Page 58 of Savior

He moves my panties to the side, one hand holding my skirt up to expose me to him, and then he fans his hot breath over my core.

“Just one taste…”

I whimper in agreement as his tongue slips between my pussy lips like a long-awaited answer to a prayer.

“Luca, oh, my God!” I grab for the sides of the confessional to steady myself as my knees nearly buckle.

But he doesn’t stop with just one taste, and I’m thankful he doesn’t.

Because if we’re going to hell together, I’d rather know what it feels like to come on his tongue behind the walls of this confessional.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LUCA

Hell rumbles beneath my feet as I tongue Sloane’s center like she’s my ticket into heaven. Her sweet, melodic moans of pleasure only fuel the sinful craving I have to dive inside her and never leave. Forsaking all I’ve worked for and all I believe in is rattling my foundations, but not enough. I would’ve imagined I’d be more shameful. I’d be more worried about what’s going to happen.

She’s not good for me.

She’s too young.

I’m leading us both down a dangerous path.

All thoughts are ignored when she drops a hand into my hair and grinds on my mouth shamelessly.

“Use your fingers. Add your fingers,” she says, guiding her pleasure from above.

Her knees are bent, and her legs shake as I twirl my finger over the bud that I’ve noticed is very sensitive.

I’m inexperienced, but it’s as if I’ve always known her intimately.

I do as I’m told and slide two fingers into her entrance, feeling her walls ripple around me in waves as I move them in and out.

She grips my hair tighter, and it urges me forward.

This is wrong, yet it’s so right at the same time.

I am a weak man and likely have been this entire time. It only took the right woman to expose it.

“Luca, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she breathes, her body writhing on my tongue like she needs my tongue to draw her next breath.

“God!” she cries, and I nearly cross my eyes at the way she comes undone for me; a rush of fluids meets my fingers as her center convulses around me.

Before I can second guess what just happened, before I can renounce myself as the priest of this parish, she presses me against the confessional screen, giving herself enough room to get down.

Her legs are shaky, and her breath is ragged. Her lips slam to mine.

I pull back. “I taste like…”

“You taste likeme. I like that,” she says waspily.

My already hard dick jerks in my jeans where I know there’s likely a wet spot from how excited I’d been to hear her come for me.

Even if she cried outHisname in the end.

She turns and forces me to sit, and I nearly fight her.

There are only a couple of hours until I have to meet with a few church leaders about the budget, and this has already crossed enough lines. But as she undoes my belt and unbuttons my jeans, all moral thoughts go out of my head completely.

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