Page 41 of Church Girl
“That sounds great,” I say, praying the heat warming my throat and face isn’t visible. “Thank you.”
“You got it, boo. Be back.” She winks and struts out of the section.
“Whew.” Now that the server is no longer standing in front of me, I wave my hand in front of my flushed face.
If Daddy could see me now, he’d toss me into the baptismal pool and dunk me about six times. First leaving home, not answering his calls and now being attracted to another woman? I can just hear him preaching about being “of the world.”
Don’t get me wrong. I love God, and if it hadn’t been for my faith in Him to take care of me and provide a way—which He has—I don’t believe I would be here in Chicago.
It’s just the judgmental, exclusionary God my dad preached about didn’t match up with the loving, forgiving and compassionate one I worshipped.MyGod believed in free will, and that was something Bishop Montgomery didn’t subscribe to. Especially not with his family.
Speaking of...
Even though I shouldn’t, it’s like an unseen force lowers my hand to my phone and slides it out from under my thigh. Tamara would curse me out if she caught me right now. Which is why I furtively glance around before going to voice mail to hear the most recent of the many messages left by my family and ex-fiancé. Closing my eyes, I hold the cell up to my ear, physically and emotionally bracing myself.
“Aaliyah Renee Montgomery,” my father’s beautiful, deep, intimidating voice resounds in my ear. And the whole government nameagain. That’s never a good thing. “This is your father. Again. You are behaving immaturely by not answering your phone or returning messages, and I’m very disappointed. I raised you better than this. But with your recent actions, I’m not sure of who you are anymore or when you became a person who would purposefully break her promises, abandon her family and obligations, then worry her parents. You need to call me back as soon as you receive this. You’ve inconvenienced people long enough for this...rebellion. Send me your location immediately, young lady. I deserve more respect as your father and your bishop.”
Click.
I flinch at the sound of the recording ending, as if Dad had slammed the phone down in my ear.
Shame and hurt battle it out for dominance inside me, and it’s a draw. Both tear me apart, anddammit. I shouldn’t have listened. I knew what awaited me. But like a masochist, I had to hear what my father thinks of me. How he’s feeling toward me. And now...
I’m ungrateful.
Disrespectful.
Juvenile.
A coward.
Dropping the phone in my lap, I pinch the bridge of my nose, not caring about messing up the glitter or foundation Tamara applied to my face.
I don’t belong here. I have no business here. What kind of person leaves their parents—parents who have provided and cared for them all their life—worried and upset? I’m so weak I can’t even return a phone call—
“What’s wrong with you, ma?”
That familiar voice of gravel and mistakes reaches me mere seconds before his earthy scent, which reminds me of the oil used to shine the wooden, leather-padded pews in my grandfather’s old church out in the country. With my eyes closed, it’s more potent, more sensual. Only I could equate church pews with sex.
In somebody’s book, that has to be sacrilegious.
On a deep sigh, I lower my hand and open my eyes, meeting the sterling-gray ones belonging to Von. Immediately, my sex tingles, pulls tight. It’s like his very presence—one look—triggers a thirst response. Which make sense since the man is a walking thirst trap. Like right now, for instance.
He makes a simple black T-shirt, black jeans and boots seem like fashion couture exclusives. His braids appear fresh as does the edge up, and his thick, dark beard is nicely groomed and seems to glisten. The tattoos covering his neck, arms and hands only add to the visual buffet he is, and God, I’m hungry.
As he sinks to the couch beside me, my gaze lifts from his powerful thighs that flex with the movement, up over his wide chest, and finally lands on his wide, dangerously carnal mouth.
Key word:dangerously.
Heat whooshes through me like someone opened a door to the simmering flames in my belly, and a backdraft incinerates me from the inside out. One look at that beautiful, sinful mouth, and I’m dragged back to yesterday in his kitchen when those same lips snatched my soul. Even now, I feel the demand of his tongue surrounding mine, the teasing edge of his teeth over my ear. The cool glide of his lip piercing against my tongue.
The faintly intimidating and wholly devastating pressure of his...dick against my stomach. I’ve seen a naked penis before, have had one inside me. But what Von’s working with?
The logical, rational part of me wants no part of that thing. I like my insides arranged just the way they are, thank you very much. But the other part of me...okay, my vagina...literally weeps to be filled, stretched, pummeled. I’ve never been pummeled.
I so want it.
Swallowing past my suddenly tight, dry throat, I slide the tip of my tongue over my lips.
