Page 70 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

Cisco

Mercy tastes of the faintest sting of Chianti, but underneath is all her. I groan and deepen the kiss, driving my tongue beyond her teeth. She whimpers into my mouth and scrabbles at my collar, fumbling for the studs.

I chase her lips when she pulls back to scowl down at my throat.

“I can’t get a grip,” she grumbles, fingers clumsy.

“Bite it off.”

A thrill flashes in her eyes, and then her teeth are at my throat, tugging the collar off until it comes loose. God, I can’t breathe with her like this—face buried in my neck, teeth nipping and tugging, little grunts and wild feminine sounds. Within seconds, she has it loose and tosses it over her shoulder with a grin of pride I want to bottle. I want to keep it somewhere I can look at it on a rainy day and remember that she is mine.

She rips at my shirt, impatiently popping buttons until it’s open, then drags her nails down my abdomen until I hiss at the scrape.

Mercy pushes the shirt off my shoulders, but her eyes are glued to my torso. The tattoos. The dark ink coiling over my chest, ribs, and arms. She flattens her hands on my pecs, fingers tracing the lines.

“Fuck me,” she whispers. “I dreamed about this.” Her fingers dig into my trousers. “And this.”

I palm her breast. Flick her nipple with my thumb until she gasps. Her fingers stutter on my belt buckle.

“Too slow,” I grumble.

Blue eyes flick up, simmering with amusement from beneath long lashes. “Oh, really. It’s like that, is it?”

I arch an eyebrow. “I have three devotions to get through tonight.”

“Then you’re already behind schedule, Padre.”

Leaving my belt unbuckled, but my trousers still zipped, she calmly sits down on the bed and leans back, knees closed, the definition of trouble.

Taunting. So cocky. So self-assured.

I squeeze my aching shaft through my slacks and groan softly.

Wetness glistens down her slit, painting the black jewel and the space around it. The sight shreds my composure to smoke.

I stroke myself. Once. Her eyes grow dark and hungry. My cock is already throbbing for her, but I need to lay out the rules. Structure will keep me in check. I pull the timer from my left pocket, but keep the oil in the right. That is a surprise for later.

“Devotion one—” I turn the dial. “I eat you out, but you don’t come until the timer says. If you do, we start over.”

A shiver runs through her, but she doesn’t say no.

“Devotion two: I fuck your cunt with the plastic on vibration. You don’t come until the timer goes off.” My smile is slow and wicked. “But you will beg for it.”

She’s already squirming. “What’s the third?”

“Your ass, anima mia. I will take it, and I will fuck you there, slow and deep.” If I can keep it slow. “I will watch your face while I fill you, and you will take every inch of me.” I pause, waiting for her to tell me this isn’t what she wants, but if anything, she’s wetter. Panting harder. Cheeks redder. Growing impatient. “Want to know the fourth devotion?”

Her breath holds for a moment. “There’s a fourth?”

My grin is feral. “For the rest of the night, I do whatever I want to you until I am sated. If you can’t keep up, you may sleep. But I can’t promise it will be for long. I want to keep fucking you until my hunger is gone.”

“Poor, sweet priest,” she purrs. The sound is hot, desperate. “You’ve been out of the game so long, you think one all-nighter is a fuck fest.”

I release the dial, and it starts ticking. Nine blistering minutes. I set it on the corner of the nightstand beside the window on the side of the bed. There is more room here than on the side closest to the closet and bathroom. With the damp curtains billowing at my back, I reach across the bed and grip her thick thighs. I love how there is meat to squeeze. It’s firm, strong, and a sign of her devotion to her job. This woman doesn’t do anything by halves.

But she’s too far away from me, so I haul her closer and fit her at the very edge of the mattress, thighs parted, legs bent over the sides. Perfetto.

I drop to my knees.