The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,100

the bible on Reuben’s nightstand. When it falls open in my hands a hard shiver courses through me.

Phrases in every sentence of every verse on every page have been highlighted.

I flip through, going faster and faster until I can’t make out anything but an orange blur, but still the odd phrase leaps out at me.

Subject to your masters

Sells his daughter

Lay with him

Great plague

Fiery lake

Seek death

Know that I am God

There’s a noise from the living area.

I snap the bible closed and hurriedly put it back on the nightstand, trying to adjust it the way I had found it. Then I grab my clothes, and dart out of Reuben’s room, fully expecting him to be standing there.

But thank the Lord, he’s not.

I release a noisy sigh, press a hand to my hammering heart, and let myself into the bathroom. After stripping down and folding my dirty clothes in a neat pile, I set Reuben’s blood-red rosary on top of everything. I’m not sure how many times wood can get wet before it starts warping or something but I’d rather not risk damaging it. Plus, I’m sure the water will eventually wash away its glorious smell.

The hot water feels sinfully good. I start lathering my hair, eyes squeezed shut so I don’t get shampoo in them. I’m just about to start rinsing when a hand slithers over my shoulders.

Reuben.

I bite the inside of my lip, half-mortified, half-jumping out of my skin with excitement.

I start to turn around, but then his hands sink into my hair and begin rinsing out the shampoo. It hurts when his fingers tangle in my wet hair, but my body still sparks to life—skin tingling, lips quivering, core tightening.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” I murmur, leaning into his touch.

Once my hair is rinsed, his hands slide down the back of my neck, returning to my shoulders. Strong thumbs sink deep into my flesh, applying pressure right on the precipice between pleasure and pain.

I groan at how magnificent it feels. At how right this moment is. It’s as if wild electricity sparks between us. If I hadn’t been drenched, I’m sure my arm hairs would be standing on end.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower. I really needed…” My words trail away as his hands move lower. He uses the flat of his hands to gently push me forward. On instinct, I put out my hands, bracing myself against the wall.

His knuckles dig into the flesh alongside my spine as he starts working his way down my wet skin.

One hand stays at the small of my back, working the muscles above my hips, the other slides down my ass.

Over the bruises Zachary gave me.

My breath catches at the faint thrum of pain he brings to the surface as he strokes my skin. Did Zachary tell Reuben about our deal last night? Apollo says they tell each other everything.

He squeezes my ass cheek.

I can’t help but groan at the deep-seated pleasure that pain forces into my core.

He lets out a strange sound, as if he’s holding back a groan of his own.

There’s a muted splash as he moves closer. Now both hands are on my ass. My heart stutters as his fingertips sink lower and lower.

“Wait.”

He stops.

“I’m not…I don’t think I’m ready for…for that.” My cheeks heat up at the admission. He must think I’m some kind of cock tease, letting him touch me and then pushing him away when—

His fingers wreath deep into my hair and he uses that grip to tilt my head back. Water streams over my face, some going up my nose. I splutter, starting to struggle, and then his mouth closes over mine.

Suddenly, the fact that I could drown doesn’t matter anymore. Eyes closed, heart thumping, I melt against him.

He tastes like toothpaste and something sweet—soda?—and his lips massage mine so expertly that I barely notice when he draws me against him again.

Until I feel his hard-on, of course. I gasp into his mouth, my eyes flickering open. Water pours into them, forcing them shut again.

This is ridiculous. He’s going to drown me.

“Let’s get out,” I whisper through his kisses, blubbering like a fish half the time.

In response, he reaches past me and turns down the faucet. Not all the way—water still patters over my face—but it’s more a gentle drizzle than a cloud break now.

His mouth is on mine before I can blink the water out of my eyes.

Lips so warm.

Slippery.

Demanding.

Holy hell, how can anything feel this good?

I lose myself to him. My lips open on