Page 85 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

But I know that I can’t, in good faith, continue in this vocation after willingly breaking my promise of celibacy. Multiple times. And I wholeheartedly intend to keep breaking it.

When I’m finished dressing, shaving, and brushing my hair, I collect my two cell phones from my bag and drop them into my pockets. The strange, ancient book Bianchi gave is also there, staring at me. It looks important. I probably should read it.

I glance at Mercy’s sleeping form, and then back at the book. She needs her rest. Even if she denies it, I know she is sore. Faint yellow bruises have formed in various places over her body, all in the shape of my fingers. The woman has no self-preservation instincts. I’ll have to instill a strict aftercare regimen for our sex life. Perhaps even a few boundaries and rules.

Dio, I’m hard again.

I quickly pick up the book and then drop a knee on the bed to get closer to Mercy. I lower my lips to her ear and entwine my fingers in her thick hair. She smells so good. Somehow, that florally, heady scent is still in her hair even after we washed it with a different shampoo.

“Mercy.” I scrape my fingers over her scalp. Kiss her cheek. “Wake up, piccola.”

She moans and pouts, lashes fluttering but not opening.

“Okay, babe.” Her sleepy, husky voice wraps around my cock and strokes.

I growl into her neck, then force myself to let go.

“N’more butt stuff, m‘kay?” She slurs and rolls away. “Immasore.”

Laughter bubbles beneath my ribs, and I swallow it down. I don’t want to wake her. But I don’t want to leave without telling her where I’m going.

I pull back a little but raise my voice. “Mercy, wake up. I need to tell you something.”

“Is something wrong?” She twists back to look at me through streams of red hair. “You’re using that voice.”

“Nothing is wrong.” A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m letting you know that I’m going to the café across the piazza for espresso.” I pause. “Then I might head to the basilica. I want to make peace with God before I call the Pope and tell him I’m no longer fit to be God’s servant. Go back to sleep.”

She sits up, blinking, breasts bare and bobbing.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait just a minute, buddy.” She cups my jaw, lifting my attention to her face. “I think what you mean to say is that you’re not fit to work for the Church as God’s servant. It’s their rules about sex. Right?”

“You have a point.”

“As far as the Hildegard Sisterhood is concerned—and me—if you want to keep being a priest there, who gives a fuck if we fuck?”

The possibility of continuing to support a community spiritually didn’t occur to me. Cautious hope trickles in, yet I still feel unsettled. After everything I’ve learned, I’m not sure if remaining a priest is the right path for me anymore.

Mercy smooths a finger over the crease between my brows.

“You don’t have to decide now,” she murmurs.

I drop a kiss onto her forehead. “I will need to tell the Pope, nonetheless. It cannot be helped.”

She grabs my hand as I leave. “Are you sure?”

“Mercy, I have never been surer of anything in my life.” My thumb swipes across the back of her hand. “If I can’t have you, then I am empty. Now go back to sleep. I will bring back food. You must regain your energy, no?”

“Mm. This is true.” She flops down easily. “Bring me something yummy. No olive oil, though. Had enough of that for one night.”

I’m still chuckling as I walk down the stairs.

The osteria is as quiet as a church when I descend. There’s no one at the bar, and the dishes and mess are still out from last night. On the ground level, it’s much the same. With the restaurant closed, no one will be awake for another hour or two.

I spot an espresso machine and decide it’s safer to grab myself a coffee here than walk around trying to find an open café at this time, or a late-night bar.

It doesn’t take long to filter the espresso. I put it in a cup, tuck the book beneath my arm, and then let myself out to find somewhere to read and watch the sunrise.

Twenty-Nine