Page 28 of Sinner
Caterina climbs into my lap as I sit in my office chair, the leather creaking beneath our combined weight. The silver cross I wear bounces between us, catching the candlelight with each movement. Her fingers trace the contours of my bare chest, hesitating at the boundary where skin meets black fabric.
“Is this truly a sin?” she whispers against my lips. “When we love one another as much as we do.”
“If it is,” I answer, “then I welcome damnation.”
I carry her to my narrow bed, still wearing my clerical shirt—the stark black fabric against her naked skin creating a contrast that makes me dizzy with desire. The forbidden nature of it all—priest and parishioner, holiness and hunger.
I lower myself between her thighs, my hands trembling as I part her legs wider. Her scent—sweet, musky, forbidden—fills my senses as I press my mouth against her. The first taste of her is electric, sacred in its profanity. I worship her with my tongue, tracing slow circles around the sensitive bud that makes her gasp and arch beneath me.
“Father,” she moans, the title now a blasphemy and endearment all at once. “Let me call you that one more time.”
I devour her like a starving man at communion, my tongue delving deeper, lapping at her wetness with reverent hunger. Her thighs quiver against my cheeks, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer as if she might absorb me entirely. I slip two fingers inside her, curling them upward as my tongue continues its relentless devotion.
“Please,” she begs, her voice breaking. “Father Moretti, please.”
The sound of my name on her lips drives me to a frenzy. I suck harder, pressing my fingers deeper until I feel her tighten around them. Her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her throat as she comes against my mouth. I don’t stop, drinking in her pleasure, her essence coating my lips and chin like holy oil.
When her trembling subsides, I rise above her, still wearing my clerical shirt, the collar tight around my throat. The contrast of my religious garb against her naked vulnerability ignites something primal within me. I position myself between her legs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance, slick and swollen from my attention.
“Look at me,” I command, surprising myself with the authority in my voice. “I want to see your eyes when I’m inside you.”
Her hazel eyes lock with mine, pupils dilated with desire. I thrust forward in one powerful stroke, burying myself to the hilt. The sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet heat enveloping me completely. We both cry out, the sound echoing in the small room.
“Christ,” I blaspheme, my hips beginning a punishing rhythm. Each thrust is a confession, each withdrawal a penance never to be completed.
Caterina’s nails rake down my back, leaving burning trails I’ll wear like stigmata tomorrow. “Harder,” she demands, her voice husky with need. “Make me feel you.”
I grip her hips with bruising force, lifting her slightly to change the angle. My thrusts become savage, the bed frame creaking in protest beneath us. The silver cross dangling from my neck swings between us, occasionally brushing against her breast, marking her with its cool touch.
“You’re mine,” I growl, the words torn from somewhere deep and primitive inside me. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasps, her eyes never leaving mine. “Body and soul. Forever.”
I reach between us, my thumb finding her swollen clit, circling it in time with my thrusts. Her inner walls clench around me, drawing me deeper. The pleasure is excruciating, bordering on pain—a fitting punishment for my transgression.
“And I’m yours,” I confess, my rhythm faltering as I feel my release building. “God help me, I belong to you more than I’ve ever belonged to Him.”
Her second orgasm crashes through her, her body convulsing around me, milking me with rhythmic pulses. The sight of her—head thrown back, throat exposed, lips parted in ecstasy—pushes me over the edge. I thrust once more, burying myself completely as I spill inside her, my vision blurring at the edges, a hoarse cry torn from my throat.
For a moment, time suspends. We remain joined, panting, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, my clerical shirt now damp and clinging to my skin. The candles have burned lower, casting longer shadows across the walls of my modest room.
I collapse beside her, gathering her against my chest. Her heartbeat thunders against mine, gradually slowing as our breathing steadies. Outside, church bells toll again, marking the passage of time in a world that feels distant and unreal compared to the universe contained within these four walls.
“What happens now?” Caterina whispers, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.
I press my lips to her forehead, tasting salt and something uniquely her. “I don’t know,” I admit, the weight of reality beginning to settle back upon my shoulders. “But I can’t go back to who I was before you.”
She raises herself on one elbow, looking down at me with those hazel eyes that see through every defense I’ve built. “Do you regret it?”
I reach up to touch her face, memorizing the contours with my fingertips. “The only thing I regret is waiting so long to discover what it means to truly worship.”
In the aftermath, as our breathing slows and reality begins to creep back in, I know there’s no returning from this precipice. We’ve jumped, and now we must learn to fly.
“We can’t stay here,” I say, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Your father?—”
“Will kill you,” she finishes, the blunt truth hanging between us.
I reach for my phone, dialing the only number I can trust. Luca answers on the first ring, as if he’s been waiting for my call.
