Page 57 of Savior

He’s grappling with the same attraction I am, but the stakes are higher for him.

He will lose it all if the church finds out.

I will lose nothing.

I come from a whore mother and a junkie dad. Nothing anyone can say about me hasn’t already been said.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here, not when I was already grappling with my faith. I’m teetering on the edge, and you just might tip me over it, Sloane.”

“I’m sorry,” I manage, and he tightens the rosary.

It pinches my throat, and my core thrums between my thighs.

“Are you? Will you repent for your sins against me, my little dove?”

His nickname for me only makes me whimper. I’m no more a dove than he is a saint, but I won’t correct him. Because when he calls me that, my body feels alive.

“I will,” I grit out.

He growls as he takes my lips with his, and the entire universe melts away as if it never was. It was as if this was the moment predestined all along, and now that we’re here, the puzzle is whole.

He doesn’t loosen the rosary, only kisses me as if his life depends on it. He wants it to count as if this is the only time he’ll ever let himself lose control with me. He wants it to matter.

His tongue greets mine with a soft touch, and I moan into his mouth.

Only then does he let go of the rosary, cupping my face in his hands, meaning to push me away, but it cements me to him further.

It’s the most intimate moment I’ve ever had.

With one kiss, one sweep of his tongue, it feels as if he’s judging my soul, eating every sin I have, and washing them away altogether.

He pulls away, and the spell is broken. I worry he will panic about what happened, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he stands, pulling me to do the same.

He lifts and stands me on the seat before running his face over my stomach. It’s somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

He’s a man unraveling, and I’m the reason. While I feel guilty because of this, I won’t deny how turned on that makes me.

“Sloane, I can’t ever be with you.”

His confession hits me in my gut, even if I knew it all along.

“I know.”

“I’m not supposed to have these thoughts, these feelings. I’m a man of God. I have taken vows, and yetyouundo me. I can’t help the way I feel about you. I knowHe’stesting me, but I still can’t control myself. My flesh is weak…”

I can’t speak because as he’s confessed how he feels, his hand has traveled up my skirt, his fingers dancing dangerously over my panty-covered center like a promise. Like a prayer for strength.

Because he is wavering.

“Luca, please,” I beg, and I don’t know if I’m begging him to find the courage to walk away or to continue.

“Just one taste. Surely he’ll forgive me for just one taste,” he says, and I know now that he’s so lost in the argument within himself, the war he’s fighting, that he can’t hear me.

If only I were stronger, I’d push him away. I would be his strength.

But I’m not.

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