Page 55 of Unholy Obsession

But only once we’re home, and she’s half out of her mind with the wanting that only I can satisfy.

TWENTY-TWO

Two months later, two days before Christmas

MOIRA

Marci’sin one of herdelightfulmoods again. Lucinda’s still out, which means janitorial duty at the shelter is all mine.

Marci practically vibrated with joy when she handed me the mop and informed me about thecatastrophicbackup in stall three. If she’d been any giddier, she might’ve clicked her heels.

But Marci’s petty little victories can’t touch me today. Not when I’m still floating somewhere above the clouds, carried by theaftershocksof my morning with Bane.

Things have been different since I got back from what everyone atCarnalnow calls—without a hint of irony—the Red Wedding.

Isaak was in a bad situation, so we all banded together to get him out of it. Well, mostly, he did all the badassery, but we got him out of jail so he could go do his white knight shit.

It felt good.

Ifelt good.

And it feltevenbetter that when Quinn called about Isaak, Bane didn’t turn all caveman on me. He let me go, and he didn’t try to control the situation or insert himself into it like some overprotective asshole marking his territory.

Yeah, we like to fight—but only during sex.

I’ve never had anything like this before. I mean, obviously. I’ve never hadanythingwithanybodybefore.

But this morning, I woke up and justwatchedBane sleep. Felt the warmth of his solid, muscled torso pressed against me, his heavy man-arm slung over my waist like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

His face was turned slightly away, dark lashes casting delicate shadows on his sharp cheekbones. He looked almost… serene.Almost.

Because even in sleep, his mouth was tight, and a furrow was etched deep between his brows.

Like he was wrestling demons only he could see.

Not that he’ll tell me about them.

I frown as I push the wheeled mop and bucket toward the bathroom.

Wehaveto sleep at my apartment now. Not by choice but bydecree, courtesy of his bishop, who laid down the holy law after that little meeting of theirs.No sleepovers at the church-owned house.

Bane, ever the stickler for his twisted brand of honor, took it as gospel. No exceptions. No bending the rules. Not even for me.

But he’s still in my bed every night but Saturday.

Like he can’t help himself.

Like I’m gravity, and he’s cursed to fall. But not cursed enough to break all the rules. Not cursed enough to let me in all the way.

He knows everything about me but still won’t tell me shit about his past beyond the maddeningly vagueI wasn’t always a priest.

He hates lies but apparently doesn’t feel the same way about secrets. Because he’s a locked box.

Always in control. Except for those rare, feral moments when he fucks me like a man possessed.

I want to know what’s really going on in that infuriating, brilliant head of his.

While he slept this morning, I mouthed words too dangerous to ever say aloud against his hair. Words I barely let my lips form:Tell me you never want me to leave.

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