Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SLOANE
“ T ied 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.
His lips dust over mine as he teases them with the tip of his tongue.
“Who?” I whimper.
I’m sure he means God. In his position in the Catholic church, it has to feel as though God is prodding at his good nature.
“Satan,” he breathes, startling me to my very center.
“Wha—” I end the question with a raspy scream when he reaches between us, freeing his cock and tugging the rosary out of my pussy. He tosses the rosary on the floor, and I must admit it feels like he’s just thrown his faith aside to prepare for what’s about to happen between us.
He grinds once more; this time, though, his cock is silky and accessible as it glides between my lips like the softest prayer.
He continues to rock back and forth, his cock rubbing me closer and closer to orgasm as he never enters my body, only teasing his way through my pussy lips, keeping the thinnest lid on his sensibility.
I can’t let him fuck me.
I can’t be why this perfect man loses touch with his entire faith and status with God.
“Luca, we can’t.” My words are panted whispers as his pace increases.
His face is contorted in such a feral way that I wonder if he’s heard me.
“Luca!” This time, it’s come out a heady moan. One that only has him press into my center with more pressure as he places two hands on the top of my head for leverage.
“God, your velvet cunt is the closest thing I’ve ever felt to rapture,” he growls.
I can’t keep my eyes open. This is headed to sure damnation, and I can’t watch.
Only feel.
“Don’t stop,” I plead, losing all worry for his soul and mine when I feel a familiar warm buzzing tingle over my skin. “Please, Father Russo, don’t stop!”
“Will you fuck me in hell, Sloane? When the Devil opens his gates and lets me walk through, will you be there on your knees with your mouth wide open to capture my cum?”
“Yes! Yes!” I mutter incoherently, digging my nails into his back as he moans and continues to slide through my folds like a beast that’s lost all control.
And fuck if he isn’t the sexiest monster I’ve ever met in my life.
And I’ve seen some dark shit in my lifetime.
“Would you swallow me down, Sloane? Would you lick your lips free of my cum?”
He’s close; his words are desperate, and that singular knowledge tosses me over the edge.
“Luca! God!” My body sputters as orgasm slams into me like a ton of bricks.
My eyes nearly cross as light prickles through my vision.
He doesn’t follow me over the cliff, though. Instead, he removes his sweats in a rush, kneels over my body, positioning himself over my chest, his cock bobbing heavily, and jacks it over my face.
“Will you swallow my cum down, my child?” he asks, his devilish eyes gobbling up the sight of me as I mindlessly open my lips to him.
“Yes, Father.”
He groans from a deep place in his chest, closing his eyes as his hand works over his cock quickly, the slapping of skin and our mingled, panted breaths the only sound in the cabin.
“Come for me, Father Russo. Let me taste you,” I egg him on.
His abs tighten, his mouth drops open, and he bows forward as he does just that.
I move quickly to seal my lips over his cock and capture each pulse of cum, eyes on him as I swallow all of it down like his good girl.
The thought leaves a pang of guilt and shame behind, but I shove it to the side as his loud, drawn-out moans make my pussy throb for more.
But there can’t be more.
Even the things we’ve done are wrong.
I can never touch him the way I want to. I can’t be the one who makes him fall from grace.
I won’t be.
When he comes to, he tugs his cock from my mouth and moves to the edge of the bed.
He’s hanging his head in his hands, breathing like he’s heading toward a panic attack.
I move behind him, wrapping my arms around him the best I can and laying my head on his back.
“No one will know,” I say, telling him repeatedly until I hear his breathing even out, panic washing away under my comfort.
“No one will know,” he finally repeats.
When he leaves the room, it’s all I can do not to shatter along with his footsteps that draw away from where I’m breaking to bits of myself on my bed. He’s untouchable, and I knew that from the moment I met him.
The things that we’ve done, the moments we’ve both allowed, are a cardinal sin, and we need to erect stronger walls against letting the Devil in. Taller ones.
Or it’s going to ruin us both.
After taking a long shower and getting dressed, the clock on the wall tells me it’s past noon. Luca is nowhere to be found. After cleaning up my half-eaten plate of food and cold coffee from my room, I make a fresh cup from the pot that’s still warming and stand before the open door that leads out into the yard.
A breathtaking chill is breezing past, and the rain has slowed to a steady drip that hits the trees surrounding the cabin and leaves behind a melody that soothes my nervous soul.
“Godforsaken animal!” I hear Luca shout, and I startle.
Leaning forward, I peek out of the cabin and see him slamming the door on the chicken coop, scowling at whatever creature has vexed him.
He looks so unguarded when he’s like this. Alone and unknowing.
“What happened?” I call, and he turns us, eyes peppering with awareness.
He scrubs his hand through his silver hair as a blush fills his cheeks.
“There’s a rooster in there that could guard the gates of hell if he ever tires of his day job.”
I smile.
I know nothing about chickens or animals because I grew up in the city. Slumming it on the sidewalk with the vagrants of Brooklyn doesn’t earn you much firsthand knowledge of roosters. Other than the general awareness one gets from my limited education before I dropped out.
“Aren’t roosters supposed to be mean?” I shout back.
He shuffles over, boots covered in mud and anger still reeling on his beautiful face.
He’s got a bucket in one hand that likely has all the eggs he could get before the rooster chased him off. The other hand points back to the coop.
“He’s more of an ass than I think is required,” he counters.
I fight a smirk, not wanting him to feel as though I’m mocking him. Even though I wholeheartedly am. His face is etched with severe lines denoting how much the rooster’s behavior has genuinely affected him.
“He’s protecting his ladies,” I offer.
“And doing a damned fine job of it,” Luca mutters, trailing up the steps and setting the bucket down on the small bench that looks handmade for a couple to sit outside and take in the view.
I sip my coffee as I move closer and peek over the edge of the bucket. “You only got two eggs?”
“Listen, I know that you’re hellbent on taking up for the little cretin, but don’t make fun of me for only getting two feet inside that coop with Lucifer’s rooster fast on my heels. I barely escaped!”
Now, the laugh I’ve been hiding barrels out of me.
I cover my mouth with my free hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” he jokes, lurching forward and poking me in the side, making me laugh more.
The moment grows heavy as he looms overhead, looking down at me as we both realize how easy and free we feel. I know because I’m fighting with myself whenever we have the most mundane moments together.
I’m in denial at how much I feel about Father Russo. I know I am.
But the look in his eyes tells me he’s not.
He knows what he feels and the ramifications.
What happened in my bedroom only an hour ago is still fresh between us, and it has prickles of awareness dotting my skin the longer he stands too close.
I clear my throat, and he takes a massive step backward.
“If you want fresh eggs, you’ll have to be the one that gets them. Good luck.” He snatches up the bucket, stopping beside me to say, “Dealing with that rooster means employing the equivalent of the Dog Whisperer.”
I snicker, trying not to let on how heavily I still feel his presence deep in my marrow. “The Rooster Whisperer? Is that what you’ll call me when I get the eggs from him and get out alive?”
He thrusts the bucket at me like it’s some bet between us, his eyes dancing with amusement at the thought of me getting attacked by the same nasty rooster he’d just dealt with.
My sassy spirit rises, and I take the handle, handing him my cup. I sink into rubber boots on the porch, likely Brynne’s, and set out towards the coop.
I turn back. “What do I win if I get the eggs?”
Luca’s rueful eyes lock on me, a smirk tugging his lips up his face. “A foot rub.”
Part of me knows any more touching is dangerous. We’ve already gone way further than we should have. The other part wants to always have his hands on me, so I ignore the logic skimming through my brain.
“And if I lose?” I ask.
“You give me a foot rub.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I purse my lips. “Better warm your hands up. Wouldn’t want them to get tired mid-rub!”
My boots slosh in the mud as I approach the coop. The smell of chicken shit and feed invades my nose as I open the door after unlatching it.
Ardesia had told us always to be mindful of the rooster. He has a name, but fuck if I can remember it.
I only add three eggs to the bucket before the beast moves off in the corner. I hadn’t even seen him when I walked in; I’d hoped he’d decided to take a nap.
Or even just a slight break from his tormenting.
“Now, listen here. I have a good thing going on, and if you just let me get these eggs, I’ll win a bet. Work with me, huh? Can you do that?”
As I speak to him, he slowly makes his move towards me.
Five eggs left, and I’ve gotten them all.
“Just a minute longer,” I tell him, coaxing him to be friendly with an even tone. “Almost…”
The last egg gets into my bucket, and he charges, sending me into an all-out run for the coop door. Screams rip from my chest, and pure fear claws my nerves.
“Sloane!” I hear Luca call as I exit the coop and slam the door, closing the Psycho rooster inside.
“Fuck!” I squeal, bending over and laughing as adrenaline courses through my veins.
“Are you alright?” Luca asks, straightening me out and looking me over for blood.
I sniffle, trying to stop laughing as I shove the bucket toward his chest. “You owe me a foot rub.”
He counts the eggs, looking up at me in astonishment. “How the hell?!”
“Dealing with mean men is easy. Gotta blow a little smoke up their asses and make them feel at ease,” I tell him, smirking wickedly as I make my way through the mud and falling rain back toward the porch.
“That or you’re just as mean as he is, and he recognized a kindred spirit.”
I turn back, pinning him with a dry glare. “Watch it, Father Russo. You didn’t bargain for how long you’d have to give me that foot rub. I’m in control of your fate.”
Something flashes across his face, too quick for me to recognize the emotion before it’s gone. “Sorry, little dove. Please, go easy on me, will you?”
Slipping out of my boots, I laugh. “I’ll consider it.”
It’s the lightest moment we’ve shared, yet it’s the one that makes me the most nervous.
The more we have these brief moments, the more attached I will grow to him and him likewise. We’re playing a dangerous game, and I think I just realized how dangerous it is.
To think it’s all because of a dickhead of a rooster, too.