Page 131 of Preacher Man

“Sometimes, bro, it’s the bad, the wicked and the downright fuckin’ strange that makes the most loyal people. I can’t say I knew any of you would work out at the time, but we made it through, didn’t we? It’s not all bad, Preach. And looks like you got someone good in your corner now?” He was talking about Ruby.

Preacher smiled a little, dropping his head he rubbed the back of it. Ruby was something damn good, he agreed.

“Is it selfish of me to want to keep her? You’ve seen me at my worst, Rider. Who the fuck would want that?”

Rider’s face was thoughtful as he answered. “It’s not always going to be that bad, you know that, right? It’s been a long time between your attacks. Don’t let the fear of what ifs drag you under, my brother. You see somethin’ good, you hold on with both hands like it’s the last thing you will ever do. It’s all any of us can do. Even shitheads like us deserve that.” He laughed lightly. “Least, that’s what I tell myself when I look at my sweet Icy. She calls me bad biker man because she knows exactly who I am and accepts me. Show Ruby exactly who you are and let her decide if she wants to keep your ugly mug around.”

Hold on with both hands. A small statement and yet it made perfect sense. Why hadn’t he thought of it?

Show Ruby, exactly who I am? Tell her what I do for the club? And if she walked away ... he’d fucking chase her down, pin her to the floor and fuck her into agreeing to keep him.

He kept that racy thought to himself as he discreetly adjusted his jeans under the table. Thoughts of her and getting into her only ever had one result.

Hold on with both hands. That though, he could do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"I will not jerk off. I will not jerk off. Oh, screw that..." - Slider.

How grand life would be if everything serious could just be swept under the carpet and never seen again. If only, yes, please and thank you with a bow on top for good measure. It had been a poor couple of days for Preacher, oh, not crazy-bad, he still had all his faculties about him, he wasn’t dribbling on the floor and choking invisible boogeymen, no more freak-outs, but now he’d opened the Shane box he was being battered in memories, it had him surly, moody, fucking sad, it didn’t help he’d gone to see his folks at the weekend and walked face first into the Shane shrine his mom had going on in the living room, a collection of photos ranging from high school up until the day he went off to the army in his uniform, a couple with his then girlfriend all loved up and happy. Shit, that shrine killed him, a razor-sharp knife to his guts spilling out. He’d forced himself to stand and look at it, his mom came up to his side, putting her arm around his waist, just standing silently with him like she knew not to say a word, then she’d just patted his chest and told him dinner was ready.

It was bad. But maybe easier at the same time. He’d faced it, even brought Shane up in a conversation around the dinner table, both of his parents looking at him like he’d swallowed a frog before his father cleared his throat and joined in.

It had been bad, but easier.

He’d opened the box, if he wanted to get better for himself, for his lady, he had to face it all, the good, the ugly, the downright painful, he was willing to face it all, to talk about it every fucking day if he had to, just so it didn’t creep up on him in the dark again. A series of dark pulses had gone through Preacher as he’d looked down at the photos of his happy brother, before the army, before the death, he hated regret of any kind, found it wasting most of the time, but this, he was going to have to allow the possibility into his brain that it was only ever going to be regret that he felt and accept it because in this circumstance, unless Ruby’s Jesus was coming to town to perform some resurrections, there was no going back and amending what had gone down. It happened and he would try to accept it. No other choices here. It wasn’t like picking a pizza, he didn’t like peppers so he’d have onions instead. Shane was dead and he couldn’t fix it.

He left his parent's place that day with a little less tightness in his chest.

“Come on, beautiful, let’s hear ‘em.” Leaning into her space, long fingers laced on the table between them, it was late, almost time for her to close the bar and to go home with him. He liked coming to pick her up from work.Not just fuck buddies.Preacher smiled to himself, catching the flavor of what Ruby was avoiding saying. For someone so outspoken as he was getting to know her to be she was awful secretive when it came to her own needs, shrugging her slim shoulders like she didn't have something very precise on her mind.

He wanted to take her mind away from the crap she continually dealt with from her sister, only last night he'd listened to the one-sided argument on the phone, and how exhausted she was once it was finished. He couldn’t take seeing her cry, and he knew she was worried about the kid.

They’d had each other countless times now, a personal record for a man who didn't usually go back for seconds once his zipper was back up. His Ruby was complex and addicting. She was a voracious clawing under his skin and fighting him about it at the same time with her little rules she enforced to the death. Gorgeous contradiction and he was loving their tug of war.

He really hungered for more from her. More than she would probably give but he’d decided to go with Rider’s advice and show her all of him, she could have all of him until she was ready.

"You can't shock me, beautiful if that's what you think. I've heard it all before."

“I just bet you have, perv.” She smirked.

They were talking sexual fantasies over a shared glass of bourbon they were passing between them. His lips touching where hers drank from.

She rose her lashes, those deep-set burnished eyes hitting him in the stomach where the lust lived. It gurgled and came to life.

Fuck, if she wasn't drop dead gorgeous.And mine.

A thousand times between her legs wouldn’t be nearly enough.

Preacher reached out and took her hand, stroked his thumb down her skinny fingers one at a time, brushed over her short neat nails, not like some women who grew claws the size of a bald eagle, her hands were functional, pretty. He traced the lines on her palm, followed up to the paper-thin veins on her inner wrist.

"Should I start? Okay. A fantasy of mine is a woman I am deeply into, like deep, deep, can't get enough of her in my mouth, her taste and flavor, that honey of when she comes for me, yeah her, I want her to tell me her dirtiest fantasy so I can make it happen. Because she knows I will."

Clarity and softness came into Ruby's eyes. He flashed her a toothy smile and arched his brow. Waiting.

"Smooth, Preacher man. Really smooth that." Amused, she dipped her head, did her own stroking on his hand. Their connection strong.

"Are you embarrassed by what you want?"

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