going over, one palm slapping against the board.

Breathing hard, hips flexed up, palms down on the board, neck killing me, but it’s worth it, I squeeze my thick thighs together, showing him who’s in control. I’ve snapped a neck like this before. One twist and he’s toast. Maybe.

Cisco is folded, bent at the waist, head forced down between my thighs, shirt ripped and flapping. Water splashes. The board shudders but holds. For half a second, he is frozen except for the hot breath heaving in and out against my smothered cunt.

Dark, smoldering eyes catch my breathless grin a split second before I crane my neck and glance at the crowd. Sinners smirk knowingly. Orphans’ eyes are wide. Sister Edith has slapped her hand over her mouth, scandalized.

“Girls,” I shout hoarsely, then wrench tighter as Cisco tries to pull away, holding him pinned. “This is called a Scissor Kick Chokehold.” I bite back a laugh and tighten my core as he struggles again. “This is how you serve humble pie.”

Peals of laughter erupt, and when I look back at Cisco, muscles screaming, our eyes lock. Hold. And then he bites me through the Lycra, hard enough to reach sensitive flesh. I gasp. Pleasure scorches me, seizing my grip instinctively.

Bad idea.

He reads it as a challenge and straightens his spine against the hold. Broad shoulders flex. Big hands plant beside his knees, steadying us as the board tilts violently. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a fifteen-second warning. Somewhere else, I hear a thread snap. Buttons ricochet across the deck.

He doesn’t even register it. His pupils have swallowed the brown, and something wicked and wanting promises retribution.

The crowd counts down from ten.

His large hands snap up to grip my bottom, fingers digging into my thighs—right over the cilice bruises and tighten. Pain lances up my legs, and I hiss.

But I don’t fold. I don’t tap out. I hold steady as the clock ticks down to four, and I see the realization dawn in his eyes.

I’ve put him in checkmate.

He must force a win, yield, or throw me overboard.

The change in the atmosphere is instant. Ice. Sharp. Like a razor blade in my lungs. His tattoos ripple, and his eyes grow wholly black—demonic.

“Two!”

Kill him or save him?

“One!”

I release my core, twist into a grapple that looks natural, and take us both overboard.

Thirty

Cisco

My mind ceases to exist when Mercy traps my head between her thighs. The first inhale of her heady, feminine scent roars into my being, dragging hunger into my soul. One whiff, and my thoughts evaporate.

I ache. I want. I need.

Urges I’ve barely contained since meeting her take over me.

There is no God, no world, only the need to devour her, to eat her down to the marrow. It tugs beneath my skin. Buzzes and itches. Begs. Demands. Roars.

I’m not sure how I avoid slipping over. I only know that the idea of letting her go makes my insides howl with indignation. Over my dead body.

Then something happens, a sound, a shout, a taste maybe. I don’t recall because the cage breaks wide open and my devil crawls free.