Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LUCA
S he’s trying to kill me.
Or damn me to the fiery pits of hell. Either one.
Not that I’m being dramatic in the slightest.
But as I come out of my room to get some of the takeout I’d ordered for us both, I spy her on the couch, and I’ll be damned if she’s not in the shortest shorts known to man.
They might be the shortest shorts to have ever been crafted.
Half of me wonders if Ardesia Ricci isn’t trying to kill me since he brought the clothes to me.
“There’s plenty left,” she calls out, swallowing a few mouthfuls of water before smiling at me.
It’s been days since the moment in my office, and neither of us has spoken of it again. Which I’m thankful for. Then, there’s the almost kiss at the beach and the moment last night in her bedroom…
My offenses are amassing at such an alarming rate. Especially after what Sloane just admitted to me in the church. The indecent thoughts warring in my head and softening my resolve are about to have me putting aside all my reservations for one taste of darkness, one touch of madness.
I spoon out heaps of Chinese food onto my plate and head for the couch to sit beside her.
This has been our thing since she arrived. We order some gluttonous food since neither of us wants to cook, and then I get sucked into some insane reality show with her until we both fall asleep on the couch.
I wake up at some point, and she’s in bed. After checking on her, I meander to my own bed.
It’s our routine.
And I’m becoming attached to it if I’m honest.
“Come on, I’ve already started the episode,” she says. I grab my water off the island and rush to the couch. Our show pops onto the screen, and the fun begins.
Before I know it, an hour has passed, and we’ve moved on to bowls of ice cream and have already hit the next episode button.
It already feels like we’re getting back to normal. Whatever that is.
“He’s too good for her. She treats him like shit,” Sloane says with a mouthful of ice cream, and it’s so endearing that I can’t help but reach over and catch the dribble of it that’s slid down her chin with my thumb.
Before thinking of the implications, I lick the morsel off my thumb and leave the sassy Sloane speechless as she swallows her ice cream and stares me down, pupils constricting.
“Sorry,” I choke out. “I don’t know what came over me.”
And I don’t. I turn back to the television, pretending I’m wholly interested in the show and that my cock isn’t stirring behind my sweats because that’s how a lesser man behaves.
Not me.
Not a man of god who is celibate and has taken vows.
Her glare is searing a hole through my cheek. And the longer she gawks, the harder it is to keep my attention on the television.
She’s Ray’s daughter, for fuck’s sake.
God, now I’m using words I never use, even in my head.
My eyes cast toward the ceiling as I silently beg for strength.
When I return my gaze to the show, I no longer feel Sloane’s eyes on me, but the mood in the room is abuzz with something that my body can’t ignore. My eyes peek over at Sloane as her spoon slips from her lips tantalizingly slow, her mouth working every drop of ice cream off of it.
Kill me now.
Because death is better than this hell.
She shifts on the couch, thighs pressing together, and it’s like she’s sending up a calling card to my body that she needs it because I harden further.
This is dangerous.
Leave the room!
I get up abruptly, forgetting about the glass bowl in my lap. “I have to go to bed,” I manage before the bowl shatters to the floor below.
Sloane scurries to place hers on the table. “Don’t move, I’ll get the glass. You don’t want to cut your feet.”
God is punishing me for something. Now I know it.
She’s on her hands and knees, and my dick is going to break off from being too hard at any moment.
She looks up and grabs the last sizeable chunk of glass. Her eyes settle on what I was trying to avoid her seeing, and I swallow audibly.
“I’m going to get the broom,” she whispers, standing and making her way carefully around the area where tiny shards could still be on the floor.
I nod. I’m still nodding like a fool when she returns to the room.
She sweeps the floor around me, brushing the broom over my feet twice, and the feel on my skin nearly drives me over the edge. It almost makes me fist her hair and rub her perfect, haunting face over my throbbing dick just to feel any part of her against me.
I fucking need her.
Like a plant needs water. Like my lungs need air. She’s visceral to my survival, yet she’s off limits. I shouldn’t feel these things.
I can’t feel these things.
“There, I think I got it all,” she says, clearing her throat.
I fly from the room, seeking shelter inside my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
My eyes hit the ceiling. “I know you love to test your flock, but this might be too far, don’t you think?” I growl up at the man who is undoubtedly in charge of braiding my life in the direction where Sloane’s has now crossed through the threads.
I take forever to get my body back in check, and then guilt at my behavior seeps deeply into my bones. I take even longer to gather the strength to leave my bedroom to check on Sloane.
I never heard the television turn back on, so I know she probably went to her room.
And why wouldn’t she have? I acted like an idiot.
It’s as I thought.
The house is dark, save for a plug-in light that I put right outside Sloane’s door so she could see to go to the kitchen at night if she wanted to. The slight illumination shows me that her door is open.
Per usual.
I tiptoe across the house, wincing once when the old floorboards of the rectory creak under my weight.
I freeze like a teenager trying to sneak out of the house.
When I reach the door frame, I halt.
The lightest gasping and the softest blissful whimpers greet my ears, and I grip either side of the doorframe in my hands. I swear I hear the wood bend under my hold.
I know I shouldn’t, but I remain there.
As my eyes adjust, I watch as she writhes under the covers. Her eyes are pinned closed, her legs bent and spread open, and one of her hands toys with her dusk-colored nipple as the other is hidden from view.
But I know where it is.
She startles and pauses her machinations when she sees my shadow in the doorway.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she rasps, and it damn near breaks me the way she said my title.
I’ve never wanted someone to repeat it more in my life than I do right now.
I’d align myself with the Devil to hear her call me father in that sinful tone just one more time.
“I should’ve shut the door, but I…”
But she, what?
Did she want me to find her here, riding her hand? Had the door being open and my proximity looming added to her pleasure?
“Continue,” I say, and I don’t mean to say it aloud.
She doesn’t move for a minute, only stares through the dark at me.
What happens next will change everything. We both know it. She seems like the struggle is too much, and she can’t decide. Her frozen body still breathes heavily under the decision, and I’m right there with her, but mine is easy. I know I would do anything for her. I’ve already proved that even if it’s mind-boggling. I don’t have a choice. I need to know what she sounds like when she comes.
“In the name of all that’s holy, continue,” I beg.
My body, which I’d only just gotten under control, has risen to the occasion again, but I choose to ignore it.
What I can’t choose to ignore, however, is that she’s naked and touching herself under that blanket.
There’s no earthly way I can turn around and return to my room. When I thought of myself as a devout, mighty man of God before, Sloane barrelled into my life like an F-5 tornado and proved otherwise.
She’s worked up because of earlier, and the knowledge that her seeing me hard excited her and has me giddy with an energy that’s difficult to ignore.
A better man would walk away from this door, and I find I’m not that man.
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned,” she moans, and I nearly buckle in on myself to the floor.
“Continue,” I manage.
“I’ve thought of little else than you in the last few days.”
I clear my throat as I watch her arch off the bed, the blanket dropping to her navel. Her breasts are full and free, pressing upward as she slips her fingers in and out of her body.
“And these thoughts were distasteful?” I ask her.
She moans, and I swear I hear angels cry out above me. “In the worst way. I’ve thought of you kneeling before me, your tongue on my pussy…” As she increases her pace, a breath cuts off her words, and I’m hanging on the cliff, waiting for the rest.
“Go on,” I tell her, gripping the doorframe tighter so my hands don’t wander anywhere they shouldn’t go.
“I’ve thought of you coming into my room at night and sinking inside me…” another sinful moan leaves her lips like the sweetest hymn.
“Is it why you leave your door open, little dove?” I have no excuse for my behavior at this point. I’m out of control, without an end in sight.
“Yes,” she breathes, arching further.
I need to stop this. At the very least, I need to go to my room.
But God help me. I want to see her come more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“One Hail Mary should clean your soul free of sin, my child,” I grit out, trying to ignore how filthy the words sounded to my ears.
Her cries become tangled together, her body writhing and glistening with sweat before she shatters before me. “Luca!”
I nearly combust right then and there.
I turn and trudge to my room, forgetting myself and my vows completely as I toss off my sweats and get on the bed. I position my pillow beneath me and grind into it like a teenage boy who just needs to fuck something .
“Goddamn you, Sloane,” I curse, grinding harder, faster.
My faith and who I am are swirling around inside me like it’s in limbo as I fuck my pillow even harder.
“Fuck, fuck,” I cry, spilling onto the pillow case in hot spurts, my body shuddering as the overwhelming sense of release douses me with guilt and shame after it clears out.
I flop to the right of the pillow, throwing an arm over my eyes as I return to my body.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask myself, shaking my head in disbelief at how I’m unraveling.
She’s my best friend’s daughter, not even twenty-one, and she’s fragile.
Not to mention, she’s hiding here, away from one of the most powerful men in New York City.
A knock at the door has me pulling up on my elbows and eyeing the door.
I stay silent for a moment, looking down at my cock that’s still semi-hard.
Part of me wants to open the door, but this can’t continue. It has to stop.
I have to get a damned grip.
My eyes drift over to the cum still seeping into the fabric of my pillow, and I close my eyes and shake my head before sitting on the edge of the bed.
The light knock sounds again. “Luca?”
“Go to bed, Sloane,” I call out, berating myself for how angry it had come out.
But maybe that’s how I need to behave. Maybe that’ll stop this train before it flies off the tracks.