Page 92 of Sinfully His

That one was arguably the least graphic, but still made me blush so hard as I thought back to the things that he had done with my body and that damn candle.

He sent me pictures too.

Nothing as vulgar as a dick pic, though part of me was a little disappointed at that. Instead, he sent images that were less vulgar, but somehow so much more erotic.

I’d gotten pictures of the front of his pants, his belt along with the top button of his pants undone. His fist gripping the buckle of his belt as he pulled it from his slacks. Another with his hand gripping a candle, reminding me of the dirty things that he had done with those. Another of just his hand on a stone altar, his fingers splayed and bent like he was trying to grip onto the flat surface. Just like they were when he said my name as he came inside me after laying me on that cold stone slab.

Every time he sent me a text, or photo, I typed out a message, sometimes telling him to stop, other times begging him for more. I never sent them.

I kept thinking that maybe one day I would? Maybe one day my finger would slip and instead of hitting Delete, I’d hit Send.

It hadn’t happened yet.

Talking to Amelia last week, she mentioned he had come for dinner, and they had actually had a great time. Luc was even excited about getting his little brother back, but then, just like that, the next morning, he was gone. Back to Rome.

At least that explained why he was in such a similar time zone as me. I tried to forget him. I tried so hard to ignore his endless text messages and calls, and I just couldn’t. He was relentless, and I was so dependent on it. I even held my thumb over the button to block his number so many times, but I just couldn’t bring myself to push it.

I needed to end this chapter with him. This wasn’t healthy. Not just because he was a priest, that was enough. But I needed his messages too much. I actually got upset when I went more than a few hours without one.

It felt like I was in some kind of weird, one-sided relationship with my phone, but I wasn’t the one sending messages. I was the one refusing to respond.

London was supposed to help me move on without Father Manwarring. It was supposed to help me figure out who I was without his or anyone else’s influence. Still, so much of my life revolved around his unanswered text messages.

I slid my phone open and looked at his latest message.

You look beautiful.

I couldn’t help the smile that painted my lips. Even knowing that he wasn’t here, that he did not know what I looked like at this moment or even where I was. Still, the idea of him finding me beautiful made my heart skip a beat.

I put down my canvas and focused on my phone, cradling it in my lap as I typed out the response that I knew I would not send.

How do you know?

My thumb, like it always did, just hovered over the button, aching to press it and then moving to the Delete button. I hovered over that one too. Not ready to touch it.

This was ridiculous. If I didn’t respond, eventually he’d stop sending messages. But if I responded, didn’t that just encourage him? Didn’t I want to encourage him?

“Go ahead,” a deep voice said behind me. I sat up straighter, knowing that voice, my breath catching in my throat as I closed my eyes and prayed that I didn’t imagine it. “Press Send, angel.”

CHAPTER 39

THOMAS

She really looked so beautiful sitting there on her little blanket. Surrounded by a bottle of wine and small picnic with her canvas on her lap, her fair skin and dark hair contrasting with the muted colors of the cemetery in winter, she really looked like she should be the subject of a painting, not the actual artist.

She shifted to get up, and I stood in front of her, close enough to stop her from moving, so she stayed on her knees in front of me. Fuck, I loved her in that position, looking up at me with her big, innocent-looking green eyes.

I put my hand under her chin, tilting her head up so she met my eyes, and pressed my thumb to her lips. She immediately parted her lips for me, so my thumb was pressing between her teeth.

“You have been a very bad girl, angel. Running off like that.” I clicked my tongue as if I were disappointed. “What am I going to do with you?”

I took my thumb out of her mouth and ran it over her bottom lip, giving her permission to speak. Her eyes widened for a moment, then softened. She liked it when I took control. I just had to make her admit it.

“I had to—I had to get away from New York, from the expectations everyone—and you—had for me. I had to leave for my sanity.” The words rushed from her, and I knew she meant every single word.

“And why did you have to get away from me, little angel?”

“Because there’s no future with you,” she said with a sad shrug of her shoulders, her eyes casting down to the ground.

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