Page 32 of Preacher Man

Oh, Ruby. He smirked leaning his spine up against the steel drum they kept outside for old oil and grease.

"Legendary ... I like how you think of me, baby. If it's the end of the world maybe we should get to repopulating soon as possible, our duty, you know," he winked and watched her eyes roll even as they lit up with a smile. “Are you scared? You don’t have to be. I’ll be gentle. We’ll start with an entree first,” he smiled slowly, rocking forward on his boots.

"I'm Teflon, Preacher. No amount of flirting will work on me, you're wasting your best material, keep it for the bar girls. Really. I know you types like the chase and this is probably whetting your tongue like a wolf scenting raw meat, but I’m just not interested in dating."

It was just a second and he might have missed it had he looked away, but she gave him an up and down glance, that sexual checking out kinda look. Turning on her heels giving him the best view of that fan-fucking-tastic ass his mouth went bone-dry the same time his dick hardened in his overalls and she called out over her shoulder striding to her car. "Let me know about that bill and payment plan. Later, Preacher man."

“The liar really brings out the color in your eyes, tiny dancer.” He called out after her.

Damn. He just got his ass handed to him by the tiny dancer.

And he'd fucking loved it.

This woman was about as straight talking as they came.

Now she'd done it. Preacher could resist a lot of things, being put in his place, that was new. He fucking liked it.

Something like an unfettered feeling streaked through his body, not just the usual blast of lust, this was different, hotter, spreading to his fucking chest and beyond, owning him, taking over every vein and air way as he watched and hungered after her.

Preacher whistled a jaunty tune for the rest of the day looking forward to the next time they came together. In more ways than one.

******

Damn that man. He'd gripped her chin like he had the possessive right to with no sense of body boundaries. His touch had been warm and nice she'd almost leaned in and asked for more, for him to go on touching her, to run his gentle calloused fingers down the slope of her neck and maybe further still. Before she remembered she was the one in control here. His laugh had been low and explicit. How did a biker outlaw look sexy furling his eyebrows? The man was too much …everything.

Maybe she’d wanted him to take the decision from her and kiss the breath out of her. Maybe she was a little disappointed he hadn’t.

A thought couldn't muscle its way in without her thinking of how good his fingers had felt, or the sweet breath in her face when he'd got almost nose to nose like he'd been eating hard candy moments before she'd showed up.

Why couldn't he just take her damn money she didn't have and let it be the end of it? He wanted a date.Pah.

Well, that isn't happening Preacher.

Not because she’d punked out telling him she wanted to fuck him right now. Absolutely punked out. She’d seen the gawking crowd behind him, then zeroed in on how he’d watched her walk towards him and every inch of confidence dripped out of her until she was a shaking mess, it was a wonder she got a sensible word out at all. Instead, she'd cocked her hip, snarked and been utterly entranced by his show of flirting. The touching, the husky depths his voice had fallen to. Everything.

She wanted him. And still, she’d hesitated. Changed her mind five times.

It’s just sex.

His reputation was disreputable, and not just hearsay, though there was plenty of that with the girls at work swooning their panties off over how good he was in the sack --or up against a car door--- but she'd seen the proof herself. Why did he want a date if he was all about the fucking? That had thrown her right off her game.

Long game? He sensed Ruby wasn't a booty call kind of girl? She totally was. She wanted to fuck him and fuck him. Dating the Preacher man? No, thank you.

She’d stopped by to remind him of the bill and to let him know she wanted him. Punked out big time, her glands hated her.

Halfway to her apartment, her phone chimed. Her heart leaped into her throat.

P: 2:32 - dinner then?

Oh, Preacher. So, persistent. A small part of her smiled. Images of him banging that woman against her car, those deep sharp movements of his body, god, he looked like he was going to war when he fucked. Rough and hard. She continued to drive, clenching her thighs together the whole way. Rather than being turned off knowing what kind of man he was as any sane woman would be, those imagines were arousing, needing to feel the hard churn of his muscles, to know how he moved when it was her he was inside, how hard would he grab her, how rough would he thrust?

She replied bluntly.

R: 2:35 - NO. Sorry not sorry.

And still hoped he’d respond.

She was crazy. A lost cause. Wanting to get laid,obviously.

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