Mercy
I am floating and sinking at the same time.
Delirious. Speechless. To my complete and utter shame, my lips won’t form words to give Cisco an answer.
Even though technically, he didn’t ask a question, it’s not the point.
He knows me so well. He knows exactly what I need.
He knows he doesn’t need an answer, which is why he doesn’t wait for one and finishes dishing out the picnic.
We eat the cold meat, nip on the grapes, drink some wine, and make small talk. He tells me about his day, and I tell him about mine. When there’s nothing left on the plate, no wine, and it’s all packed away, I still can’t find the words, start to panic again, and I don’t know why.
Until Cisco pulls out the letter from the Vatican, still sealed with the Pope’s emblem, and my heart leaps into my throat. My hand flies out to slam on top of his as he’s setting it on the rug.
“Stop.” I stare at the twinkling ring on my finger, the same hand that’s covering his.
I realize now why I can’t find the words to accept his proposal.
I don’t want him to have to choose between me and what he loves to do.
If I haven’t said yes, then we can still be together, but just not like that.
Cisco reads my face like a book and reminds me, “This is why opening this letter is last.”
“But—”
His stern look silences me. It says not to call him a liar, not to believe his feelings for me aren’t real. It’s so Cisco, so the man I love, that every single last part of me holding on to the past shatters.
“This is really happening, isn’t it?” I whisper as I draw my hand back to my lap. “Us?”
His eyes soften. He tugs me onto his lap and then positions me so we can open the letter together.
“This has already happened, piccola.” He gives the louvers a pointed look. “It happened the day I first saw you there. What is inside this letter won’t change that.”
I don’t even look when he opens it because I’m too busy planting a kiss on his stubbled jaw. Then on his cheek. Then I’m nibbling his earlobe, getting hot and needy as his scent washes over me.
“This is . . . unexpected,” he murmurs.
I quickly cast my eyes over the letter to get the gist.
“Yep, unexpected.” I return to nibbling his ear.
“What do you think?”
“About declaring us Saints?” I slide my hand down his stomach. “Or the part where he invites the entire Hildegard Sisterhood to the ceremony?” I start unbuckling his belt. “Or the part where he invites you to continue your work as the Pope’s Exorcist in these important coming days?”
“All of it.”
The breathlessness of his answer draws my attention to his face, but it’s not what I expect. He’s gone pale, tense, and keeps blinking.
“Mm.” I nod solemnly. “I was afraid this might happen.”
“What might happen?”
“You’re afraid. But you don’t need to be.” I smirk and unzip his fly, then dig into his trousers and grab his cock. I rub it to help his blood flow, and he groans.
“Mercy—”
“Yes,” I murmur against his lips. “Yes, I’ll be your wife.”
The letter instantly crumples in his fist. “You will?”
“Whatever you want.”
His eyes darken at my words, and for a moment, I think I glimpse his old demonic side. But as I slide down his front, and the darkness burns hotter, I realize the hunger is all need. When I take him into my mouth, he throws away the letter and cups my head with two hands.
“Open,” he says, and thrusts in. “Sì. Così.” Yes, like this. “Take all of me,” he growls, forcing himself deeper despite my throat trying to close around his girth. “Dio—Mercy—you feel so good.”
He pumps twice, already so hard that he leaks over my tongue.
I come off him and murmur, “You taste good too.”
“I need—” He thrusts in again. And again.
His grip slips on my headscarf, and with a frustrated snarl, he pulls it off.
Spearing fingers into my hair, he rasps.
“Open wide, piccola.” I do, and he’s back in deep, too overcome with desire to go slow.
“You make me want to lose control.” He pushes my head down as he flexes up with his hips. Down. Up. “I can’t help myself.”
“Then don’t,” I gasp out.
He pulls me off, tosses me on my back against the pillows, and looks down at me from wild eyes. His broad chest expands with his stilted breath.
“I need you,” he growls, stark eyes locking with mine.
“I need you too,” I confess, and then we’re attacking each other’s clothes—desperate to get them off.
We fumble at buttons with shaky fingers, kiss lopsided, clash teeth, pop buttons.
We’re a mess. A sweaty, shaking mess. But we’re also the only things that make sense to each other, and we can’t slow down.
It’s like all the chaos of the past month has finally hit like a hurricane, and our bodies are the only safe harbor.
His clothes take longer than mine to get off, and he’s taking too long to remove his collar and shirt, so I straddle his naked lap.
“Wait,” he grits out, sleeve caught on his wrist.
“Not this time.” I fit his cock to my slick, sensitive entrance and sink.
“Ah, fuck,” he gasps and falls back on his hands, one sleeve still on and now forgotten. His eyes dip to where we join and rapidly fill with heat. “Dio, look how beautiful you take me.”
I’m struck by the raw honesty of his expression: his breath going ragged, his muscles bunching and glistening with a sheen of perspiration, the want in his eyes.
Emotion squeezes my throat, and something snaps inside me.
Need him. Need him now. Palms slamming against his chest, I start fucking him.
I ride his cock with small movements that somehow feel big.
Cisco feels it too—everything feels too much. Our eyes clash, and then he’s up, hands supporting my lower back so he can bend me backward and take my nipple into his mouth and suck.
“Oh, God yes,” I cry out, grinding into him harder, chasing the friction against my clit. “More,” I pant out. “More.”
He sucks harder, then moves to the other breast, but it doesn’t last long.
“Closer,” he pants, wrapping his arms around me. “I need you closer,” he gasps into my neck, hugging me tight.
“I want it too.” My fingers spear into his damp hair. “Cisco—I—”
No more words come. We need each other so much, want each other too much; we can only let our bodies speak for our hearts.
Our lovemaking is a mindless, physical thing we can’t control.
I meet his thrusts with my own. But then we’re grinding, then we’re rocking slowly and kissing each other’s faces, our mouths, and then we’re rutting, and we’re biting.
We’re scratching and gasping, whimpering and begging.
The pressure intensifies. Pleasure coils low in my belly.
I can’t get enough, but I need more. With him, I’ll always need more.
I must make some kind of desperate sound, because Cisco groans low into my ear, “I have you, anima mia.” He angles our hips differently. “I have you.”
On his next thrust, my orgasm breaks. It hits me with such intensity that I scream, limbs locked and flooded with pure blinding ecstasy.
He fucks me through it, hands on hips, driving into me from beneath, giving me everything until I’m done.
Only then does he let go himself. Mouth against my throat, teeth clamping onto flesh, he gives one final thrust and then holds me seated.
He comes with a deep growl that turns into a groan, hugging me so tight that it’s hard to breathe.
He holds me in place until he’s empty, and I’m full, or we are both. I can’t tell anymore, but it feels so good. So right. It’s perfect.
Some time after, we’re lying in each other’s arms on the pillows, staring at the fairy lights twinkling like stars in the rafters.
My head is on his shoulder, and my fingers trace lazy circles over his abdomen.
I’m careful to avoid the new arcane tattoos he’s already had inked to replace the old ones.
He loves the sensation, and his eyelids keep drooping, reminding me of a cat when you pat it. All I need now is for him to purr.
But he won’t drift off to sleep. He keeps opening his eyes when they close, and I glimpse a little divot appearing between his brows.
His worries are already returning. Such a big heart, my Padre.
“You’re worried,” I murmur. “But don’t be.”
He captures my roving hand and kisses it with a sigh. “There is much to worry about.”
I push up on an elbow and lean over his head, so he sees only me. “Babe, we’ll figure it out. I have the sword, Thea has the staff—”
“Which isn’t working,” he points out.
“—Leila has the gun.” I smooth his frown with my fingers. “And the Pope wants to work with us. Even if we’re somehow triggering a new Horseman after defeating the old one, I believe that we’ll stop the apocalypse. We’ll get Raven back. I know it.”
His eyes fill with something like awe. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“When I watched you run toward Death, bald from saving me and naked apart from an angel’s sword, I was so proud of you.
” He swipes hair from my forehead. “There was my woman, so beautiful and fierce. I knew in that moment you were special—more than I realized.” His gaze hardens.
“You have the name the world should remember, not me.” He rests his hand behind his head and sighs as he looks up at the rafters.
“I will be the exorcist, and the shepherd to this flock, but you are the Saint. I will tell the Pope tomorrow this is our answer.”
Decision made, he visibly relaxes. Just like that, his troubles have solutions. When he sees I’m still up on my elbow, gaping at him, he clicks his fingers and points down.
“Rest,” he says.
With a heavy exhale, I sink beside him. Cisco tugs a thin blanket from beneath trampled cushions and tosses it over me.
There’s no point arguing, as he tucks me in beside him, but still I can’t help grumbling, “It feels wrong to be the only one Sainted when every other woman in this Sisterhood has performed miracles just as much as me. Even Hannah.”
He goes quiet.
We’ve spoken briefly about her over the past few weeks. His grief is still raw, filled with sadness, confusion, and regret. I wish I could help him make sense of it all.
That’s when it hits me. “Do you think I can get them all Sainted?”
“If anyone can, it will be you.”
“It’s not a stupid idea?”
“No.”
“You’ll help me?”
“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“What about that?” I point at the unused bell hook in the rafters.
“You want me to find a bell?”
“No, silly. But it does look perfectly equipped for a sex swing.”
His chuckle rumbles like thunder, and it’s exactly what I was going for. I want to hear his laugh before he sleeps.
“Just an idea.” I shrug. “I mean, you were so good at finding all those other sex toys.”
“If that’s what you want, I will get it.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “Go to sleep, piccola. Tomorrow will be here soon.”
I’m still smiling as I snuggle into him, arm around his middle, ear to his chest. He’s right. I’ll find a way to bring Raven back, to stop the apocalypse, to fix everything. As his heartbeat slows and his breathing evens out, I think there is no greater joy than this.
I’m in my lover’s arms as he falls asleep, knowing the world could end any day, but not caring. If it does, I won’t face it alone.
And then I fall with him.
The End of Book 3.
Thank you for reading Mercy and Cisco’s story. I hope you enjoyed the ride.