Page 27 of The Reaper

My hands moved from the back of his head to hold his face. His stubble was rough against my palms. Our wrists were crisscrossed as we moved frantically.

I lifted myself up and down, feverishly working his cock, desperate to find my prostate. I grabbed his hand and shoved it on my dick. I fucked his hand while bouncing on his cock.

Our eyes popped open and locked.

He pumped.

I ground.

“Fuck!” he roared. “Fuckin’ hell.”

My cock rubbed against his flat stomach, my orgasm seconds away. He was lifting both of us off the bench as he shoved into me harder. His raw strength overpowered me; he held me in a vice-like grip and pumped faster.

He was close.

I was close.

“I’m fucking coming!” he yelled, holding me down and shooting into the condom.

My load shot in time with him yelling and struggling to stay in his seat. “Archer.” My low moans announced that I had reached my nirvana. I watched confusion flit across Archer’s face before his features returned to his usual scowl.

We gazed at each other’s eyes, waiting for one of us to make the first move. Archer slowly pulled himself out of me and I was already missing his touch. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t.

The wave of regret and guilt was no match to the mind-blowing connection we had shared. He picked up his clothes, putting them on one by one. He opened the curtain and started walking away, but paused after a few steps. He looked back, staring directly at my face. What I wouldn’t give to read what was on his mind. Archer shook his head before disappearing into the shadows.

Sixteen: The Reaper

It was the wee hours and I was left with nothing but my own thoughts. I caressed my chest where Father Saint James’s hands had been. What we shared was rough. I was surprised he’d kept up with me. He wasn’t as fragile as I’d thought. He was strong, both his will and his strength. He told me he could’ve handled those men who attacked him and I felt like a fool for not believing him. He could go toe-to-toe with any of the men I knew and possibly win, and I had suspected he was still holding back a little.

Father Saint James was a puzzle needing to be solved.

I waited in the dark for the morning to come. My appetite for Father Saint James was stronger than before we’d fucked. Hearing my name come out of his mouth when he came was better than I could have imagined. It was so arousing and I came harder than ever, placing me in unfamiliar territory. I’ve never craved seconds before, I didn’t even know what they were like. I was always done after the first bang—pun intended. But with my priest, I couldn’t wait to do it all over again.

Maybe the assignment in Monaco was exactly what I needed to recalibrate and refocus on the ultimate destination, an ending with a dull conclusion. There were a lot bigger things than Father Saint James. And if I was to succeed, he needed to be gone. Out of sight, out of mind kind of bullshit.

And yet, he was the last thing on my mind before my eyelids grew heavy and I succumbed to sleep.

The buzzing of my alarm rattled me awake. It took a second for my brain to register where I was. I’d fallen asleep on the hard floor and my back was paying for it. I grabbed my phone from the floor where I’d left it the night before, frowning at the lack of response from Tobias. My worry grew, but I shrugged it off. One more assignment, I told myself. This would be over soon.

***

Monaco was the unlikeliest of places for a mission like mine, but here I was, in the lobby of a five-diamond hotel in the heart of Monte Carlo, dressed in white denim pants that were so tight they looked painted on. It was a wonder my balls were able to fit with this cut. A pink shirt was tucked into my pants under a navy blue sports jacket, and finished with lambskin loafers. I could hardly recognize myself, but I guessed that was the point. You had to dress the part to blend in.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” a skinny man wearing a white shirt and a maroon vest with gold embroidery greeted me when I walked up to the counter. Behind him was a floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall, giving me a vantage point of what was behind me.

“Bonjour,” I said, pushing the bridge of my sunglasses. I leaned on the counter when I reached him.

His name was Sebastian, according to his golden name plate. “American?” he asked, giggling.

“What gave me away?” I teased, flashing my brightest smile. “Was it my clothes?” I stepped back so he could check me out.

He shook his head.

“No? Was it my hair? Gotta be my hair.” I finger-combed my well-styled blond hair. “Tell me it’s my hair.”

He placed his hand over his lips. Another shake of his head. Sebastian was definitely gay and I knew then that I had him captive. “It’s your accent,” he explained.

“My sexy American accent?” I wet my lips with my tongue, leaning closer.

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