Page 151 of Savior

“I changed my mind. Just…please,” she whines, skating her hand over her exposed flesh as if she’s going to do my job for me at any moment if I don’t heed her demands.

As if I’d allow that.

“As you wish,” I groan, freeing myself from my slacks and teasing the head of my cock through the slick mess of her arousal.

“God, that feels good,” she says, her head falling back and her mouth releasing an urgent whimper I’d love to bottle.

When I strike, I strike fast, sinking into her like a man who doesn’t know how to swim and has been thrust out to sea without a life vest.

I don’t want to survive her, though. If she’ll be my end, let it come.

It’ll be rapturous.

I spent my entire career chasing heaven, and I’m finally there.

I shudder out a breath, dropping over her, my face nudging into her neck as I increase my pace, feeling her body welcome me home as her moans get louder.

“I’ve dreamt of this a million times in the last few weeks,” she whispers, and I pull my head out of her neck with effort—it might as well weigh a million pounds.

I roll my hips, fucking her deeply and watching the way her eyes grow hungry for more.

“And in these dreams?” I ask her, hungry myself, if I’m honest.

“You tied me to a cross and had your wicked way with me,” she moans as I reach between us and give her clit a bit of pressure, fucking her harder. Faster.

“Me? Wicked? I’m a man of God, little dove,” I tease.

She attempts a laugh, but it ends like a stilted groan. “You’re a corrupt man, Father Russo. No longer a man of God, but marked like one of his fallen angels.”

“And this pussy did the corrupting.” I capture her lips, her tongue skimming my entire nervous system as she kisses me back.

No more words are necessary.

The moment grows more urgent, both of us dangling too close to death as our bodies build up in anticipation of the end. Her legs grip tighter around me, and I peel off her lips to watch her blissful face.

Our eyes are locked when we both come, unable to do more than scream through the toe-curling feeling of straddling hell.

“Fuck.” I shudder as the last tinges of orgasm make my spine feel as though it’s going to curl into a ball.

“So much better than my dreams,” she teases, kissing the tip of my nose.

She lays back on the couch, letting her arms fall above her head.

She looks like an angel. Her blonde hair is touseled, and her hazel eyes are alive. I wondered if I would see this look again, though I knew the bits I had of her were enough to last me a lifetime.

Enough to keep me pliant for the rest of my days.

“Was it? Even though there was no cross involved?”

She laughs, and it’s the most free I’ve heard her sound in weeks. My heart hammers as I realize she’s finally on the road to healing.

“Mmm, I wish we’d have played out that scenario of yours, Father Russo,” she says, lifting her hips and deepening our point of contact.

My cock hardens inside her again. “Sloane,” I warn.

“Mmm?”

Soon, we’re fucking again, bodies slick with sweat, the room smelling of sex as we chase explosive ends.

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