Page 93 of Savior

He stops moving his hand. “Father Russo, little dove.”

It feels wicked and wrong to call him that, but it also makes a thrill rush through my veins that he’s too weak to this lust between us to fight it any longer.

“Father Russo,” I correct, and he moves the beads again.

“Take these infernal things off,” he says, and I tug my pants and panties down, toeing them off the edge of the bed.

When I’m bare, I let them fall back open, and Luca gets between my legs and looks down at me, dangling the rosary over my spread-open pussy.

“So fucking beautiful. A cunt molded by God himself.”

His words cause a sweltering heat to build in my belly, and I lick my lips as I watch him plot his next move on my body like a man on a mission.

His cock is so hard behind his sweats, and I remember how it tasted to have him in my mouth in the confessional. How it felt to kneel at the feet of a man with so much power and command.

“Father, please,” I beg, and it seems to stir something feral in him.

He shoves the beads inside me, leaving the dangling cross in his hand to tug them back out.

“Do you know how you’ve tormented me since I saved you? How you’ve taken up every cavern in my goddamned brain?” His tone is distressed, and I’m worried about what he will do with the beads he stuffed me full of.

Half of me wonders if he’s planning a full-on exorcism of whatever dark demon is inhabiting my body and making me drag this godly man to hell with me.

Before I ponder the thought, he slowly tugs the beads out of me. They massage my insides as they move back into his hands.

“I dreamt I tied you to the cross on the apse,” he admits, and I nearly stop breathing at his admittance.

When the last of the beads is out of me, I sigh in relief, but my heart is racing.

It feels like the thin, punishing veil of a wall he’d erected to keep away from me has somehow shattered from last night to today, and even though I know I should be the air of reason, I don’t want to be.

And I won’t dwell on the guilt associated with that fact, either.

“Tell me about your dream,” I whisper, lifting to look at where he’s grinning fiendishly up at me from between my thighs.

“Oh, little dove, it was a doozy. You sure you can handle it?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SLOANE

“Tied to the cross?” I breathe, looking down at him as he leisurely runs his rosary through my wetness. His eyes are fixated on his task, and he’s biting his lower lip.

“Tied to the cross,” he repeats.

Swiftly, he leaves his rosary behind to crawl up my body and hover over me on the bed. “You looked so fucking perfect. And the way you begged me to fuck you, Sloane…” He rolls his hips and closes his eyes as if returning to the dream.

I want to go with him.

I want to be there.

I want to be on that cross, if I’m honest.

The second roll of his hips drags his covered cock over where he left the beads behind, and they brush rigidly against my clit, causing me to moan.

His eyes fly open, his blown pupils looking me over.

“He’s tempting me, you know? This is all a test.” He leans over me, dropping onto his forearms.

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