Page 24 of Preacher Man
“Jake,” I said, voice trembling as I looked up into his face.
His smile softened.
“Yeah, baby?”
I didn’t say it.Couldn’t.My throat closed around the words like they were dangerous.
But he saw it anyway.Felt it.Knew it.
And when he leaned down and kissed me, slow, deep, and full of something too big for either of us to name, I let myself forget the world again.Just for a little while.
We kissed like we’d earned it.Like we deserved it.
And when his hand slid down, pushing the covers aside, and he settled between my thighs, skin on skin, body to body, I stopped thinking altogether.
There was no congregation.
No guilt.
No sin.
Just Jake.
His mouth on my skin.His hands worshipping me like I was holy after all.
And when he pressed inside me, slow and reverent, when we moved together in a rhythm as old as time, I didn’t feel wrong.I didn’t feel dirty.
I felt wanted.
* * *
The sanctuary was warm with early summer heat, despite the rickety old AC unit clanging away in the back like it was fighting for its life.A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I stood at the pulpit, one hand gripping the edges like they might keep me grounded.Safe.
God, I wasn’t safe.
Not from the truth.Not from the sin.
And definitely not from the man sitting in the very last pew.
Jake.
He was leaning back with one arm slung over the worn wooden bench, legs spread like he owned the room, his faded jeans riding low on his hips and his Sunday shirt clinging just tight enough to remind me of what lay beneath.His dark eyes, sharp, amused, and hungry, focused on me.Every time our gazes met, something electric passed between us, and I’d jerk my eyes away like I’d just been burned.
But they always found their way back.
God forgive me, I couldn’t stop looking at him.
He hadn’t been to church in years.Jake told me that himself the first night I stayed over, when I asked why he didn’t come to Sunday services.He’d laughed and said, “I ain’t got much use for holy places.Until now.”
And then he started showing up.Every week.Always in the last row.
Always for me.
I’d wanted to believe it was sweet.Romantic.Some kind of sign.
But now?
Now it felt dangerous.Like each time he walked through those double doors, he brought a spotlight with him.One aimed straight at my hidden sins.
