Page 73 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

I smirk over my shoulder. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous of inanimate objects.”

His growl is beastly. “Cute?”

I’m still feeling so lazy, light, and happy. And I’m too mesmerized by his lips moving as he talks. That’s my only excuse for my next words slipping out.

“Maybe I’m wet, my love, because you give good head.”

My eyes widen, lungs seize, and I look down at the sheets. I wait for it—an excuse, a resistance to the L-word. The more the word settles in me, the more right it feels.

Love. I love him.

I lift my gaze defiantly to look at his reflection. He steps forward, out of the darkest shadows, and reveals eyes blazing, filled with desire. When our gazes lock in the mirror, I let my eyes simmer in return, never wavering.

“Dio, Mercy.” His voice cracks with lust. “You keep looking at me like that, saying things like that, and I’m going to forget all my promises.”

I pout. “Not the one about two more orgasms, I hope.”

The mattress dips as he kneels on the bed behind me and I shuffle forward.

“You’re insatiable.”

The awe in his tone makes my pulse skip. He notices I’m no longer quite in position. Of course, he does.

“Back on your elbows and knees, piccola.”

“Oops.” I bite my hand to stop my smile.

“Do you want to be punished?” His voice is so quiet, it drives me wild.

“I want to be fucked.”

His hands clamp my hips, yanking me up and back to him so fast that blood rushes to my head and I gasp. With quick, brutal action, he arranges me exactly the way he wants. Two seconds later, I feel him fumbling with the plug, and jolt as it clicks on. Vibrations pulse into me, stealing my breath and making my limbs almost buckle.

“Fuck that feels good,” I groan out.

“Not yet.”

I’m so hypersensitive I feel every pulse in my bones. Can’t stop writhing, grinding back for his touch, desperate and debased.

“Hurry up,” I demand.

“Look at the mess you make for me,” he mutters, lining up behind me.

The first glide of his cock’s blunt head along my seam pulls a ragged moan from my throat. He drags his tip through my slick flesh, teasing me everywhere before notching at my entrance. Then he’s pushing in with short, controlled thrusts.

“Ah, fuck—” I choke out, clutching the sheets. He’s thicker than I realized. No wonder my jaw aches, and my throat is scratchy.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” His confession comes out strained, one large hand lovingly sliding over my cheek and squeezing. “You’re going to be the death of me, Mercy.”

Each shallow thrust opens me more, every inch sinking him deeper until he’s seated, grinding his pelvic bone against the plug, the vibrations teasing my every nerve.

“Jesus—fuck—Cisco, slow down,” I gasp.

“This is slow.”

But then he draws out and slams in hard. The impact shoots sparks of pleasure through me. I claw at the sheets, clenching, desperate and delirious.

“Madonna.” His breathless moan is almost melancholy as he remains seated. “I forgot what this feels like . . .” He gasps. “Dio, I missed it.”