Ruin Me: A PriestMafia MM (Forgive Me Book 2) by Ariana Nash

Author:Ariana Nash [Nash, Ariana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crazy Ace Publishing
Published: 2024-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

Vitari woke alone with a blanket draped over him. The early morning sun was up and blazing through the windows. He tossed off the blanket, stretched, and peered from the back window. And there was Francis, filling buckets of water from the well. Shirtless. His pale skin gleamed in the low sunlight. He dunked his shirt and wrung it out. Then knelt, plunged his face into a bucket, and brought it out, spraying an arch of water all over.

How was this man still a part of Vitari’s life, when Francis was meant for better, greater things? It was probably out of some misguided attempt to save Vitari, but he’d take that excuse if he got to see him like this.

Torn between watching him or getting in on the washing action, the reek of his own body odor won out, and he approached Francis while he hauled up more fresh water from the well. Vitari shrugged off his own shirt and balled it up. Francis did a double take, then tried to pretend seeing Vitari’s bare chest hadn’t stopped his thoughts by staring at the bucket in front of him.

Francis’s chestnut hair, now wet, had darkened to a light brown. He’d slicked it back, making his face lean and unforgiving, even with a few damp curls. Only his little smile softened the severe appearance. That little smile twitched on seeing Vitari as he thought of something amusing.

Vitari opened his mouth to ask for the bucket.

A blast of cool water smacked him the face. He gasped, shocked breathless, reeled, then shook the water off with a laugh.

Francis grinned. “You needed it.”

“Some warning next time?” Vitari scooped up one of the full buckets, pretending to reach for it to dunk his shirt, then swung it up, from his low angle. The contents sloshed under Francis’s chin, knocking him backwards—toward the well.

Fuck!

Vitari lunged, caught him in his arms, and laughed. Francis spluttered, eyed the gaping well beside them, and laughed. “Saved your life, Padre.”

Hm, this was good—despite almost killing him. Francis was in his arms, wet and warm and chuckling. Vitari kissed his neck, unable to resist, tasting salt and dirt and not caring, especially when Francis hummed an agreeable sound as encouragement. They rocked, as though dancing to silent music, and Francis’s light laughs faded, turning to heavier gasps.

Vitari bumped him against the well and listened to his rapid breathing, kissed his chest where his heart raced. Francis’s fingers clutched at his hair. Vitari would never get enough of him, not if they spent days like this, weeks, years. It wouldn’t be enough.

Francis clutched at his hips, as though afraid to let go, as though at any moment this—whatever it was—might be ripped from them.

Vitari dropped his hand, molded his fingers to Francis’s hard dick through his trousers, and freed a growl. Fuck, every time Francis got hard, Vitari lost his mind to an animal need to own him.

“We can’t,” Francis moaned breathlessly. “I’m filthy.”

“I love filthy,” Vitari growled in his ear as he worked on Francis’s fly, jerking it open.

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