Page 58 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

The last time he got this look, he spanked me and tied me up.

I narrow my eyes. What’s he playing at?

He slots his hands into his pockets and fumbles with something. Probably his damn rosary beads. He asks, “Do you not know how a Novena works?”

“Yeah, I do, but . . .” I squirm. Fidget. “I thought . . . seriously? We’re actually going to pray?”

Not fuck?

“You pray,” he corrects.

I swallow hard. If I don’t get off soon, it’s going to build and build and bubble beneath my skin until I do something far worse than fondle his cock under the table.

My mind starts to wander, and my gaze drifts to the window out to the piazza. How late is it? If Cisco has changed his mind about me, then surely I’ll find a fix at a local bar.

“Mercy,” he clips. “Look at me.”

“Why aren’t you praying, too?”

He huffs a small laugh. “Because you’re the one who needs to pray for forgiveness.”

“Me?” Outrage roars through me. “You’re the one who accused me of fucking a demon. If anyone should be praying for forgiveness, it’s you.”

“I will apologize, but first, you must understand something.” His hands go still in his pockets. He leans forward, eyes glinting with carnal mischief. “There are rules in this family, piccola. They do not care about this.” He flicks the white cotton at his throat. “It belongs to the Church.”

“Doubt it. Your Nonna was only too happy to give you a timer for your prayers.”

“I said they don’t care about the Church. My family only cares about God and respect.” He points at the tomato timer. “God.” He points at me, and then the ground. “Respect. If I let my woman make a fool of me in public, then no one follows my orders. And if no one follows my orders, then when Uncle Paolo turns up, I’ll be forced to unleash the hunger.”

The last word ends on a growl. He waits for my response, but all I hear are the words ‘my woman’ echoing in my head. I’m thinking, at least he won’t be too pissed off when he returns to his room and finds my bag and the sword there too.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, voice softer. “For innocent people to die?”

“Of course not.” He’s right. This really isn’t the time to get aroused. I’m the worst at reading the room when my body takes over. Bitterness lashes through me, and I quip, “Making me apologize first kind of diminishes your apology. Just saying.” I pause. “And guilting me into thinking innocent people will die if I don’t respect you is just rude.”

“It’s true.”

“Maybe. But I’ve seen you go dark—twice—and you haven’t killed me yet.”

A short, mocking laugh chuffs out of him. “To call it dark is an understatement. You’re still alive because you’re different.” His eyes grow bleak as he looks in the general direction of the kitchen, as if he can see through the wall. “I don’t even know if my family will be safe. But I know why you play games for my attention, anima mia. And I promise you, my apology will come with a reward. I need you to show that you trust me.”

The gravity of his tone strikes a chord beneath my ribs, and I stare at my feet.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” he clips. “Save your words for your prayer.” He strides toward an upturned chair, takes a cushion, and then drops it on the floor at my feet. “Prove you can wait for my lead while we are in this house.” He points to the cushion.

“In ginocchio.” On your knees.

My mouth goes dry at his commanding tone.

“Not that I’m agreeing,” I murmur, “but what kind of reward? And what kind of prayer?”

His lips curve, just a touch. It’s the smile of a wolf stalking its prey. “Always a transaction with you.”

I shrug off the hurt. “A girl’s gotta get paid.”

He goes tense all over, nostrils flare, and then he exhales sharply. He rubs his scruff, almost as if he’s grinding back words, or hunger. Or maybe anger.