Page 56 of Daddy's Sinner

“You’re so fucking beautiful sucking cock.” Her eyes flutter shut, a soft moan vibrating deep within her—I swear I feel it against me.

“You should see how beautiful I am taking dick,” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. I laugh, something that comes so easily with her—one of the many reasons why I love her in my own twisted way. But love, nonetheless.

Yanking the veil off her head, her coils cascade down her waist. I fist her hair, pulling her close, helping her straddle me as I crash my lips into hers. A soft sigh escapes her as my tongue finds hers. My hands work to hike her habit up to her waist, her hand guiding me to her entrance. I deepen the kiss as I feel her cunt swallow me in. Slowly, she impales herself, breaking away from our kiss, her head falling back. Her hips rotate to ease me deeper—the sensation of her around me is divine.

“Matheo,” she gasps as my hips move in sync with hers, each thrust driving me deeper.

“Marisol,” I breathe in return, my hands roaming over the curve of her waist, feeling the fabric of her habit brush against my fingers. Her breathy moans are like a siren call, urging me on. My grip tightens as I watch the divine pleasure cross her face. The small vein on her forehead is visible under the flickering glow of the candles. The sight is beautiful, sinful, forbidden—and I love every second of it.

She closes her eyes, lost in the sensation. I watch as she bites her lower lip, stifling a moan. It’s a sight that sends a jolt straight to my core. We won’t last long, not when it’s like this. Slow. Passionate. Here.

God made our paths cross for a reason. Whether it’s damnation or salvation, it’s all the same to me. She saved me, and at the same time, she damned me. Yet I welcome it with open arms if it means I get to keep her. Leaning forward, I capture her lips again, my hand moving down to grip her ass. I lift her up and down on my length, driving her crazy. Her moans echo throughout the empty church as my lips leave hers, traveling down her throat. Fuck, she’s wearing too much clothing still—not that it matters right now, but I want more. I’ll always want more.

“Follow me, Matheo. Come with me,” she breathes.

“Lead the way, little demon. I’ll follow.” And that’s when her hips really start to move. There’s no more slow passion; it's a raw, hungry need.

I lean back now, watching her as she takes what’s hers. She takes control of our pleasure, driving us both straight over the edge, plummeting us into a sinful climax.

I can’t tear my eyes from the sight of her—beautiful, sacred, untamed. “Now let’s go deliver penance, Matheo.”

Dove

After our little sinful session at the church, it was time for the real action. Our true worship. Our God's work. Now in the safety of our home, I look at Matheo and smile as he throws on a black hoodie over his tattooed torso, winking at me as he flips up the hood. He's the picture of anarchy, a devil masquerader. The perfect partner for our divine mission.

“You think she’ll be alone tonight?” I ask him as I slip into black leggings. After New Mexico, God’s work is done Matheo’s way. No man besides him could touch me, could see me naked. And honestly, I liked it this way. Just him and me. Dove and the Sinner.

"Of course," Matheo croons, the corners of his mouth curling into a wolf's grin. "Our demon is predictable." He tosses me my own hoodie, the one with the crimson cross emblazoned on the back.

I catch it midair and pull it over my head. “What do you think she did with the bodies?” I ask as I adjust the hoodie, glancing at him.

Matheo shrugs as he tucks a gun into the waistband at the small of his back, a silver crucifix attached to its handle gleaming under the incandescent kitchen light. “Unimportant,” he murmurs as he tightens his shoelaces. “The living concern us more than the dead.”

I nod, pulling my long, curly hair out from under the hoodie and tying it back into a messy bun. “Do you think that kid is still alive? Noah?”

Matheo lets out a long breath as he runs his hand down his face, his eyes darkening. “I’d hope so, but who knows. You know the deal, Marisol. In and out. Quick and messy.”

I smile, nodding in agreement. Matheo smirks, offering his hand. “Come, let’s go. If I’m right, she’s busy killing or about to. Let’s go send that demon back to hell.”

I accept his hand, entwining my fingers with his as we exit our haven. Our car, a worn-out '65 Mustang, beckons from the driveway. Matheo holds the door open for me to slide in, then walks around to the driver's side with a swagger in his step that only he could pull off. He turns over the engine, and the Mustang roars to life, the growl of its inner beast echoing our own determination. As the car's headlights cut through the darkness of the evening, Matheo's hand finds mine again, his knuckles gently brushing against my thigh.

“You’re perfect for me, you know that” he says, his voice low and sincere.

I smile, kissing his hand. “I knew that from the moment you walked into that bookstore that afternoon. You were mine, and I was yours.”

My body hums with anticipation; nothing arouses or excites me as much as Matheo or the thrill of the kill. Clenching my free hand, I picture the sinner’s blood coating it. “Before we deliver penance, we have to find some answers. I want those bodies back where they belong. It’s not right—the parents deserve to grieve.”

Matheo nods, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. We drive in silence, holding hands as we make our way to deliver punishment.

The dashboard light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity etched in his brows. The streets become a blur as we speed through, the city's pulse echoing ours. The Mustang roars down the highway, its engine’s rhythm mingling with the staccato beat of our hearts. It feels like forever before we arrive at the isolated home of the sinner, Sarah.

Death. All I feel here is death, and that confirms she’s a sinner. I glance at Matheo, who stares at the house, scanning the area.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, feeling the adrenaline begin to course through my veins. We slip out of the car and find Sarah in the middle of dismembering a body down in the basement. We’re too late.

Matheo breaks away from me, and I watch him work with stealth—the bitch never saw him coming until he was upon her, a shadow sprung to life. His movements are swift and ruthless, like a predator in the wild. There’s an eerie beauty in his violence.

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