Page 54 of Savior

“I’ve thought of you coming into my room at night and sinking inside me…” another sinful moan leaves her lips like the sweetest hymn.

“Is it why you leave your door open, little dove?” I have no excuse for my behavior at this point. I’m out of control, without an end in sight.

“Yes,” she breathes, arching further.

I need to stop this. At the very least, I need to go to my room.

But God help me. I want to see her come more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

“One Hail Mary should clean your soul free of sin, my child,” I grit out, trying to ignore how filthy the words sounded to my ears.

Her cries become tangled together, her body writhing and glistening with sweat before she shatters before me. “Luca!”

I nearly combust right then and there.

I turn and trudge to my room, forgetting myself and my vows completely as I toss off my sweats and get on the bed. I position my pillow beneath me and grind into it like a teenage boy who just needs to fucksomething.

“Goddamn you, Sloane,” I curse, grinding harder, faster.

My faith and who I am are swirling around inside me like it’s in limbo as I fuck my pillow even harder.

“Fuck, fuck,” I cry, spilling onto the pillow case in hot spurts, my body shuddering as the overwhelming sense of release douses me with guilt and shame after it clears out.

I flop to the right of the pillow, throwing an arm over my eyes as I return to my body.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask myself, shaking my head in disbelief at how I’m unraveling.

She’s my best friend’s daughter, not even twenty-one, and she’s fragile.

Not to mention, she’s hiding here, away from one of the most powerful men in New York City.

A knock at the door has me pulling up on my elbows and eyeing the door.

I stay silent for a moment, looking down at my cock that’s still semi-hard.

Part of me wants to open the door, but this can’t continue. It has to stop.

I have to get a damned grip.

My eyes drift over to the cum still seeping into the fabric of my pillow, and I close my eyes and shake my head before sitting on the edge of the bed.

The light knock sounds again. “Luca?”

“Go to bed, Sloane,” I call out, berating myself for how angry it had come out.

But maybe that’s how I need to behave. Maybe that’ll stop this train before it flies off the tracks.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SLOANE

Ihaven’t made eye contact with Father Russo since the other night, two nights ago, to be exact. The indecent way I behaved, even if he seemed a willing participant at that moment, had me spiraling emotionally afterward.

I’m questioning whether he was a willing participant or if he thought he was relieving me of my sins for carrying on and listening to me. But my logical brain knows that he knew what I was doing. He had to have seen, heard, or realized, even in the dark.

Shame has taken up in my heart, where I’ve never been one to regret anything I’ve done before. Where I’m usually sassy and a force to be reckoned with, around Father Russo, I’m unsure and docile. I don’t know why.

I can’t bring myself to call or even think of him as Luca after screaming his name when I came the other night. Even now, thinking of his name while looking at him handing out plates at the breakfast the church is putting on makes my cheeks heat.

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