Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Cisco
Mercy tastes of the faintest sting of Chianti, but underneath is all her. I groan and deepen the kiss, driving my tongue beyond her teeth. She whimpers into my mouth and scrabbles at my collar, fumbling for the studs.
I chase her lips when she pulls back to scowl down at my throat.
“I can’t get a grip,” she grumbles, fingers clumsy.
“Bite it off.”
A thrill flashes in her eyes, and then her teeth are at my throat, tugging the collar off until it comes loose.
God, I can’t breathe with her like this—face buried in my neck, teeth nipping and tugging, little grunts and wild feminine sounds.
Within seconds, she has it loose and tosses it over her shoulder with a grin of pride I want to bottle.
I want to keep it somewhere I can look at it on a rainy day and remember that she is mine.
She rips at my shirt, impatiently popping buttons until it’s open, then drags her nails down my abdomen until I hiss at the scrape.
Mercy pushes the shirt off my shoulders, but her eyes are glued to my torso. The tattoos. The dark ink coiling over my chest, ribs, and arms. She flattens her hands on my pecs, fingers tracing the lines.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. “I dreamed about this.” Her fingers dig into my trousers. “And this.”
I palm her breast. Flick her nipple with my thumb until she gasps. Her fingers stutter on my belt buckle.
“Too slow,” I grumble.
Blue eyes flick up, simmering with amusement from beneath long lashes. “Oh, really. It’s like that, is it?”
I arch an eyebrow. “I have three devotions to get through tonight.”
“Then you’re already behind schedule, Padre.”
Leaving my belt unbuckled, but my trousers still zipped, she calmly sits down on the bed and leans back, knees closed, the definition of trouble.
Taunting. So cocky. So self-assured.
I squeeze my aching shaft through my slacks and groan softly.
Wetness glistens down her slit, painting the black jewel and the space around it. The sight shreds my composure to smoke.
I stroke myself. Once. Her eyes grow dark and hungry. My cock is already throbbing for her, but I need to lay out the rules. Structure will keep me in check. I pull the timer from my left pocket, but keep the oil in the right. That is a surprise for later.
“Devotion one—” I turn the dial. “I eat you out, but you don’t come until the timer says. If you do, we start over.”
A shiver runs through her, but she doesn’t say no.
“Devotion two: I fuck your cunt with the plastic on vibration. You don’t come until the timer goes off.” My smile is slow and wicked. “But you will beg for it.”
She’s already squirming. “What’s the third?”
“Your ass, anima mia. I will take it, and I will fuck you there, slow and deep.” If I can keep it slow.
“I will watch your face while I fill you, and you will take every inch of me.” I pause, waiting for her to tell me this isn’t what she wants, but if anything, she’s wetter.
Panting harder. Cheeks redder. Growing impatient. “Want to know the fourth devotion?”
Her breath holds for a moment. “There’s a fourth?”
My grin is feral. “For the rest of the night, I do whatever I want to you until I am sated. If you can’t keep up, you may sleep. But I can’t promise it will be for long. I want to keep fucking you until my hunger is gone.”
“Poor, sweet priest,” she purrs. The sound is hot, desperate. “You’ve been out of the game so long, you think one all-nighter is a fuck fest.”
I release the dial, and it starts ticking.
Nine blistering minutes. I set it on the corner of the nightstand beside the window on the side of the bed.
There is more room here than on the side closest to the closet and bathroom.
With the damp curtains billowing at my back, I reach across the bed and grip her thick thighs.
I love how there is meat to squeeze. It’s firm, strong, and a sign of her devotion to her job.
This woman doesn’t do anything by halves.
But she’s too far away from me, so I haul her closer and fit her at the very edge of the mattress, thighs parted, legs bent over the sides. Perfetto.
I drop to my knees.
“Lean back,” I growl, planting a splayed hand on her belly and pushing.
She falls back onto her hands, but doesn’t lie down. She wants to watch. I make a mental note to switch directions before the night is out, so she can watch me fuck her in the mirror. I seal the promise with a kiss to her inner thigh, right over her cilice wound.
This pose gives me more access and, Cristo, the moonlight makes her wetness gleam. I run the flat of my tongue up her seam, collecting every drop with a strangled groan of need. Tastes so good. The ticking clock exists somewhere in the back of my mind, but it’s already fading.
Slow.
Go slow.
Savor this. Don’t lose control and ruin it.
I lick her with methodical strokes, shuddering at the force of my restraint. When she cups the back of my head and pushes my face into her as she grinds into my mouth, I forget my name.
She is everywhere, all over my face. I’m in Heaven.
I flick her clit with my tongue, circle, nip, and suck. I lick around the jeweled plug, making sure it’s lubricated, and dig beneath the rim. She cries out and bucks into me, tries to guide me down there when I leave, but I pin her hips to the mattress.
“Be still,” I growl into her flesh, “and I will give you relief, anima mia.”
“Take it out,” she begs.
I grin and kiss her inner thigh. “Not yet.”
“Vibration?”
“Not yet.”
“Fuck.” She throws her head back in frustration. It’s the most beautiful sight. Firm breasts, tight nipples, sweat-sheened skin pebbled with goosebumps. I fight the urge to rub my erection against the side of the bed, to ease my own arousal.
“You did well, piccola.” I lick around the plug again, coating it with more of my saliva.
“You wore this all night for me.” I take the jewel tip and rotate gently.
It gives easily in the slick. “You endured my family’s nonsense stories.
” I pull it out and glide it in. She gasps, shudders, and fists the sheets. “And you waited for me. Brava.”
She moans. “Don’t stop.”
“Feel full?” I murmur, mesmerized by the sight.
She rocks her hips. “Please, baby.”
That needy tone, the way she begs me with her eyes, that word coming from her lips.
I growl and fuck her slowly with the plug, in and out, in and out, watching her lips part, and her eyes glaze with pleasure. She bucks into me and whimpers when I don’t give her more.
“You like it here . . .” I tap the jewel.
“Yes,” she blurts, exasperated. “I like it everywhere.”
I grunt in approval and press my face in, and lap along her folds.
“You taste so good, piccola.” My hips twitch against the bed, the friction too delicious.
I drop my lips back to her tasty cunt, flick and suck, and then slide a finger inside.
“God, yes,” she pants. “Fill me like that.”
My body goes rigid at her tight, velvety heat. This is how it will feel on my cock. The thought unleashes an unholy deep sound from me, and I work her faster with my tongue, pump my finger harder. Every thrust of my hand knocks the plug, making her jerk and spasm against my mouth.
“Fuck, Cisco—” She pulls at my hair, raking my scalp with her nails.
“You make me crazy, anima mia,” I growl against her flesh. “I want to make you last, but I can’t. I’m—”
I palm my tingling cock. I’m not going to last nine minutes, so ease a second finger inside her. Her throaty sound of pleasure almost undoes me. I work her harder. Can’t stop. I’m ravenous for her, so aroused that I’m dry-humping the bed.
She whimpers, “Please, please, I need it—”
When I curl my fingers inside her, digging for that spot, she tenses so hard that she trembles. Her breath hitches, and then she breaks. With a deep cry of abandon, Mercy comes hard, inner walls fluttering against my fingers.
I keep going, keep fucking and tonguing her through it, keep eating it up, raw and savage until she goes limp with a sob.
And still, I lick her through the aftershocks, savoring the taste.
I was too taken by the hunger at the Vatican to remember how this feels, but I want to live here in her thighs.
I want to inscribe her taste to memory, and every sound she makes to my heart.
She’s so soft, all woman, and made to be consumed. Made to be worshipped.
Made for me.
At some point, she whimpers and digs her fingers into my hair, yanking me upward. As I trail hot, open-mouthed kisses up her stomach, I glimpse my shadowed reflection in the mirror. I don’t recognize myself, the wildness in my eyes, the joy.
“Beautiful,” I mutter, palming her breast. “You come for me so beautifully, piccola.”
She babbles an incoherent response and then moans softly. Two breaths, a moment of peace, and then she releases a sharp, choked-out, “Again.”
I glance at the timer and frown because it hasn’t gone off yet. “We have four minutes left until—”
“Fuck the timer.”
I meet her defiant eyes and grin.