Preacher

by Madison Faye

  I clear my throat. “Delilah,” I call a little louder. “Do you renounce Satan and his wicked ways?”

  “I do!” she gasps.

  “Then come.”

  …I swear my dick gets a little harder when I say that. I never claimed to be anything less than wicked as hell though, so, sue me.

  “Come and be cleansed.”

  I dip her under, and she squirms against my hands. And then, it happens. She must lose her footing on the bottom of the tub or something, because suddenly, she falters. She scrambles and scrabbles as she about slips out of my hands. But I move fast, and I grab her tight and lift her out of the water sputtering and gasping…

  …Right against me. I’ve got her in my arms, and she’s clinging to my biceps. We’re both soaking wet, and she’s pressed right against me. I can feel her warm, soft body pressing to me, and I groan when I feel the hard, eager points of her nipples against my chest. My cock throbs, and suddenly, Delilah gasps.

  She looks up at me, her face bright red and her mouth open, with those big blue eyes looking so fucking scandalized. And I can tell in half a second that she knows. She’s felt my erection hard against her stomach, and she fucking knows that I’m no saintly, pure-intentioned man. My cock’s given me up as the wicked, lust-filled sinner I really am, and she fucking knows it.

  I pause. I freeze like that, just holding her close and waiting for her to scream. I’m just waiting for her to jump away and tell them all what I really am, and for daddy Jedediah to whip out his shotgun and blow me to kingdom-come.

  But then, nothing happens. Her eyes hold mine, and her hands cling to me, and her breath catches. But she doesn’t say a word. She wets her lips, and I feel her chest rise and fall against mine. She swallows, her cheeks going pink.

  I clear my throat, and suddenly reality comes rushing back to me. I remember where I am, and I quickly stand upright and steady her on her own feet. My hands drop from her, and I recognize the emotion that comes with letting go of her: regret. Regret, and anger that these hands aren’t holding her any longer.

  Delilah blushes deep and steadies herself. She looks away quickly, smoothing her dress out before she suddenly gasps. I follow her gaze, and I groan. Her dress is so fucking see-through that I can see her little pink nipples, plain as fucking day, right through it. My cock surges, and the wolf under my sheep disguise howls.

  She blushes fiercely and quickly wraps her arms over her chest. Her eyes dart up to look at mine again, wavering as she tries to keep them there. But then she looks away, and her face grows even hotter.

  Jedediah chuckles, and for the first time in what must be five whole minutes, I let go of the air in my lungs.

  “Well dang, honey!” he laughs. “You know Gabriel here is there to lower you in, honey. You don’t gotta jump in yourself!”

  A few other people around him laugh good-naturedly. Delilah forces herself to laugh too, but it’s hollow. She blushes fiercely, and her arms tighten around herself. She looks up at me once more, her eyes blazing with… something. But then she looks away, and quickly wades to the stairs and climbs out of the tub.

  Get your shit together, I groan to myself. I take a breath and stand tall. Thank fucking God the water is covering my still throbbing hard, massive erection.

  “Well, folks!” I beam at them. “I’m afraid that concludes services today!”

  And if one of you could please tell me if I can buy booze in this fucking town because I need to get drunk, immediately, that would be great.

  “Please tell your friends and neighbors that all are welcomed, and that I’ll be here for the rest of the week!”

  There’s a chorus of hallelujahs and amens and people saying, “Bless you, Preacher Gabriel,” and then they start to disperse back across the field to their cars.

  But Jedediah and Delilah stay. I swallow thickly as he approaches me looking stern, me still standing in the tub.

  “Preacher?” he growls. I freeze. Fuck. For a second, I wonder if in the few seconds while I was addressing the crowd, she’s told him what happened. I steel myself, and I start to calculate how fast I could jump out of this tub, get in the Winnebago, lock the door, and start the engine. But then Jedediah grins.

  “Sir, we’re real pleased that you’re here in Canaan.”

  “Why thank you kindly, Mr…”

  “Somerset,” he reminds me.

  “Of course, and you’re quite welcome, Mr. Somerset.”

  Don’t look at his daughter. Don’t look at his daughter.

  “Oh, heck, it’s just Jeb, preacher.”

  I smile. “Of course, Jeb. And it’s just Gabriel. I do hope to see you throughout the week.”

  He grins. “Well, preacher,” he says, completely ignoring that Gabriel bit. “Of course we will be, but I was curious what you were doing for grub tonight?”

  “Papa…”

  Delilah steps forward with a worried look on her face, her arms still crossed over her chest. But Jeb just smiles and turns to pat her shoulder before looking back at me.

  “The wife and I would surely love to have you to the house for Sunday dinner. It’d be our honor to break bread with you.”

  My dinner plans consist of instant ramen noodles form the Winnebago’s microwave and as much whiskey as I can get my fucking hands on. Needless to say, interests are piqued. But then, my eyes swivel past him, to Delilah. Dripping wet, gorgeous as hell, sexy as fucking original sin Delilah. And he wants to invite me, the wolf, into his house? Oh this is a terrible idea.

  I smile and shake my head. “I do thank you, sir, but respectfully—”

  “Aww, please, preacher? It’d mean the world to me and the missus. Plus, our son, Paul, is actually a divinity school man, and he’s looking to start his own church. It’d make his whole month if you’d give him some encouragement. Oh, and Delilah here,” he beams. “Well, I know she’d love a chance to hear an honest man of God speak His word while we sup.”

  I groan. Shit. Shit shit shit. This is a terrible idea. I need to say no, and I need to just keep my damn distance from this girl for the next week. But then Jeb reaches out and takes my damn hands in his.

  “Please, preacher?”

  God fucking damnit. I’m getting soft in my years.

  I beam at him. “But of course, sir. I’d be my absolute pleasure.”

  He grins. “Well hot damn!” Instantly, he covers his mouth. “My apologies, preacher.”

  I stop myself from saying “No fucking problem,” but I just grin instead and tell him it’s fine.

  “Seven okay for you? We’re forty-seven Ridge Street, just through downtown past the post office. It’s the white house with the blue door.”

  “Well I’ll be seeing you then, Jeb,” I smile. “And I thank you kindly.”

  Jeb grins, but Delilah is standing behind him, shifting on her feet nervously and definitely avoiding my eyes. This is a very, very bad idea. Beyond the fact that I want to rip that dress off, bend her over the edge of this tub, and fuck this girl silly, there’s the very real thought that she might crack in the middle of dinner and out me for the sinner I am. We might be halfway through a pot roast when she decides to tell the whole damn Somerset family that Preacher Gabriel’s big cock was hard when he laid hands on her in the baptism tank.

  “See you then, preacher.”

  Jeb shakes my hand and whirls, and then he’s off before I can say a damn thing or take back my agreement. Shit. I watch the two of them walk away back across the field, wondering how the hell I can get out of this without looking like a dipshit.

  But suddenly, Delilah stops, and she turns back. It’s only fleeting, but her eyes land on mine, and when she realizes I’ve been looking at her, she blushes hotly. The sun catches her dress and shines right through the transparent damn thing, and for a second, I can see everything. I can see ever curve of her body with the translucent white dress glowing around her. And my cock throbs thick and hard all over again.

  She blushes deeply, her eyes spar
k again, and then she quickly turns back and runs to catch up with her father.

  Fuck.

  She was never part of the plan, and this is temptation I never saw coming. I watch her walk back across that field with the Georgia sun glowing around her, and I groan.

  She’s temptation, all right. She’s goddamn original sin, incarnate. She’s the fucking apple in the garden, and God help me, I’m going to eat her whole.

  Chapter Four

  Delilah

  “Lord that smells good, Christina.”

  My father beams as he sticks his head into the steaming kitchen full of bubbling, simmering pots. My mama flashes him a smile, but her face is tense. “Well, I wish we’d discussed it first before you invited a preacher over for dinner, Jeb,” she says with concern. She frowns and bustles past me, checking the gravy, peeping into the oven at the roast, and quick-stirring the green beans simmering in butter and sugar in a pan.

  “I mean, he lives in a Winnebago,” I shrug. “I’m sure it’s going to be—”

  “Delilah May!” my mother says in a shocked, scandalized way. She brandishes a wooden spoon at me. “Don’t you dare speak of a man of God like that! Preacher Gabriel has humbled himself before the Lord in order that he may travel this great country spreading His word!”

  “Yeah, jeez, a little charity, Lah-lah,” Paul, my older brother, throws in from the other room.

  “Paul, shut up.”

  He chuckles and my mother even cracks a grin. But papa frowns.

  “Alright, that’s enough of that. Paul, call your sister by her God-given name, please. And Delilah, honey, please show a little respect for a wonderful, pious, and Godly man like Gabriel. Christina, sweetheart, the roast smells divine, and he’s going to love every bite of it, just like we all are.” He smiles and crosses the kitchen to kiss my mother’s cheek before he ducks back out.

  A wonderful, pious, and Godly man. Yeah, right. They’re all so excited for Gabriel to come for dinner, even the perpetually sullen Paul. And they all see him exactly how they want to see him, and how I’m willing to bet he’s gone to great trouble to make them see him.

  …But I know.

  I know what they don’t know. I shiver at the memory, and again, that horrible, forbidden, wicked heat wells upside me before I tamp it down like rogue campfire. No. Lord, no. Gabriel isn’t a good man. He’s not a Godly man, that’s for darn sure. He’s… wicked. And sinful. I shiver again as my mind goes back to the baptism tub. I think about his big hands on me and helping me under. But then I remember slipping, and falling into him, and suddenly, I remember… it.

  My face goes red, and I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I stir the gravy. I remember what I felt when I fell against this “pious man of God.” I remember what throbbed against me, under the water, sending sin blazing through my core.

  …Men of God don’t get erections when spreading His word. They don’t get aroused while baptizing their flock.

  I shiver, and another voice in me says that good Christian girls don’t get excited either when they do feel something like that pressing against them. I quickly blush and swallow the thought back, trying to take a breath.

  What I felt today is something I’ve never felt before. But I know what it is. Canaan might be bit more conservative and religious than other places in this country—I mean, I don’t live in a bubble, and I do have an iPhone, and the internet. But while we might be a bit more old-fashioned down here, we do learn about, well, the anatomy of conception in school. I know that men get… hard, uh, down there, when they’re aroused. But I also know darn well that a preacher should not be getting like that in the middle of a baptism.

  And you shouldn’t be so excited about it, the voice in my head spits back. I want to deny it, or claim that I’m just incensed, or scandalized. But those aren’t really the right words for it, and I’ve sinned enough today without adding lying to the mix.

  No, the word is “excited,” even as horrible as that is. I was excited when I fell into the roguishly handsome, sinfully good-looking man with the broad shoulders, big hands, and tantalizingly wicked tattoo ink. The man with the dark hair, the square jaw, and the piercing blue eyes that looked right into my very soul.

  But, my own sins of faltering into the temptations of the flesh aside, I know what the rest of my family doesn’t: that Preacher Gabriel Marsden is a wicked, sinful man. I even wonder if he’s a preacher at all.

  The spoon in my hand stirs the gravy on autopilot as I slip deeper into my thoughts, and of thinking of Gabriel. I’ve never felt this scandalized before. But the worst part of it is, it’s not an altogether unwanted scandal. It’s like the feelings of the forbidden that his touch today brought out in me are something I want more of. But I quickly try and squash them down yet again.

  No. I’ve had thoughts like that before and felt the things they do to my body and my soul before. Sinful, horrible things, too. I’m ashamed to say I’ve given in to them before, too, on occasion. There’ve been times when the wickedness of my own mind was too powerful, and I… well, I touched myself, there, because of them.

  Thankfully, every time that’s happened, I’ve managed to pull myself back from the brink of damnation. But those other times, we still had a church in town. Those other times, I could run there on Sunday and soak in His holy spirit and Word and read the passages chosen for the day as hard as I could in order to cleanse the wickedness from my heart.

  But there’s no church in Canaan anymore, after Pastor Michaels took the job in Athens and the rickety building he was holding services in here was finally deemed unsafe. The only church is the one we infrequently go to in Huntington Parish. And now, the only one in town is his—Gabriel Marsden’s wicked Church of Carnal Sin and Eternal Damnation.

  “Delilah!”

  I snap out of it and gasp at my mother’s call. I look down and realize I’ve forgotten to keep stirring, and the gravy is getting too thick.

  “Sorry, mama,” I mutter and keep stirring, bringing it back to creaminess just in time.

  I frown. See, these are not the sort of thoughts a preacher should be instilling in his flock. And yet, this is the very man who’s coming to freaking dinner at our house, tonight. The man doesn’t instill righteousness and Godliness in me. The thoughts in my head are wicked, sinful ones, and he’s the one who’s put them there.

  As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and my heart skips a beat.

  “Honey, would you get that?” my mother says from the dining room where she’s setting out plates.

  My gut clenches, and a horrible, heated, devilishly wicked feeling of excitement washes over me before I can stop it. I swallow thickly, my throat tightening, when suddenly my father saves me.

  “Oh, I’ll get it, dear.”

  Thanks goodness. The idea of opening my front door to him, and facing him after earlier is… well, it’s either an entirely mortifying or an entirely far too exciting thought. Perhaps both, which is even worse.

  I hear the door swing wide, and my father warmly greeting the wicked preacher himself.

  “Come in! Come in, preacher!”

  The door shuts, and I can hear the sound of my father ushering him into the house and then into the dining room off the kitchen.

  “Delilah?” my mother arches her brow and pantomimes brushing her hair.

  “Huh?”

  She smiles. “Your hair, dear. Just tuck it back.”

  “Right, yeah,” I mumble, doing just that. I feel my face burn as I follow my mother into the dining room, and I keep my eyes to the floor.

  “Welcome to our home, Preacher Gabriel!” my mother says warmly. She elbows me, and I finally relent, and I look up.

  …And nothing happens. No instant eternal damnation. No fire, or Godly smiting. In fact, Preacher Gabriel is standing there smiling at all of us, and then at me, as if nothing happened. There isn’t a single freaking trace of what happened earlier on his face. Not a hair of recognition, or a flicker, or anything. I even frown and st
are at his devilishly handsome face a bit longer than I should. But it’s clean—a blank slate with nothing but a charming, wholesome smile on his extremely handsome face.

  It’s nothing like the last look earlier, when I was walking back across that field, soaking wet and burning with heat. I looked back to see him staring right at me from his little camp—looking at me like that. Like no man has ever looked at me before. That look was pure fire and hunger, and it’s been seared into my mind ever since, burning and scorching me from the inside out.

  This time, though, it’s just a warm, preacher smile. Part of me feels awful that I’m actually maybe a little disappointed about that.

  “It’s so good to see you both again,” Gabriel says warningly, shaking my father’s hand vigorously. “And an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Somerset. Well Lordy, I almost thought Delilah here had a sister I hadn’t heard about!”

  My mother giggles shyly and waves her hand at Gabriel. “Oh well now, Jeb didn’t mention that you were such a charmer, Mr. Marsden!”

  Gabriel and my father both laugh good-naturedly. “It’s just Gabriel, please, Mrs. Somerset. And bless you for having me over for what smells like a heavenly meal.”

  “Well now, son, you’re in for a real treat with Christina’s roast!” papa chuckles before looking up past us. “Ah, and here’s our very own family phone line to the good Lord!”

  Paul strides into the living room through the kitchen in his usual half-slouched, half overly brisk amble. Mama calls it his “boogie-woogie shuffle,” which I think is hilarious, and Paul hates.

  “Mr. Marsden,” he says stiffly but warmly and extends his hand. Gabriel shakes it firmly.

  “Just Gabriel, if you please, sir,” he drawls in a voice that seems to be getting increasingly more southern with every word.

  “Paul here is fresh out of seminary school,” papa exclaims, patting my brother on the shoulder.

  “One year.”

  Mama and papa, and Paul, actually, all turn to shoot me sour looks. I have no idea why I said it, but I immediately feel the shame of it.