“We have to be discreet, cherie,” Arno whispers, and I nod as I gather up my skirts and he undoes his breeches. I am already wet and ready for him as he enters me, and I try not to let out such a loud sigh of pleasure as his slow, languid thrusts gain in intensity. Arno raises a finger to his lips; but I cannot help myself, and he stifles my moans beneath one hand as he supports me with the other. Outside the confessional booth, worshipers pass ignorant of what’s behind the curtain.