Chapter 22

Evangelina

His words are so filthy. How can a priest talk this way?

I try not to think about the past or future, or heaven and hell, I focus on the here and now. The way he makes me come alive with just one touch. It’s sinful.

I position myself over his face, and slide down.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but it feels too good to stop. I don’t want to ever stop, and from the way Benedict swipes his tongue over me, I don’t think he wants me to stop either.

The way he looks at me makes my insides flame red-hot.

He grips onto my hips, pulling me down until I’m grinding my body against his face. I’m almost embarrassed, but the way Benedict groans and uses his tongue on me makes the feeling vanish in an instant.

He pushes and pulls at my hips, grinding me onto his face, and my head falls back, my long hair nearly touching my ass. I’m so turned on. I can’t think about how wrong this is. I can’t think about how I’ll probably end up in Hell for this. Right now the feeling is too good to think about anything but this.

His tongue keeps working me over, his focus on my clit. It makes my body build and build toward that inevitable release. I keep rocking, grinding, riding his face until my whole body feels like it’s going to lift off.

Benedict keeps working me over, and I swear I can’t believe this is truly happening. I’ve never in my life felt anything this amazing before.

It’s mind-numbing, and all my problems drift away as I focus on the way he’s making me feel.

“Good girl,” he whispers before using his fingers on me. He lifts me up, causing me to stand as he repositions us. He lays me flat on my back on the couch. “Spread those long legs for me, Eva.”

I do as he asks as his eyes glaze over. He resumes his position between my legs and laps at my overheated skin. He tosses my legs over his shoulders, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Oh Benedict,” I call out, feeling my body gaining speed, moving closer toward my orgasm. My body’s nearly lost control as he eats me out like a man starved. I keep grinding, my body writhing beneath him. “I’m so close,” I moan.

He lifts his head slightly, working his fingers through my slippery folds. “That’s it. Come for me like the little slut you are.”

I don’t know what it is about his dirty mouth, but I love it. I close my eyes once more, my body climbing, climbing…nearly there. “Oh,” I moan long and hard. “Please,” I beg.

“Look at me,” he demands, and my eyes snap open.

Our eyes connect, and I can feel something growing between us. Something monumental, and I know nothing will ever be the same between us ever again.

I don’t know what the future holds, and the thought almost terrifies me, but looking into Benedict’s eyes right now, a sense of calm washes over me.

He continues to work his fingers inside me, scissoring them until they have me bucking insanely. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he whispers. “And you taste like mine .”

It’s the second time he’s said this, but I can’t put any real thought into what it means right now. Not when my body’s literally about to combust. He hooks his finger deep inside me, and leans back over to suck on my clit, and that’s all it takes to have me calling out his name in a fit of pure ecstasy.

I keep coming, my body unable to get it together. My nerve endings are buzzing with an electricity it’s never felt before.

As soon as my body’s calmed Benedict kneels between my legs, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I need to come, Eva,” he says, his voice strained and threadbare. He almost appears like he’s in great pain, and I sit up.

I want to kiss him again. “Do it,” I whisper.

He unzips his pants, pulling himself out, and I nearly have to do a double take at the size of him. That thing can’t be legal, can it?

“Lean back,” he says, stroking his massive dick with one hand. With his other he brings it to my pussy, sliding a finger back inside me. “I love the way your hot cunt grips my finger. So tight.”

I want to feel him inside me, but don’t know how to ask for it. Instead I keep moaning, unable to focus on anything but the sight of him jerking himself off.

He closes his eyes for a quick moment, savoring the feel of it all. “I want to bury my cock inside you, Eva. Do you want that?” His eyes bore into mine, like he’s pleading for it. Like he needs it more than the air he breathes.

“Do it,” I say again, giving him all the permissions he could ever need.

He shakes his head, moving over my body. “Take off the sweater. I’m going to come all over your tits.”

I immediately do as he asks, and lay back once the sweater has been thrown to the floor. I’ve got no bra on, and Benedict picks up speed as he stares at my breasts. He leans forward, still tugging at his cock as he opens his mouth over one of my breasts. His tongue traces around my nipple before he’s biting down on my skin.

“Ah,” I whisper. I grab onto his head, my fingers brushing through his dark strands. “Please fuck me,” I beg of him. “Please. I need you inside me.”

His hand keeps stroking his dick as he plays with my breasts, licking, nibbling, sucking on both of them, one at a time.

“I’d give anything to feel you inside me. I’d sell my soul for it,” I keep pleading. “Please, Benedict.”

He moves away from my breasts, his eyes locking with mine. “When I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to take my time with you. Cherish you. Devour you.”

“You already are,” I whine. “Please fuck me, Benedict.” I’m not sure why he won’t. I try to touch him, but he swats my hand away.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?” What reason could he possibly have for not fucking me? Does he regret this? Will he regret me more if we do have sex?

Without warning tears well in my eyes at his rejection.

He smooths his hand over my hair, my face, resting on the base of my throat. “I’m already so far gone, Eva. When I come inside you I know it’ll be the end of me.”

I don’t know what he means, and don’t question him because he starts jerking his dick harder as the spray of white cum covers my skin. He keeps tugging, the hot liquid landing on my chest.

His eyes watch with rapt fascination at the way he covers my breasts with his cum. He smears his hand through it, gathering the liquid on his two fingers. He brings his fingers to my lips, pushing against my mouth.

“Open wide,” he says, and I do.

I suck him clean like he did at the club. I keep sucking his fingers, deeper into my mouth as he watches, his blue eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re so beautiful when you suck on me. I can’t wait to watch you take my dick in this hot mouth of yours.”

I nod, letting him know I will.

I’m realizing I’m his slut, willing to do whatever he asks. Ready to beg. Ready to do anything for him.

And I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.

The pulsating lights of the club nearly blind me as I step inside the following Tuesday, the strobe casting flashes of neon across the crowded room. The bass-heavy music rattles my bones, the beat thrumming through the soles of my shoes as I settle into my usual station. My wig is securely in place, the raven-black strands falling perfectly in line, and my body moves automatically through the familiar motions of the night. But everything in me goes on high alert the moment I spot the Delgados slipping through the entrance.

They glide in with their usual air of untouchable wealth and power, the kind that makes people shrink back in their presence. My heart picks up speed, knowing what their arrival could mean. Tonight, Benedict’s plan is looser—he’s playing it by ear, keeping his distance unless Lazarus personally invites him into the room. He won’t push, won’t assume he’s earned a seat at the table yet.

I scan the room and spot him standing by the staircase, his tall figure leaning against the railing like he belongs there. His eyes darken, scanning the crowd with the sharpness of a predator, always watching, always waiting. I cross the club's tiled floor, weaving between bodies, the sticky scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. When I reach him, I place a hand on his arm, my voice low as I lean in.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, my eyes darting around the room for any sign of Lazarus or his crew.

Benedict’s jaw clenches, his gaze still focused on the crowd. “Hopefully we can learn something about Gregory tonight. See if they did in fact kill him.” His voice is steady, but there’s an underlying tension there, a silent hope that tonight will bring answers.

A shiver runs down my spine at the mention of Gregory Saunders—the accountant whose name has haunted us both since the news of his death broke. The idea that the Delgados might be responsible gnaws at me, but before I can reply, something else catches my eye. My blood turns to ice as I spot a familiar figure strolling into the club, right beside Lazarus, like he’s a part of their world.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding music.

Benedict turns toward me, his sharp eyes narrowing in concern. “What is it?”

My throat tightens, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. The man walking with Lazarus, laughing and shaking hands like he belongs there.

“Christopher,” I breathe, my chest tightening as my ex-husband steps deeper into the club, his presence a tidal wave that threatens to drown me in memories I thought I’d buried.

“That’s him?” Benedict’s voice cuts through the chaos around us, sharp and controlled.

I nod, but my mind is spinning, my thoughts a mess of panic and disbelief. What are the odds? Out of all the places, all the nights, he had to show up here. There’s no way I can work the Delgado party now—not with Christopher in the same room. He’ll recognize me, no matter how much I’ve put into my disguise.

“I should get out of here,” I mutter, my voice shaky as the reality of the situation sinks in.

“Upstairs. The surveillance room. Now,” Benedict commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. There’s an urgency in his voice that matches the pounding in my chest, his body tense beside me.

I turn to leave, but it’s already too late. Christopher’s eyes lock onto mine from across the club, a brief moment of recognition flickering in his gaze. My heart stutters in my chest as time seems to freeze around us, the flashing lights and the pulsing music fading into the background. I can’t tell if he truly recognizes me or if it’s just a fleeting look, a trick of the low lighting. But I don’t give him the chance to figure it out.

Panic surges through me, and without a second thought, I bolt.

I fly up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time, my legs burning with the effort. The noise of the club fades behind me as I ascend, my focus narrowing to the door ahead—the door that leads to the surveillance room where I’ll be safe, hidden, out of Christopher’s line of sight.

I burst through the door, the cold air inside hitting me like a wave as I lean against the wall, my chest heaving with exertion. The surveillance room is quiet, the hum of electronics the only sound as I try to catch my breath. Safe. For now. But the lingering fear stays with me. What if he knows? What if he comes looking for me?

Benedict arrives seconds later, his expression dark and unreadable. “Did he see you?”

“I don’t know,” I breathe, my voice trembling. “But I can’t stay out there.”

“No, you definitely can’t.” Benedict strides toward the bank of surveillance screens, his fingers hovering over the controls as he scans for any sign of the Delgado party. His brow furrows in concentration, and the soft glow of the monitors casts shadows across his sharp features. “Maybe it’s best for tonight we both stay out of sight.”

I nod, the knot in my chest tightening with every second. “Yes. Good idea,” I agree, moving closer to the monitors, my eyes scanning the footage as if the answers are hidden there. “What do you think he’s doing here?” My voice is soft and quiet.

Benedict glances at me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—a hesitation, like he’s holding back. It’s subtle, but I catch it, and my stomach twists. He knows something. Something he’s not saying.

My mind starts racing, trying to piece together the scattered puzzle of information. Christopher was involved with Gregory Saunders—of that I’m sure. And Gregory Saunders was connected to the Delgados. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that Christopher is, too. But why? How deep does this go?

The realization hits me like a sledgehammer, the weight of it knocking the breath from my lungs. My eyes widen as the truth slams into me. Of course. It’s all connected. Saunders’ death, Christopher’s sudden appearance. It’s not a coincidence.

“Well, we know Christopher knew Gregory Saunders,” I whisper, the words barely audible. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the walls closing in as the gravity of the situation sinks in. “He could know the Delgados too.”

Benedict turns fully toward me now, his expression more serious than ever. He doesn’t have to say anything. His silence speaks volumes. He knew this, or at least suspected it. The cold, hard truth of it sits between us, and I feel the ground shift beneath my feet.

I want to drown in the flood of possibilities, to lose myself in the endless questions swirling in my mind. How long has this been going on? How much does Christopher know? And most terrifying of all… what does this mean for me?

“I need answers,” I mutter, my voice shaking. But I don’t know where to begin.