Page 27 of Sinister Savior

Alice pulls at my shorts, desperate to feel my bare skin on hers. We strip each other of our remaining clothes in a rush, revealing our naked bodies to the cool air of the night and each other's heated gaze. I inhale her scent, all warm woman and desire as she spreads her legs, letting me nestle between her thighs.

“I want you so badly,” I growl, lining my hard cock with her wet entrance. “I need to be inside you, Alice. Make me whole again,” I plead, not recognizing the desperate edge in my voice. She nods, her eyes glazed over with lust and trust.

She spreads her legs wider, rocking her hips up so I can see the moisture along her slit. I rub the head of my dick up and down those beautiful lips, tempting her, teasing her, and she pants and reaches for my girth. “Please, in me…” she moans, but I hold out until she really begs. “Fuck me now, Mario.”

With one smooth movement, I enter her, sheathing myself inside her moisture. We both groan at the contact, bodies melded as one. She's hot and so damn tight around me, like she was made just for me. Ourhips start to move in sync, slow at first but picking up the pace until we are lost in each other, bodies crashing together in a primal rhythm.

“Mario.” She moans my name like a prayer as her nails dig into my back, urging me on. I oblige her silently, plunging deeper and harder into her depths, claiming every inch of her that I can possibly take. She responds in turn by arching her hips to meet my thrusts, her inner muscles squeezing me in a vise-like grip. I can feel our orgasms building, rising like a tidal wave.

“I'm close, Alice,” I manage to gasp out between pants. “God, I’m so close.”

“Me too, don't stop, please don't stop,” she begs, her voice a frenzied whisper in my ear. I’m too worked up to stop, too needy and hungry for this moment, to be joined with her again in pleasure.

“God, you feel so good, baby, so damn good,” I moan as I can feel the coil in my balls tighten. The pressure is so intense, I feel it in my eyes, pulsing and demanding to be released.

“Mario, oh, God, yes!” she cries out moments later, her body tensing around mine as her climax washes over her. Her pussy milks me relentlessly, and I can't hold back any longer. With a primal roar, I let go, filling her with my essence, our combined scents mingling in the air.

Spent, we collapse on the bed, both of us struggling to catch our breaths. Her soft whimpers echo in my ears as we lie there, entwined in each other's arms.

“I love you,” she whispers into my ear, her voice muffled by the linen-scented sheets. I hear the emotion in her tone, though, the pain of admitting what she’s just said.

“I love you, too,” I respond, my heart aching with the weight of our confessions. Guilt is something my father would have said makes me weak, but this guilt is righteous, making me see how dangerous thisgame is for her, how I’ve inadvertently lured her deeper than she wanted to go and how my heart longs to keep her here longer than she wants to stay.

“So, what happens now?” she asks after a while, her voice tentative.

“I don't know,” I admit, running a hand through her hair. “But I know that I don't ever want to let you go.” A silence stretches between us, fraught with unspoken words and the knowledge of the precariousness of our situation. I turn my head to look at her, and our eyes meet. Hers are a kaleidoscope of emotions—fear, longing, and resolve. Before she can put voice to those fears, I move, climbing out of bed and finding my clothes. “I have to get a few things done.” The stinging guilt of my conscience needs to go away. I need resolution. Absolution. Release.

“When will you be back?” she asks, and a yawn slips out. I knew she was still tired.

“You just rest. Ervine has men on the entire block. I’m not going far.”

Before I’m even dressed to go, she’s sleeping again, micro-snoring to a peaceful rhythm. I place a kiss on her forehead and creep out of the room, locking the door before striding through the rectory toward the back stairs and entrance to the church.

The air is thick with tension as soon as I enter, like it’s been waiting for me. The room is dark save for the glow of a few candles on the altar highlighting the prayers of the parishioners.

“Mario,” the priest says, startled as he turns. “Can I help you with anything?”

I shake my head, moving to the confessional booth in the back. “No, Father Thomas. I just… needed some peace.” My footsteps thump on the hardwood echoing around the large, empty sanctuary. I could do this face to face, but this is the way of the church.

Father Thomas nods, understanding all too well the trials of this line of work. I slip inside the confessional and close the door behind me, sinking to my knees in the dim booth. Moments later, I hear the door on his side open, then shut. He’s there, waiting for me to begin, but I take a moment to collect myself.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned… It’s been twenty-two days since my last confession.” The words come out in a rush, a dam gate on a river of self-loathing and blame. I tell him everything, no detail spared—from the night of my father’s death to the drive-by that nearly took my life. I confess the theft, the murder. I confess my guilt and shame, and then I confess to breaking my vow as a priest. By the end, my voice is hoarse. I am spent, my head leaning against the grid that separates us. “I don’t know how to do this anymore, Father.”

Father Thomas clears his throat uneasily. “You know as well as I, Mario, that we are all sinners in the eyes of God. He forgives those who are truly repentant.”

“But how can I expect God to forgive me when I can’t forgive myself?” This is the true test. I’m not sorry for those sins of my past—murder, greed, lust—I’m ashamed of not doing more, not trying harder. Of leaving my people, my Family, to suffer cruelly under my brother’s dominant hand. Guilt that I’ve now dragged Alice into this when I could have helped her leave forever.

“In time, my son,” he says softly. “In time. But first we must deal with the present. Your safety—and Alice’s—is of the utmost importance.”

“I know,” I say wearily. And I agree with him. His past is proof to me that he understands me and my future more clearly than I do right now. I’m blinded by rage and suppressed emotions that have me ready to commit acts of violence.

“Mario!” a voice calls, and my blood runs cold. I know who it is before I even step out of the confessional. I don’t know how he got through the men Ervine set up, but I’m defenseless here, my gun still on thenightstand next to where Alice sleeps peacefully. “Fratellino, come talk to me.”

“Stay here,” I tell Father Thomas, but I don’t need to say a word. I know he will quietly slip out of the confessional booth and move through the back offices toward the rectory where he will rouse Alice and move toward the panic room.

I, however, cannot stay here. If Paolo wants his “little brother” to come out and speak to him, that is what he must have. If for no other reason than for me to distract him long enough for my former brother in arms to get Alice to safety. I rise slowly, sliding the door of the confessional open and stepping into the dim sanctuary.

“Brother…” I’m not dressed for a showdown, just a simple polo and jeans. Paolo is wearing his best suit, so early in the morning too. He’s been planning this a while, probably hoping to catch me off guard. Maybe he did research and knows Thomas isn’t who he says he is now, either. Maybe he planned to cause a scene until I came up here to speak with him.

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