Preacher

by Madison Faye

  There’s never been a boy, let alone a man. In Canaan? Please. The only “couples” in our high school were married by graduation, and most of them are expecting their first child by Christmas of this year. Again, I have a phone, and the internet, and Netflix. I understand that not everywhere is like here, and that there are high schools where people my age “date casually” and experiment in carnal lust and try pretty much everything before marriage.

  I’ve been told my entire life how wrong that is, and that it’s shameful, and wicked to be trying to those things with anyone but the person who is your husband or wife under the eye of God. I’ve been taught that premarital anything is a sin worthy of eternal damnation. Or at the very least, a sin worthy of never finding your one and only, because anything besides an actual “white wedding” is a mockery of the celebration itself.

  The thing is, I’ve never been sure if I really believe that. I mean, I understand the message of love behind the overbearing fearmongering involved with shaming people into “waiting.” I knew a girl in school a year above me, Laura, who went out with James Lahey for years, and who most certainly lay with him, on multiple occasions. I know this because James Lahey is a disgusting, Hell-bound little cretin who told the whole school about it. Her family ended up moving her senior year, to Savannah, and I remember most of the school avoiding her like she was tainted goods the last week she spent in Canaan.

  The thing is, I’ve looked Laura up online, out of curiosity. And you know what? She’s doing great. I’ve stalked her on social media, and she’s at Clemson University, looking like she’s having the time of her life. She’s on the Dean’s list there, majoring in biochemistry, and she plays on the girls’ soccer team. She’s got a handsome boyfriend who looks really nice, and she’s a prominent member of the youth ministry on campus.

  Point being, she’s not an outcasted harlot or leper. She’s still with the church. Presumably, God is still a part of her life. Her boyfriend even has an anniversary post to her that mentions that he had to “get through some bad ones to find the good one,” so, presumably, they both know they’ve “been with” other people. And they’re still happy and together.

  It’s things like that that make me question everything. And I’m not so sure that questioning things is a bad thing. I’m not sure if the God I believe in would be mad at a few questions.

  What he would be mad at, though, is the sort of thoughts I’m having concerning Gabriel Marsden. This isn’t some boy my age I’m curious about “dating.” Gabriel is a man, older than me, and my thoughts aren’t about “dating” him.

  …They’re much, much more wicked than that.

  The thoughts I’ve done my darnedest to avoid all day, ever since last night actually, don’t involve Gabriel taking me out to dinner and a movie. They don’t involve holding hands or taking a stroll at dusk. They’re… more carnal than that. A lot, lot more carnal, actually.

  I flush, and my body tingles as I sink into the comforter in the darkness of my bedroom. My skin feels electric, and a devilish heat begins to pool between my thighs, no matter how hard I try and clench them together. No, the thoughts I harbor concerning Gabriel are wicked, sinful thoughts. They involve him grabbing me and kissing me in a way that’s nothing like the chaste, Hollywood kisses in romantic comedies. They involve him biting my skin and ripping my very clothes from my body piece by piece.

  They involve his hands all over me, and especially in places where no hands but my own have ever touched. I blush, and I shiver on the bed as the filthy thoughts take over and crush the rest of my defenses. I close my eyes and pull a blanket over me. My breath comes ragged, and slowly, I unbutton my jeans. I swallow thickly and push them down beneath the blanket, and my hands slide over my tummy.

  My fingers find the edge of my plain, regular cotton panties, and I know it’s wrong, and sinful, and horrible, but the Devil has taken hold of me. The Beast himself has sunk his claws into me, and I can’t stop.

  I gasp as my fingers slip under the waist and push deep into my panties. Smooth skin turns to soft downy hair under my fingers, and then with a muffled gasp and stifled moan, that turns to slick, velvety-soft, wetness. My fingers bump over the little nub between my legs, and I gasp sharply. I turn my head, squeezing my eyes shut and biting at my pillow as my fingers push lower. I spread myself open, blushing horribly as one digit slips between to tease over my wetness.

  Over my… my pussy.

  Even thinking the crude word has me shivering on the bed, and my fingers become more eager. I rub that little bump again, which I know is my clit, I just can’t bring myself to even say it in my head. I keep rubbing it with one finger while my other hand slips lower. I push a finger down between my lips, and I whimper into the pillow as it finds my opening. I slip it inside, and the pleasure begins to overtake me.

  When I close my eyes tightly, it’s Gabriel touching me. It’s the Devil himself pushing his hands between my legs and touching me where no man ever has. He’s stroking me closer and closer to something… tight, and hot, and trembling. Something I’ve always stopped just short of, because it scares me. But this time, I know there’s no stopping.

  With Gabriel in my head, and those piercing blue eyes gazing over me, and those lips on mine, in my head, he’s moving over me on the bed. He’s spreading my legs, and instead of his finger, it’s his… his…

  I blush.

  His cock that slips between my lips and begins to sink into me.

  Claiming me. Taking me. Damning me to sweet, panting, moaning, and thrashing Hell and damnation.

  I rub faster, and my hips begin to arch off the bed. I’m past where I’ve ever gone before, I know the explosion is almost inevitable this time. I moan into the pillow, my pulse throbbing in my ears and my body tensing and clenching and getting ready to explode. My fingers rub my clit harder, and I’m about to shatter at any moment—

  When there’s knock at my bedroom door.

  “Delilah, honey?”

  I almost have a heart attack.

  With a muffled shriek of pure mortification, I literally throw myself off the side of the bed, taking the bedside table and the books on it with me. My mother gasps on the other side of the door.

  “Delilah? What was that!”

  “It’s fine! It’s fine!” I scream, cringing and blushing almost painfully with embarrassment. “Don’t come in, I’m changing!” I yell as I furiously pull my panties back into place and yank my jeans up. I cringe when I feel how wet my panties are against me—a sobering reminder of just how close to that line I got. How close to sin I got.

  I suck in a breath of air and sit there on my bedroom floor, trembling.

  “Delilah?” my mother calls again.

  “Y—yes?” I croak. Lord, just take me now, please?

  “Honey, I wrapped up some extra food from dinner, and I was hoping you’d take it over to Preacher Gabriel?”

  My heart skips, and my eyes go wide.

  No. Lordy, no. No times a million and a half.

  “Oh, mama, I was just getting ready for bed.”

  “Oh, but sweetheart, we both know the good preacher barely has two pennies to rub together for a good meal. He’s truly a selfless man of God, traveling the country on what he can, spreading His word. Think charitably, Delilah? Please?”

  “Mama—”

  “Your father says you can drive the pickup over, too. No need for you to go walking halfway across town in the dark.”

  I shiver, staring at a spot on the floor and feeling this shameful mix of fear and excitement.

  “Mama—”

  “Delilah,” she says, much more tersely this time. “I’d love to stop asking, if you catch my meaning.”

  I swallow and shiver, knowing that this is happening now. “Yeah, mama,” I finally sight quietly. “Yeah, I get it. Let me get dressed.”

  “Oh, Gabriel doesn’t need you to dress up for him, honey!” she laughs. “Whatever you’re wearing is fine! I just don’t want it to get too la
te, okay?”

  Crap. Double crap.

  “Yeah, I’m… okay,” I whisper as I stand from the floor. I pick up the knocked-over table and put the books back into place. “I’m coming.”

  No, you WERE coming.

  I blush fiercely at the filthy voice in my head. I cross to the mirror and look at my bright red, flushed face—my panting lips, my wide, sinful eyes. My heaving chest, and the simple t-shirt and jeans I’m wearing.

  And then, knowing how absurd it is, and knowing how wicked it is to even be thinking in terms like this, I quickly yank my clothes off and grab a short-sleeved blouse and a modest skirt that I just bought a week ago and haven’t wore yet from my dresser. I blush furiously and yank open my underwear drawer for a new pair, but I groan when I realize that I did laundry earlier and it’s all down in the basement.

  Great.

  But then, of course, I’m blushing even deeper and feeling even more sinful, since I’m actually worried about what underwear I’m wearing when I’m going to bring dinner to a preacher.

  …No matter how wicked he is.

  “Delilah!”

  “Coming! I’m coming!” I gasp as I smooth the skirt and blouse, push back my long blonde hair, take a deep, shaky breath, and go to the door.

  Time to face the music.

  Time to look the Beast in the eye.

  Time to enter the lion’s den.

  Heaven help me.

  Chapter Seven

  Delilah

  This is fine. This is totally fine.

  I swallow thickly as the truck rumbles along the country road out of the east end of Canaan. Mama’s dinner leftovers are wrapped up in cling wrap and tupperware on the bench seat next to me, but not even the smell of still-warm pecan pie is yanking me from my own head. Not even the smell of honeysuckle coming in through the rolled-down window.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this—walking right into the lions freaking den, like an offering. I’m alone, I’m still shamefully buzzing and tingling from what almost happened not fifteen minutes ago in my bedroom, and I’m about to walk right up to the front door of the man who’s slowly turning my entire world upside down and dragging me into sinful damnation.

  Yeah, no, there is nothing “fine” about this.

  The woods peter out, and suddenly, there’s the big expanse of grassy field. On the other side of it, I see the low lights of his Winnebago, and the big circus tent set up next to it. I pull the truck off the road into a little clearing in the grass, and I kill the engine. I shiver in the darkness, even though it’s muggy and hot outside. I swallow, and my skin tingles.

  Okay, in and out. I’m just going to go over there, give him the stupid food, and then turn and run, not walk, back here to drive away. Easy, right?

  I swallow again and step out of the truck cab, tupperware in hand. Step by step, I make my way across the field to his setup, my heart beating faster and faster the closer I get. Finally, I step into the soft glow of light from a small outdoor light on the Winnebago. I shiver and step up to the door, and before I can chicken out and run away, I knock.

  There’s only silence in return.

  I frown and knock again.

  “Mr. Marsden?”

  The door behind the screen door is open, and I peer in. It’s clean enough inside, but it’s not all that big, either. And he’s definitely not in there. I can even see that the bathroom door is open. I frown and step back off the single step to the door and glance around.

  “Preacher Gabriel?” I say softly. “Mr. Marsden?”

  Again, nothing but silence. I swallow thickly, and I start to walk towards the tent. At the door, where the flaps are pulled back, I glance inside, but it too is empty. I frown, and I’m about to call the whole thing off, when I notice a glow from behind the wall at the back of the small stage that holds the pulpit. The tent extends back behind it a little ways, and I see a flicker in the soft glowing light.

  Movement.

  “Mr. Marsden?”

  I frown and start to walk quietly down the grassy aisle between the rows of folding chairs. I get closer to the pulpit and the small stage, and I can hear a soft…I guess it’s a bubbling sound, from behind the back wall. The light flickers again with movement, and I take a shaky breath as I walk to the right of the stage and start to creep around the edge of it to the backstage area.

  “Mr. Mars—ohmygod!” I scream, because I’m almost positive I’m looking at a dead man slumped over the edge of the baptism tub, his head lolled back. But the very second I scream, the dead man jumps about two feet out of the water and whirls to face me.

  …My jaw drops, and my heart skips probably two or three beats. Yeah, no, not a dead man. Just a naked one.

  I scream again and whirl, dropping the food to the ground and quickly covering my eyes. But there’s no unseeing what I just saw, which was every single inch of Gabriel Marsden’s grooved, sculpted, muscled, tattooed body, from the top of his head to basically his knees.

  All of him.

  “I’m so sorry!” I scream. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m—”

  That’s when I realize he’s laughing. Loudly. I swallow, and I start to turn before I realize he hasn’t moved at all, nor has he somehow magically become clothed. So I whirl back, keeping my eyes squeezed shut with my hands over them.

  “You… what are—” I gasp a shaky breath. “What are you doing!”

  Behind me, Gabriel chuckles. “What am I doing? I’m not trespassing, for one.”

  I blush heavily. “I’m so—I’m sorry!” I fumble. “I wasn’t trying to break in or spy on you! I was—”

  I stop because he’s laughing again.

  “Delilah,” he finally growls lowly in that voice that sends heat and shivers to place it very much shouldn’t. “It’s fine. I’m teasing you. You can turn around.”

  I swallow. “Are you decent?”

  “Decently naked, yeah.”

  My blush somehow deepens even more.

  “I—I was bringing you dinner. My mother…” I swallow, still shaking from what I just saw. “I’m gonna go.”

  “Nah, hang on. Hang on. Pass me that towel over there and we can talk.”

  I swallow. “Where?”

  “It’ll be substantially easier if you open your eyes.”

  I crack a small smile, and facing away from him, I open my eyes.

  “Right there, draped over the chair.”

  I nod and grab it, and then I start to walk backwards towards him. Gabriel starts to chuckle, and I sigh.

  “I wouldn’t have to do this if you were wearing clothes, Mr. Marsden,” I say tightly.

  He snorts. “Mr. Marsden? What is this, math class?”

  “Fine, Preacher Gabriel.”

  “Just Gabriel, okay?”

  I nod and shove my arm back, towel in hand. I shiver when I feel his warm, wet fingers brush mine as he takes it from me.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” I breath. I swallow thickly as I hear the sloshing sound of him getting out of the tub, and then a click. The gentle bubbling sound from before goes quiet.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Relaxing in my hot tub.”

  I snort. “Your hot tub?”

  “Yeah, my—you can turn around, you know.”

  “Are you decent now?”

  “I’m pretty decent naked, to be honest.”

  I groan and feel my face burning hot. “Are you clothed, Gabriel?” I say tersely, doing everything in my power to forget the sight of his… um, all of him. It’s not working.

  “I’m wearing a towel over my no-no parts, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I snort a giggle, and immediately turn bright red. Gabriel chuckles.

  “Seriously, you can look.”

  Slowly, not quiet believing him, I turn. Instantly, I suck in a breath of air, and my pulse thuds in my ears. Technically, yes, he’s covered. But by covered, I mean he’s got a towel that covers him from well below his navel
to about two-thirds of the way down his muscled thighs. I honestly didn’t even know they made towels this small, and my whole face burns before I look up at the roof of the tent.

  Gabriel snorts a laugh. “Oh, c’mon, not clothed enough for you?”

  “You’re…” I stammer, blushing. “You’re practically naked!”

  “By definition, I’m not though. So, you can look.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “As a preacher, I’m telling you that you can.”

  “Well I’m not sure I should,” I whisper. “Nor am I sure you’re really a preacher,” I blurt out with a snap before I gasp and quickly shut my mouth. But Gabriel just chuckles deeply.

  “Ahh, and lo, the truth shall ascend you to the kingdom of heaven.”

  This time, I drop my eyes and glare at him. “That’s not from the Bible.”

  He shrugs. “I never said it was.”

  He slouches against the side of the baptism tank, his muscled arms folded over his thick chest. His abs ripple on their own accord, and that freaking towel is like the devil’s own neon sign, with those grooves of his hips pointing right down to Hell and damnation itself.

  “Eyes up here, young lady.”

  I blush, and my eyes snap back to his. “You implied that it was.”

  He grins. “I… what? They’re just words, Delilah.”

  “Well you can’t just add ‘ye’ and ‘shalt’ to nonsense and pass it off as scripture,” I mutter.

  He sighs. “Did you need something?”

  “No!” I snap. “I was just bringing you food. It’s…” I turn and frown at the upside-down tupperware on the ground.

  “Tossed,” he purrs with a grin. I can’t help but smile, but I quickly wipe it from my face.

  My brow knits. “Hang on, did you say hot tub?”