If I was his, did that mean he was mine?
Why was I even asking myself that when I couldn’t get a firm grasp on my emotions?
I’d just brutalized someone’s genitals and all I could think about was sex. Something was wrong with me—outside of me already knowing I was a tad fucked up.
My sigh skirted over the church’s vaulted ceiling. Clutching the black ledger in my hands, I bypassed the wooden confessional booths, noting that Azel wasn’t crying so loudly anymore. Maybe Cobra was done—and good for him.
I could see myself befriending him, and maybe even Grimm one day, if it wasn’t for the fact that Tito was still out and about somewhere and I just couldn’t bring myself to snub him.
“What the hell am I even doing this for?” I mumbled to myself, turning the corner and running right into Romero.
“What are you doing what for?” He grabbed my upper arm and turned me around, all but dragging me into one of the dark, dusty confessional booths.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Is that the book?”
He reached for it and I twisted away. “Why do you want David so badly?”
“Cali, if I don’t tell you something, it’s because I don’t think you should know.”
What could I say to that?
I couldn’t demand he give me one hundred percent transparency when I wouldn’t do the same, and if we couldn’t trust one another, then where did that leave us?
He reached for the book again, this time snatching it out of my hands.
“Was that your pathetic attempt at blackmailing information out of me?”
“I’m smarter than that.”
“Are you?”
“You’re such an asshole,” I breathed, squeezing past him to push the thin wooden door open.
“Uhn-uh.” He pulled me away from the door and caged me between him and the wooden bench.
“What do you want?” I growled. The box was stuffy and I could barely see his eyes from the lack of light.
“What if I told you to confess your deepest, darkest sin?”
“You are my deepest darkest sin.”
“Maybe I should fuck you in here, then. I’ve never been given the honor of defiling a nun.”
“I’m not a real nun.”
“Don’t ruin the fantasy, baby. Just spread your legs for me.”
He knelt to set the ledger down on the floor, lifting my habit when he stood back up.
Gliding his fingers along the skin of my left thigh, he gripped it tightly and hitched it over his hip.
I wound one arm around his neck and dropped the other to the zipper on his jeans, working it down until I could reach in enough to free his cock. He abruptly spun us so he was sitting down on the bench and I was straddling his lap.
“Put my dick inside you and ride it. Hard.”
“I don’t—”
“Do it.”
I hovered above him, my heart beating at an uneven tempo. Exhaling a shaky breath, I curled my fingers in the confessional’s divider and slowly sank down, easing him into me.
“Like this.” He gripped my hips and thrust up, burying himself to the hilt, filling me with him entirely.
I choked on a scream that quickly morphed into a moan as he controlled me below, setting a rapid pace for me to keep up with. “Goddamn, Cali, your pussy’s so fucking wet; so fucking tight. So fucking mine.” He slid his hands to my ass, grabbing a globe in each hand, and began drilling into me from underneath.
When he urged me to take over, it took me a minute to find a rhythm. I kept my grip on the divider and rolled my hips, bouncing up and down on his cock. My uninhibited moans echoed inside the church and filled the small confessional booth.
My leg muscles began to burn. Sweat beaded between my heaving breasts. My breaths started coming loud and ragged, intermingling with my pleasure-filled gasps.
“I can’t do––’
“Don’t tell me you can’t. Just fuck me,” he growled.
Dropping my hands to his shoulders, I adjusted my position and began rocking into him, taking him deeper, harder.
“Rome,” I whimpered, dropping my forehead to use.
“That’s it, baby. Use me, make yourself come.” He pressed the pad of his thumb down on my clit and slowly massaged it in a circular motion.
My lower stomach began to tighten and warmth rifled up my spine. He leaned in and swiped his tongue up the side of my neck and bit me. He pushed up into me with one solid thrust. I came so hard I forgot to breathe.
“Fuck!” I could no longer move. My muscles tensed and I shut my eyes, reveling in the sensation only he could draw out of me. He pulled out a few pumps later, staining the center part of my habit with his come.
“Now seems like a good time to discuss contraception,” I stated, smearing his semen into the black fabric.
“You just fucked me raw inside a confessional. That’s what makes you think of birth control?”
“Rome,” I stressed.
“Why are you worrying about this when all our kids have either gone down your throat or landed somewhere on you? When I want to get you pregnant, I will.”
“Ugh, you’re so poetic,” I deadpanned. I tried to stand up and his hands clamped down on my hips to hold me in place. The wooden bench creaked beneath our shifting weight.
“I don’t need to see you clearly to know you’re pissed off. I can sense it. Don’t be a girl, Cali. Tell me what the problem is.”
“How many girls have you said that to? Are you even––”
“Clean?” he interjected. “If this is you being jealous, you can shut that shit down now. I don’t just stick my dick in anything with a hole. I’m actually pretty picky. And I don’t make a habit of going in raw.
“You’re mine, I want nothing between us. I’d never let any dirty shit touch you. And there is only you, Cali.”
His words were the balm to my irritation. I swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” I whispered in case he couldn’t see my head moving.
He gripped the sides of my face and placed his forehead against mine. “The shit you do to me makes no fucking sense.”
The strain in his voice wasn’t surprising enough to catch me off guard. I felt the same way. Maybe that was the way relationships were meant to be, indefinable with unbreakable bonds. No words were needed to convey what our warped hearts already knew.
I was his, and he was mine.
I was curled up in a corner of the sectional when he handed me the mason jar.
“What exactly are we celebrating?”
“The ledger you gave us, and Romero not being such a dickhead,” Cobra said.
I laughed and brought the jar to my mouth, regretting the decision to partake in this activity as soon as the moonshine hit my tongue.
“This is disgusting,” I sputtered, pushing the jar at Romero. “It burns.” I wiggled my tongue around, tasting nothing but rubbing alcohol.
“You can do better than that,” Romero challenged, nudging the jar back in my direction.
“Hold it for three seconds,” Grimm looked up from the ledger and advised.
“Ugh, fine.” I took the glass jar back and held my breath as I titled it back and counted to three. “Ah, how do you drink this?” I coughed, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut.
“You get used to it,” Romero said, taking the jar from me and passing it to Arlen.
“You didn’t drink any.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Then why did you tell me to?” I glared, wiping my mouth with the back of my arm.
“Maybe I want to see what drunken truths you’ll tell.”
Arlen snorted. “Not everyone has something to hide.”
“Everyone in this room does,” Grimm countered.
That was a sad goddamn truth and nothing good would come of it. Everyone knew that lies hurt, but secrets killed.
Sighing, I snuggled deeper into the leather couch cushion. Romero shifted beside me and lifted me onto his lap, placing my head on his shoulder.
“I can’t believe ya’ll left that man strung up,” Arlen mused from the opposite end of the couch, knocking her sip back like a seasoned pro. “What?” She shrugged when she realized everyone was staring at her.
“What else can you do?” Cobra inquired, leaning towards her.
“I’ll share mine if you share yours,” she teased.
“I’m almost positive you’re not old enough to drink,” Grimm scolded.
“I’m old enough to watch ya’ll turn the holy house into a snuff film but not take a drink of alcohol?
“And what happens after ya’ll take out David, anyway? Is this a revolution or somethin?”
“Don’t you have to give a shit about the people to start a revolution?” Cobra retaliated, stretching himself out and placing his sock-clad feet on her lap, taking the moonshine back.
“It’s the beginning of paradise.” Romero responded in his usual way of deflecting a question with an answer that wasn’t really an answer.
I frowned and stared down at the pentacle on the floor, asking myself once more what I was doing this for. I wanted Romero. I wanted to know him but he didn’t seem inclined to let me in, and if Tito ever popped up on his radar, I was certain he would kill him.
Everything was such a jumbled mess inside my head. When I got the jar back, I didn’t hesitate to drink that time. It tasted horrible, but misery loved drunken company.