Saint (Priest, #3)

by Sierra Simone

“I would pretend to be a monk,” I say. His voice is pure gravel when he asks, “Yeah?” “Yeah,” I breathe. “And it would have been years and years since I’d been able to fuck. I’d be desperate.” “How desperate?” he asks. His chest is heaving, but his arms and hands are still, like he can’t bear to make any movement that might break the spell. But I’m beyond spells now, I think. I’m speaking prophecies and parables, whispering a game I’ve thought of so many times. “So desperate that I can’t take it anymore. Not after I see you. You’re so beautiful, and I think I could ask you…” “Ask me what?” Elijah prompts. “If I could kiss you. If you’d let me remember what it was like to be kissed. If you’d let me touch you and hold you and then make you come.” Elijah’s whiskey eyes are almost all black now, a ring of amber around a circle of onyx. “And if you did ask me, and if I said yes, what would happen then?” “Then I’d start at the end,” I say, trembling all over. “I’d start on my knees, needing to taste you. And then after you’d used me, I’d ask to be kissed. Kissed until the bells ring for prayer.”