Page 59 of The Preachers' Promise
“Does Little Ghost need more orgasms?” I ask.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she sighs and presses herself against me, getting some relief for her poor, aching pussy. Yeah, it seems she does need more.
“Here, baby.” I pick up the wine glass and carefully offer her some. She sips at it and swallows.
Cain is hoovering his food up fast, like an animal, and I’m not sure if he’s just that hungry or he wants to eat quickly so we can get back to fucking.
Ophelia looks at Roman and smiles. “You have a fantasy about taking me while I sleep,” she says. “Do you want to know what mine is?”
He doesn’t speak at first but then gives a terse nod. He’s fighting it, but I know in the end his desire will win out over his messed-up sense of shame from what was done to him as a kid. None of it was his fault, and it makes me want to do violence. He’s scared Ophelia will ruin him, or he will ruin her, but I hope she’ll help us all heal.
Slowly, she looks to each of us in turn. “I have a fantasy about you all using me however you want.”
“Well, fuck,” Cain mutters.
Fuck, indeed.
“But first, I need to shower,” she adds. “And we all need to finish our meals.”
We inhale our food twice as quickly, even Roman, and Cain stands first. He pushes his stool back, stalks around the counter and plucks Ophelia off my lap. She squeals and kicks her feet, but she’s giggling, too.
“We can do the dishes later,” he growls. “First, we need to make your fantasy come true.”
I grab the wine bottle, and taking another swig, carry it upstairs with me as I follow them. Roman trails me, and halfway up the stairs, he grabs the bottle and takes a drink, too.
Ophelia is about to get just what she wished for.
29
OPHELIA
I’ve never felt so caredfor.
I don’t know what it is these men see in me that makes them want to surround me with their love and attention like this, but here they are. A part of me thinks they recognize the pain inside me, after everything I’ve gone through, but it isn’t only that. Cain and I had a connection long before I’d been taken and traumatized. It makes me wonder if I’d met Malachi and Roman when we were all still kids, too—before we were damaged—would we have all been friends?
I think we would.
I find myself yearning for a childhood none of us had; the four of us sharing picnics, and picking apples, and riding our bikes until dark.
That’ll be the childhood we give our children, I silently promise myself. No violence. No fear. No pain. Just peace and happiness.
With my arms around Cain’s neck, he carries me up the stairs.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks, a smile of his own on his lips as he looks down at my face.
“Nothing.” The last thing I want to do is to mention any thoughts about having children. He might run for the hills. None of us have even discussed being exclusive yet, even if Malachi says he loves me.
Cain dips down and grazes his lips over mine and brushes our noses together. My heart expands with joy at having this connection with him.
He locates the main bathroom, kicking open the door and carrying me in. There’s a free-standing tub, resting on checkered black-and-white floor tiles, and a double-wide shower with multiple jets. As I’d expect of this place, it’s a first-class setup.
“Run her a bath,” Cain instructs Malachi.
Mal turns on the faucet, the pummeling water hitting the porcelain like a waterfall as he rifles through all the various bottles until he finds what he’s looking for. He adds a good dollop of bubble bath to the water, and the scent of jasmine fills the air.
While the water fills the tub, Cain sets me on my feet.
“Arms up,” he instructs.
