Sixty Nine (Payne Brothers Romance Book 4)

by Sosie Frost

  “Not a word.” Her words etched with pain, but she’d never admit it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not. A. Word.” Glory remained seated, scooting away from the paint with a groan. She waved to the cast and crew. “At least it wasn’t Lulu knocking over the tree this time. That’s enough for today. Go home. We’ll…pick it up tomorrow.”

  She didn’t need to tell the kids twice. They bolted. So did Quint, wisely heeding her pointed middle finger toward the door.

  The doors slammed. The chapel fell to silence.

  And Glory stared at the paint coating her arms, legs, leotard…

  Curves.

  Secrets.

  “Don’t look,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Just don’t look.”

  She hoisted herself to her feet and threw a frustrated glance over her shoulder. With a huff, she pointed behind her.

  “Great. It tore.”

  If this was a test, I failed.

  My eyes strayed, my mind leapt to darkness, and every muscle of my body hardened with sin.

  Glory tugged at the fraying bits of her leotard. The material split down the back of her thigh, shredding with every step she took.

  “Figures…” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. The crimson edges were now a festive green. “This is the one dance where the leotard has to stay on.”

  I smirked. “Makes The Nutcracker more interesting.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Not a ballet fan, V?”

  “Not one with such a violent title.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret—it’s not the ballet you should worry about.” Glory covered her exposed booty with two hands. “It’s the ballerina.”

  The lord hadn’t blessed me with the strength to resist this woman. I stared at rich, cocoa skin peeking through the leotard and remembered how she felt pressed against me.

  “Maybe I should fear you,” I said. “Maybe I should have run a long time ago.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because you’re the only woman in this world who could bring me to my knees.”

  “Praying?” she asked.

  “Sinning.”

  “Save that silver tongue for the pulpit, preacher.” Her voice lowered. “Or for something better than flattery.”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  “Then why waste a sermon on me?”

  “Waste it?” Why did I torture myself by approaching this woman? And why didn’t she move away from me? Why did she let me tug on that fraying leotard, peeling away the skintight fabric to reveal her perfect thigh to my undeserving eyes? “I don’t know enough words to praise you the way you deserve to be worshiped.”

  “A compliment is only as sweet as it is sacrilegious.”

  “Nothing purer than the truth.”

  “Then here’s hoping you can also faith heal.” She rubbed her behind with a hand. “Landed pretty hard on the stage.”

  “Let me see.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Careful. My thoughts are sinful enough.”

  Glory backed away, careful to hide the largest tear in her leotard from my hungry eyes. “What good are sinful thoughts? It’s not worth the effort unless we're talking about mortal sin.”

  “Temptress.”

  Glory took a step, winced, and pouted. She turned with a sigh and allowed the scraps of leotard to drop.

  If I still believed in anything, I would’ve feared being struck dead where I stood.

  The black tights split up the middle, exposing her plump, toned, mouthwatering perfection. Everything that was good and perfect in this world began and ended with that unbelievable ass.

  Such a shame she’d scraped that soft skin against the wooden floor.

  She bid me to follow her to the office with a curved finger and warning. “You better be grateful. This is a free show. If I was still on stage, this amount of booty would cost you a pretty penny.”

  What was a couple hundred dollars in comparison to my soul? Or worse…

  My heart.

  Dangerous thoughts. Sinful urges.

  Broken promises.

  Why did I let myself get so close to this woman? After my first taste of her, I should’ve returned home, locked the door to the basement, and purged the vision of her beauty from my mind. Drowned in whiskey until I forgot her touch, her voice…her kiss.

  Christ, what had I done to myself?

  I didn’t enslave myself to this woman, but what good was freedom when the only life I could imagine were the few short moments within her embrace? When she beckoned, and I followed. Led into hell by an angel.

  What man could resist?

  The office was once a home away from home. I trapped myself between a past I’d tried to forget and a future I desperately avoided. The books, desk, and photos on the wall were all mine, all meaningful, all lost in the same darkness that consumed the rest of the chapel.

  Nothing had been moved, not even while Miley had preached in my stead. He and the congregation had expected me to return to the church. They’d left the office unchanged, and nothing was lost.

  Except for me.

  The one woman I used to escape from this explored every inch of the office with curious fingers and a casual glance. Even covered in paint, she was a walking miracle.

  I could fight to rid myself of this infatuation, but without my faith, I had no hope to overcome the impossible anymore.

  The only thing I wanted in this world was Glory.

  But I would have nothing after this world if I took her again for my own.

  She plucked the first aid kit from the shelf. I took it from her hands before she attempted to administer the Band-Aids herself.

  “Let me help you,” I said.

  Should’ve known this woman wasn’t one to go without a fight. “Think you can handle it, preacher?”

  “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

  Why did I underestimate this demon woman? Glory surrendered the kit only to place both hands on the desk, arch her back, and thrust her behind into the air.

  Why did we fear the devil when Glory Hawkins roamed the mortal world?

  The paint dripped from her body, and I ignored every festive drop that stained the desk and carpet. The bright colors contrasted the richness of her skin. Teasing me. Burning me.

  “Careful, Pastor.” Glory dared to twerk inside my office. “That’s the moneymaker.”

  Then she needed to stop shaking it. I was already going to Hell. I gave her a slap, careful to avoid the scrape. Glory reared back, but I shook my head.

  “Stay still,” I warned. “Wouldn’t want a scar, would you?”

  She obeyed, though that was just as dangerous as her revenge. She returned to the desk and presented herself to me with a smirk. “You’re a thorn in my side, V, but somehow you’re more enjoyable than a splinter in the ass.”

  “No splinters…” I unwrapped an alcohol pad and smirked as goosebumps prickled her skin. What hadn’t been covered in paint was marred with rug burn. “Looks like a scrape and bruise.”

  She shrugged. “Beats blisters on my hands from the pole.”

  “Dangerous job you have.”

  “I like to live on the edge.”

  “It’s all fun and games until you break your wrist.”

  “What?”

  “Your wrist. You said you broke it swinging on the pole.”

  “Oh.” Glory wiggled the fingers peeking from under the purple wrapping. “Never said it was an easy life. But I don’t mind it.”

  “Really?”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulders, peeking at me with a mischievous grin. How did she look so lovely while speckled with Christmas paint? “What other job would let me meet so many interesting men?”

  Jealousy was a perverse beast. “Not too many, I hope.”

  “If you’re asking me if I go home with every minister who comes into my club and offer to coordinate his church’s Christmas
pageant…” She hummed. “It’s only happened once or twice.”

  Another wiggle of those hips.

  This woman had no idea how easily she could mesmerize a man.

  Possess his soul.

  Destroy him.

  She teased, and I fell for it. Fell for her. Again and again. She’d become the embodiment of madness, obsession, and an endless torment that spared me reality and offered perfection.

  It wasn’t right.

  I touched her anyway.

  My fingertips trailed over her skin. She shared my shudder, and her breath hissed a quiet gasp as the warmth of my hand savored her curves. The paint stained my hand. At last, I had proof of my improper, immoral thoughts.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night,” I said.

  It wasn’t a confession. I didn’t ask for forgiveness, only mercy. Glory stilled under my touch, my fingers tracing the delightful swells of her body.

  Her voice hardened. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “What would you have me do? Give into my desires? Take you like an animal in the darkness?”

  She arched once more, directing my hand lower, to a very sensitive, very forbidden area.

  “I thought we agreed to forget that night,” she said.

  “I promised I’d never lie to you, even when the truth hurts more.”

  “Nothing we did ever hurt.”

  “Then we have a different definition of pain.”

  She hummed. “We definitely agree on pleasure.”

  “That’s what makes it so hard to resist you.”

  She trembled as I leaned close, unable to stop myself from pressing against her hips. The wet, yellow paint soaked into my jeans. Glory murmured a warning, but I silenced her, leaning over the arch of her body to place a kiss along the graceful length of her neck.

  “You never tried to resist me,” she whispered. “You wanted a mystery.”

  “And you are the most impossible secret.”

  “It’s more fun that way.”

  “Have you ever let anyone close enough to find out who you really are?”

  My hands gripped her hips. She bucked, pressing herself harder against my body. Her curves fit perfectly against me.

  “Since when does anyone care who I am?” she asked. “Men only want what’s forbidden to them. It’s fun to watch how they squirm, desperate to get into my panties.”

  “You are a cruel woman.”

  “Any crueler than you?”

  Her words disappeared into a gasp as I found the sensitive spot between her legs. My fingers brushed a velvet slickness that begged for more than a quick, unceremonious grope.

  “I do my best to serve you.”

  Glory wiggled her hips and pushed hard against my hand. She hissed, the breath slicing through her teeth.

  “That’s a lie,” she said. “You haven’t served anyone for a long time. Only yourself.”

  “Harsh.”

  “You said you prefer honesty.”

  Her heat nearly burned my hand. “I didn’t say you were wrong.”

  “And I never said I disliked your selfishness.”

  Selfishness?

  What man could be selfish when presented with a goddess like Glory? The softness of her skin, the dripping eagerness within her petals, the aching tremble between her legs. Her arousal was a command to worship for every man blessed enough to be so near her perfection.

  It wasn’t selfishness. It was salvation.

  “When I’m with you, I forget who I am, what I’ve done,” I whispered.

  She groaned as my finger found that beautiful heat and slipped within her. Her shivers became mine, and I savored every shiver of her body.

  “And when I’m with you, I can’t help but think about the man you are,” she said.

  “That’s the danger.”

  “Good thing I’m brave.”

  I teased her with my finger, dragging it from her tightness inch by inch, and rewarding her mew with a quick plunge inside. She clenched around me, warm and perfect.

  My body ached to feel more, to lose myself inside that silken paradise.

  “There’s no risk with me,” I promised. “I would never hurt you.”

  “You already have, V.” She pushed deeper onto my finger. “And here I am, back in your arms.”

  She never should’ve left. What a fool I was to let her out of my bed. My mind raced with the memories of her naked and squirming, consumed and panting. I’d fought with the visions of her lips wrapped around me, her tightness consuming me, and every ounce of myself pouring into that honeyed softness between her legs.

  She was an addiction. Worse than sin, more eternal than damnation.

  She was an angel of my own undoing, but, in her, I could be reborn.

  I needed more than a touch. I pulled my finger from her, savoring the slickness that promised her own desire. She groaned only until I gripped her waist and turned her around, forcing her to sit on the edge of my desk. With a single motion, I ripped the remains of her leotard from her. Nothing else mattered. Not where we were, what we’d promised each other, or even the paint that stained the office.

  I surrendered to her budded slit, exposed to me with swollen, wanting beauty.

  I gave her no time to prepare, no time to protest. I dropped my knees, spread her legs, and buried myself within that heated flash.

  Sweeter than any forbidden fruit.

  God, I’d missed her.

  I remembered every part of her. I’d already learned every trick in pleasing this woman. I delighted her with a lick, a suckle, and a caress. But Glory wasn’t a passive lover. Her hands tangled in my hair, pushing me harder against her. She arched, thrust her breasts out, and squeezed the delicate, sensitive nipples still hidden under the remains of her leotard. A show for me, but my attention fixed on the little flash of pink between the darkness of her folds.

  Was there anything more beautiful in this world or the next?

  “Fuck, you’re out of your mind.” The words cooed from her pouting lips. “But I think you’ve been lost for a long time.”

  “And I find myself in you,” I said. Her slickness coated my lips with a sweet, luscious truth. “The only thing that makes sense to me anymore is your pleasure.”

  Her hips bucked, and I welcomed each thrust with a slip of my tongue.

  “Your sin is my reward,” she whispered. “But you know this is wrong.”

  How was this wrong? It was the only peace I could find. I needed her body, her words, her slickness. With her, my mind wasn’t racked with darkness, my soul unburdened by the guilt and terror that had destroyed so much of me.

  For a few moments in my wretched life, I found paradise in the pleasure of her flesh.

  Was that sin, or was that the point of worship?

  I no longer cared about right or wrong, good or evil, sin or godliness. Glory meant more to me than any mortal, tenuous understanding of the world or myself.

  “What if I took you again?” I never should’ve voiced the question. “What if I had you for my own? What if I damned myself again with you, and I let the world fall away?”

  Glory’s fingernails raked in my hair. “No good would come from that.”

  “You would come.”

  “Is it worth destroying everything?”

  “I’m already destroyed.” I buried my sorrow between her legs and devoured her hesitations with eager, frantic kisses. “The world betrayed me. My God left me. What else do I have in this world but your pleasure?”

  “But we lied to each other, V. About everything.”

  “And we’re still lying. I lie every day about my desire for you. I lie each time I refuse to touch you, kiss you. I can’t do it anymore.”

  Glory arched as I sunk deeper inside of her, lapping the honeyed heat that drenched her slit. “And what happens after it’s done? What do we do when the sun rises and we untangle ourselves from each other’s arms?”

  “Then I take you again. An
d again. And again. I don’t stop taking you until the pain fades and this life…”

  Ends?

  The soft grace of her skin tore through me, the kindness of her words pained me, and her sweet desire poisoned me. Like daggers through my soul, shards of glass in my heart, the truth buried me in my own desperation.

  What did I want her to do for me?

  And was it too late?

  I’d had enough of darkness and rage. But in her arms, I couldn’t ignore that which bubbled and festered inside of me. It wasn’t just passion and lust. That void was something else, full of pain and confusion. When the moment was over, when our desires were sated in our bodies spent, I knew what would happen.

  Glory would sleep, content and warm against me.

  And the darkness would return.

  My heart cried out for her, but my soul couldn’t bear the destruction of the defenses I’d created to protect myself from feeling…everything.

  Glory softened her touch. Her pleasure built, and her willpower faded. She stared at me with heavy-lidded, innocent eyes. Her pouty lips panted her breath.

  “Take me.” Her words burned like molten sugar. “Why torture ourselves?”

  “Every moment with you is torture.”

  “Didn’t know I was such a chore.”

  “You are my salvation warmed with hellfire, Glory.”

  “As long as I get a halo, I rock the pitchfork.”

  She teased me, but she didn’t understand. She would never understand.

  No one could.

  And so I focused only on her, slipping my tongue deep into her cream and earning and eager, pleased groan. This wasn’t a woman who wanted gentle touches and timid strokes. Glory simply needed someone to put her in her place, to give her enough slack on the leash that she felt confident, controlled, safe. And I’d give that to her. Just so I could prove she didn’t need to be so hard, so isolated in her own strength.

  But who was I to offer her that safety?

  Who was I to demand her satisfaction when even she knew my devotion to her was wrong?

  And yet she tensed. Her thighs straddled my face, bringing me closer to her body. To fight? To come? Sometimes it was one in the same. The woman heated herself to orgasm, but she fought that vulnerability every single time I offered it to her. What was it that frightened her about this pleasure?

  Something had happened in her past that scarred her soul, and she hid from it just like I ran from my own misery. Maybe that was why I wanted her so badly.