Page 87 of Savior

Too fucking easy, if you ask me.

It’s unnerving how much I don’t miss the church. It’s also bothersome how much I feel at ease in Sloane’s presence. The nagging attraction we have to one another is still there. I’ve found it especially hard in tight quarters not to brush against her by accident, but I’m finding it just as hard not to reach for her in moments of silence between us.

Like just now, she sighed as she turned the page on her book, and my hand instinctively splayed between us, palm up for her to take it.

Luckily, she hadn’t realized I’d moved, and I had time to put it back in my lap, but it was worrisome.

Sloane found the basement of torture this afternoon, and we spent a good ten minutes of uncomfortable silence down there looking over all the knives and devices hanging from the wall. It was hard not to notice all the sex toys amongst the knives and torture devices, too.

Ardesia hasn’t sent word about how things are going at home, and it’s bothersome, to say the fucking least. Mama has been prodding me via text messages to find out where I am and why I wasn’t at the church. She hasn’t stepped foot on the consecrated ground since Papa died, but I missed two dinners, and it was enough for her to overcome her differences with God to come looking for me.

Now John is up in arms and calls five times a day to check in, to which I reply with texts that I’m busy. I don’t know how much longer I can brush the two off when they’re working strategically together.

“I’m going to turn in,” Sloane says, pulling me from my head. I’ve been reading the same page for ten minutes, my eyes and mind unable to focus on whatever’s written.

“Okay. Goodnight,” I reply, pretending to re-read the mundane lines, even though I don’t have the patience for it.

I stretch out my legs before I realize she’s too close to them, and she trips over me with a scream, grasping for the table and couch to save her from the fall. I throw the book to grab her, catching her around the middle and hauling her to me so she doesn’t fall.

“Jesus, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how close you were passing my feet,” I say in a huff, my breathing speeding from the adrenaline.

Her face turns toward mine, and the fucking room goes as still as the woods when a predator is afoot.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, eyes growing heady.

Too close. Fuck, I’m too close.

Back up.

Set her back on her feet!

My mind shouts at me to do the right thing as we inch further into one another, losing our good sense as a pulsing attraction takes over.

“Thank you for catching me,” she says, and it’s laced with so much more meaning than me helping her keep off the floor just then.

Meaning that chokes me under its weight.

“I’ll always catch you, little dove,” I whisper back, losing my grasp on my good nature.

“Will you now, Father?” she teases, using my title like a double-edged sword to spear through me.

My cock hardens at the term, and I realize just how sick I am at its throbbing ache for attention. She’s twenty-one. I’m a man of the cloth. I shouldn’t feel this way about her. I’m supposed to be keeping her safe.

All of it flies out of my head when she eats up the distance between us and presses her soft lips to mine. The inner darkness I now know as desire takes hold of me.

I haul her on my lap, and she straddles over me.

My kiss gobbles up her moans, and I swallow them like the most decadent dessert I’ve ever tasted.

My tongue parts her lips, opening her mouth to me as it explores hers before pulling back. We’re doing a taunting dance, back and forth, moans building, and bodies heating.

She grinds on my erection, and my eyes nearly cross at the feel of her over me, commanding me.

She lets out a shuddering breath as I grasp her hips and rub her across my lap again, this time harder, slower.

“Luca,” she breathes, her hands slipping into my hair and tugging the strands taut in her hold.

“Sloane,” I answer, my tone soft.

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