Page 90 of Savior

“Mmm,” Sloane agrees sleepily, and I stand to carry her to her bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SLOANE

Iwake in a heavy haze. It’s bright, and the smell of sausage permeates the room. I stretch and groan as things pop from the action.

The night before comes flooding back as an ache between my thighs reminds me in a flash of what I let happen.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself.

My door is open, but I can’t see Luca from where I sit on the edge of the bed.

I make for the shower, stepping in and drowning out every devious memory with the spray of scalding hot water.

As if that’ll wash the sin off of you.

The thought makes my stomach flip, and it’s why I don’t hear that Luca has entered the bathroom.

I squeal when he knocks on the glass shower door.

“Sorry, I just wanted to know how you take your eggs.”

For someone who didn’t get off last night, he’s unhealthily perky this morning. Which he usually is. I, myself, am not a morning person. Becoming remotely human takes me a couple of hours and two coffees. I used to blame working at night for how cranky I was. Now that I’m here in the middle of nowhere, I know it’s just who I am.

“Over easy is fine with me,” I rush out, hoping the hot water covers the flushed sense of confusion swirling through my eyes.

“Alright. Breakfast is just about ready. Whenever you’re ready,” he tells me, moving off as if wholly unaffected by my state of undress.

And even though he made me come only hours ago, epically, I might add, my center reminds me just how attracted to him I am. With a sudden furious throb.

I look down, shaking my head at its audacity.

Not only is he my dead father’s friend. He’s a priest.

A fact that I continue to tell myself that my libido only takes as a challenge.

We’ve already gone too far, but it doesn’t matter. I want more.

And I know he does.

But convincing him that our time here can be between us will be a feat all its own. My life is in danger, and this is what my brain is choosing to latch onto. I’m fully aware that it’s demented and ruinous, but I want nothing more than to be ruined by him.

I growl at the argument going back and forth in my head for and against the idea of corrupting the poor priest who’s currently cooking me breakfast and ignore my body’s wanting throbs for attention as I hurry and wash and towel off.

Slipping into some comfortable clothes, I padded into the kitchen to find Luca shirtless and his abs on full display.

He turns. “Oh, sorry, I got grease on my shirt. Didn’t want it to set in, so I took it off and treated it.”

I bite my lip, looking toward the ceiling.

How am I going to survive this?

No answer comes, so I sigh as I sit at the table and wait for Luca to bring me the plate he’s piling food on. He snags a cup of coffee with steam wafting off the top, and I lick my lips at thesucculent scents billowing off both the plate and the coffee as he sets them before me.

He straightens, giving me an eyeful of rigid muscles and dark chest hair. Not to mention the shadowy line of hair that leads somewhere that’s the sole reason for my sexual delirium currently. “Need anything else?”

That’s a loaded question, Father.

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