The Moment I Turn the Key Inside Him
I wait until Santino’s pulse practically vibrates in the air between us before I move. I turn as if to leave—slow, unhurried, soft-footed—the picture of innocence finally returning to where I belong.
But the moment I shift my weight—
He intercepts me.
Too fast.Far too instinctive.Too revealing.
His body cuts into my path like a shadow with intent. The collision is subtle, a brush of movement, but my shoulder grazes the firm line of his chest. Heat bursts through the thin fabric of my blouse, ricocheting straight down my spine.
Then—
My hair slips forward, brushing against his jaw.
That’s what breaks him.
I feel the snap in his body—not a flinch, not a flicker.
A full lockup.Rigid.Electric.
He inhales sharply, a fractured, strangled breath like the scent of me—rain, warm skin, the faint whisper of deception—hits him harder than a punch he didn’t see coming.
His throat works around a tight swallow.
Perfect.Devastating.Dangerous.
I keep my gaze lowered, lashes soft and angled down, feigning ignorance of the chaos detonating inside him. But my voice cuts clean through the charged silence, soft and wicked, crafted to hit his weakest point:
“Is it a sin to tempt a man of God, Father?”
His reaction is immediate and violent.
A hand flies up—
Harsh. Unrestrained. Not like a priest.
His fingers wrap around my wrist, hard enough that a small, startled gasp escapes my lips.
The world seems to stop.
His grip is rough, unrestrained.
His body is rigid with something he can’t swallow.
His breath breaks in the space between us like a barely contained snarl.
And beneath all that strength—
I feel it.
A tremor.
He’s strong, but shaking.Angry, but terrified.Desire and self-loathing locked together in his palm.
The moment holds, suspended like a fuse burning down.
Then his eyes widen.
