Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUCA
H ell rumbles beneath my feet as I tongue Sloane’s center like she’s my ticket into heaven. Her sweet, melodic moans of pleasure only fuel the sinful craving I have to dive inside her and never leave. Forsaking all I’ve worked for and all I believe in is rattling my foundations, but not enough. I would’ve imagined I’d be more shameful. I’d be more worried about what’s going to happen.
She’s not good for me.
She’s too young.
I’m leading us both down a dangerous path.
All thoughts are ignored when she drops a hand into my hair and grinds on my mouth shamelessly.
“Use your fingers. Add your fingers,” she says, guiding her pleasure from above.
Her knees are bent, and her legs shake as I twirl my finger over the bud that I’ve noticed is very sensitive.
I’m inexperienced, but it’s as if I’ve always known her intimately.
I do as I’m told and slide two fingers into her entrance, feeling her walls ripple around me in waves as I move them in and out.
She grips my hair tighter, and it urges me forward.
This is wrong, yet it’s so right at the same time.
I am a weak man and likely have been this entire time. It only took the right woman to expose it.
“Luca, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” she breathes, her body writhing on my tongue like she needs my tongue to draw her next breath.
“God!” she cries, and I nearly cross my eyes at the way she comes undone for me; a rush of fluids meets my fingers as her center convulses around me.
Before I can second guess what just happened, before I can renounce myself as the priest of this parish, she presses me against the confessional screen, giving herself enough room to get down.
Her legs are shaky, and her breath is ragged. Her lips slam to mine.
I pull back. “I taste like…”
“You taste like me . I like that,” she says waspily.
My already hard dick jerks in my jeans where I know there’s likely a wet spot from how excited I’d been to hear her come for me.
Even if she cried out His name in the end.
She turns and forces me to sit, and I nearly fight her.
There are only a couple of hours until I have to meet with a few church leaders about the budget, and this has already crossed enough lines. But as she undoes my belt and unbuttons my jeans, all moral thoughts go out of my head completely.
She frees my dick and strokes over it a few times. It feels foreign and mind-numbingly good.
“Do you want to confess to me?” she asks, igniting a fire in my gut. One that could be dangerous if stoked.
“For which sin would I confess? They’re amassing at such an alarming rate at this point.”
She grins wickedly before leaning toward my length.
“Sloane, I—” Holy fuck.
Her hot mouth closes over the head, sliding down my shaft painfully slowly.
I know it’s because she knows this is my first time with my cock inside anything, let alone a mouth. The feel of her as she picks up her pace nearly has my eyes crossing.
“Fuck, little dove, this is so wrong,” I manage, hands fisting in her hair as my mind thinks of how she looked with my rosary wrapped tightly around her windpipe.
How she’d given over to me.
I felt powerful.
Like I was her God.
Such thoughts are blasphemous and wrong, but I can’t help but harden further in her mouth, to which she moans.
I’m not going to last. She adds a hand behind her mouth, and my head falls back. I will make a fool of myself in only a few minutes.
But I want to know what it feels like to come in her mouth.
“I want you to swallow it. Every. Last. Drop,” I growl out, not knowing what is possessing me to make me act so out of character.
Is it her?
Did Lucifer send her himself to pull me off my path of righteousness?
If so, I’m failing miserably to pass the test before me.
“I’m going to baptize you with my cum, little dove.” My words sound muffled as the orgasm builds, my body tingling and pinpricks singing through the head of my cock as she works me over with her mouth and hand. “You’re going to be reborn after this. You’ll be mine . Do you understand me? Anointed and blessed by me, but you have to swallow my offering, all of it. Swallow my power down. Do you hear me?”
My words are edging on mania, but Sloane nods at me anyhow.
“Good girl, yes, good girl,” I stammer as my climax washes over me, and I thrust up off the bench into her mouth, cum spilling into her mouth and down her throat as I hear her swallow and gag on me.
“Sloane!” I breathe, still lazily fucking her mouth as I ride out the last pulses of orgasm.
When she licks me clean and sits back on her haunches, we’re silent for a moment.
“Father Russo? You in here anywhere?” a voice sounds out. It’s Harrietta White, the leader of the women’s groups that I have to meet with today about a luncheon that will happen in a few weeks.
I stand, worrying my lip as I get myself back inside my jeans.
Sloane cups my face gently, her lips softly melding to mine as she lets me taste myself on her kiss. “Go. I’ll wait till she’s gone and go back home. And your confession is safe with me, Father,” she tells me, as if she knows I need to know that I have her discretion.
Because I could lose my entire life for the things I’ve allowed to happen with her, and she knows it.
As much as I feel I have power over her, she has power over me.
“Mrs. White,” I say as I leave the confessional. I know my cheeks are heated, and my hair is askew, but Harietta looks none the wiser.
“There you are. I was looking everywhere for you.”
“Just taking some time to reflect was all,” I tell her.
She takes up at my side as I lead her to my office, but as long as this meeting is going to take, my mind is going to be back in that confessional, with Sloane grinding on my tongue.
After four meetings, it’s almost eight p.m., and I’m eager to return to Sloane. I want to know she hasn’t run off after what happened in the confessional. And while I know what happened was wrong, I don’t feel guilty. I can’t let myself. It felt too right.
Too perfect.
Too good.
I push inside the rectory, fully ready to find her on her bed with a book; I stand amazed when my eyes rake over her in the kitchen, dancing to some song on the radio with a spatula, flipping over something in a pan on the stove.
I lock the door behind me and close all the curtains.
Not that I have indecent plans for her, but because I can’t be trusted when I’m around her. Clearly.
The way I smelled her on me as I took meeting after meeting nearly drove me insane for the rest of the day, but now all I want is for her to solidify the scent.
To rub her wanton cunt on my tongue and make her scent my new cologne.
I recall she’s Ray’s daughter, and a morsel of guilt wavers in my chest.
But then I remember I’ll never hurt her the way her parents have.
I’ll stand between her and anyone who seeks to harm her.
I want nothing more than to become her fucking shield.
She shrieks as she sees me, nearly tossing the spatula before she catches her breath from the shock.
“Sorry,” I say. I was just watching you dance.
“Fuck, you’re like a ninja. I didn’t hear you come in!”
I smile, trekking closer to see what she’s trying to cook.
And to my surprise, it smells delicious.
“What is that?” I ask.
“It’s a… concoction,” she answers, and I notice her voice has dropped a couple of octaves.
“A what?” I ask, laughing.
Her cheeks heat, and I realize that she’s embarrassed.
“Hey Sloane, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
She clears the emotion from her throat and face, standing taller. “No. It’s fine. When you grow up like I did, you learn to throw whatever is in the fridge or freezer together and make it work—when there’s food, that is.”
The last part nearly sends me into a rage. I have to remind myself that she’s safe now. And if I have it my way, she’ll remain that way. I’ll never let her go back to that life.
Part of my brain knows that’s not my choice, however.
She’s got her entire life ahead of her. She’s still young.
Too young to have my tongue sliding through her pussy, but it’s a bit too late to dwell on that fact.
“Well, what did you throw into this concoction of yours?” I ask, grabbing a fork and getting some onto the prongs.
When I work it into my mouth after blowing on it, her eyes are on me, waiting to see if I like it.
The flavors tango sinfully on my tongue, and I moan.
“Stop, it’s not that good,” she says, stirring and returning to the pot.
I realize she thinks I’m overselling it to make her feel better.
I take the spatula from her and turn her around, searching her face for the sass-mouthed girl Dante had dropped off here in the first place.
“I mean it, it’s delicious. What’s in it?”
“Chicken breast, egg noodles, a can of cream of mushroom, some milk, sour cream, cream cheese, and spices.”
“Chicken stroganoff, then?”
Her eyes light at the idea that what she’d cooked had a name and a mission to want to keep that glow in them as long as I live grows in my belly.
“Chicken Stroganoff,” she says, more confident in her ability.
“It’s delicious,” I tell her, kissing her lips softly.
It’s not until we’ve eaten that silence permeates the room again. I set the table, which I rarely eat at, rather than sit in front of the television, which has become a habit with Sloane.
I don’t mind it. I want her to know I appreciate her effort in cooking this fantastic meal.
“What are we doing?” she asks, her voice cracking as she gets her question out.
I look up at her from where I’d been drumming my fingers on the table, lost in my head.
“I don’t know, Sloane. I’m… I’m a weak man when it comes to you. And I don’t want to fight how I feel.”
My confession lies between us like a feather slowly falling through the air.
She licks her lips. “I’ve wanted nothing more than I want you,” she admits.
“But do you only want me because I’m a soft place to land?” The question is out of my mouth before I can overthink it. And that’s where I fuck up.
She looks affronted, gasping at the insinuation that she’s using me to kill time or to feel safe.
Which isn’t how I meant it to come out.
“Sloane, no, that’s not what I meant to?—”
She stands, moving to drop her dishes into the sink. “I’ve made my way in this fucking world for far longer than you’ve been in my life, Luca. You’re a blip on my fucking radar. Do you understand me? You are the lucky one. The one who should feel fucking blessed to have me in your life. You’re the one who should worry if you’re using me to leave a faith you’ve had one foot inside of for quite some time.”
Her words stab through my chest like an arrow. “Excuse me?”
This is why priests aren’t supposed to take wives or let the lure of flesh distract them from their true calling to do the Lord’s work. Instead of studying or writing the following sermon for Mass, I’m too focused on what will come out of her mouth next.
“You heard me.”
I stand, crossing my arms over my chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Sloane. I was only asking if you think what we have, what is going on, is…”
“Real? I don’t know, Luca, is it?”
It can’t be.
Unless I’m going to leave the church, I can’t be with her fully.
The truth I’ve been evading overtakes my brain and causes dread to churn in my gut.
“Listen, things have happened between us, yeah? But, consider them a thank you for saving me. I will tell no one. You don’t have to worry about that. And once Matteo dies, I’ll be out of your hair.”
When she turns and storms from the room, I want nothing more than to follow her and grovel at her feet. To repent to her for what I’d said and beg for forgiveness.
But the truth keeps me rooted to the dining room floor.
We can never be more.
But I can’t deny that my faith is shaken now that I’ve tasted Sloane Collins on my tongue.
It was like touching pure sin, and anything in its purest form is addictive. More potent.