Communion (On My Knees Series Book 3)

by Ella James

  Shove in…draw out...and hard thrust in, and he's already spilling precum.

  "Vance." He's sort of panting, and his lips are quivering. I can't help leaning over him, closing my hand around his cock as I capture his mouth with mine, thrusting my tongue in a few times just to mimic what my dick is doing. I love how he groans into my mouth. He's panting so hard with my cock spreading him open, my fingertips walking down his shaft. When I stroke a hand into his hair, it's damp already.

  "Love you," I whisper before I lean back, running my hand down his chest and tracing his abs, then grabbing his hard thigh and pushing back in quick and heavy. He comes off the bed just like I knew he would.

  "Shit, Rayne." He moans. “Grab me again.”

  I crack my eyes open, panting as I tighten my glutes and find the right angle to rub against his p-spot. "Oh, you want me getting you off quick?" I puff out a laugh, and he grits his teeth.

  "It is standing at attention, though,” I murmur. “Just begging for a hand..."

  He closes his fist around the base.

  "No way." I grin wickedly and watch his face come undone as I graze against his prostate again.

  "God!” he shouts.

  I wrap my hand below his, stroking hard now because I'm about to lose it, and I want to take Sky with me.

  Just one stroke of my fist over his slick, swollen cockhead has him spasming around my cock. We come in perfect tandem. It’s fucking heaven filling him up, feeling his cum seep through my fingers and drip down on his happy trail.

  I stay in him, giving him a self-pleased smile that he can't see because he's collapsed like a large, well-worked-out noodle with a boner. When he opens his eyes, he looks tired and happy, maybe slightly abashed.

  "Thank you," he says, his voice a rumble.

  I take his hand and lace my fingers through his. "We aim to please."

  "You and him?" he asks, groaning softly as he looks down at my cock, still in him.

  "Yeah. I need to pull out but it feels so good here." I shut my eyes. He leans up, kissing my hand, and the friction of him tensing around my cock when he moves makes me shudder.

  "Fuck. So good." I pull out slowly, tilting my head as I look down at him.

  "You want a shower? Or you wanna lay here for a second?" I lie down beside him even as I ask, wrapping my arms around him. He turns on his side so his head is bowed against my chest.

  I stroke the back of his head. "My Sky." I wrap myself around him, hugging him hard. He nods, and I run my hand over the muscles of his beautiful back. "My husband is fucking perfect. Kind and smart and sexy, with an ass like fuuuck."

  I can feel him smile against me. He shakes his head.

  "I know what you're thinking. ‘Rayne is obsessed with my ass’. And I’ve gotta say…I think that's fair."

  Yeah, my guy is definitely smiling. I kiss his hair again.

  "What do you want for today? You want me to wear something special? Clothes or...otherwise?" I swallow after I ask. He looks up at me and cups my face, looking tired but happy.

  "Just be with me."

  Just be with him.

  Shit. Well that's something I can do.

  3

  Luke

  Rayne’s hand squeezes mine as I pull into the pastor spot in the parking garage.

  “So, first up is that board meeting at ten, right?” he asks me. “That’s the big thing…with the P.R. team?”

  I nod, squeezing his hand back before I let it go. When I look over at him after parking, I can tell he’s watching me closely.

  It makes me smile, even though I feel like I might be sick. “You doing your Luke Status Assessment?”

  “Yeah.” Rayne lets a breath out, looking down for just a second before giving me a slightly strained smile. “I think it’ll be fine. But I don’t like the idea of you listening to them talk about ‘retention’ strategies.”

  I told Vance that the board plans to discuss the various ways my coming out will impact business, and how they should be handled. They want me to lead the discussion, but still, that’s the discussion.

  “I don’t know how it’s not going to make you feel like shit,” he says. “I still think they should maybe meet without you. But I get why they can’t.” He runs his hand over his short, dark hair.

  The board can’t meet about this without me because that would end up being undermining. They know that; that’s why no one suggested it, even if to spare my feelings.

  “They’ll be tactful,” I tell Rayne.

  “I know.” But he still looks worried. I haven’t told Rayne as much as I probably should about my…problems. But I think Pearl has. And he knows something went down during the time I had the flu, before he found me septic in my bedroom. I just can’t bring myself to say it—at least outside of Derek, my new therapist. But Vance knows. He gets me. That’s why he’s worried.

  “If you get fucked up, will you come and find me?” he asks.

  I can’t help smirking at his foul mouth. “I will.”

  “Will you? Any time? I just want to know you’ll tell me if you get the underwater feeling.”

  That’s how I told him I feel when I’m “fucked up.”

  “Yeah. I promise.”

  He looks at my left hand, still wrapped around the wheel, and I wonder if he’s thinking about our rings.

  “I forgot it.” I frown as I steal a glance at his hand; I wonder why he didn’t wear his.

  “Just taking cues from you, my buddy.” He slaps my arm lightly with knuckles, and I can’t help wrapping my arms around him, pulling him close enough so I can feel him up against me once more before we go in. His soft mouth, even right now, gives me a stomach-flipping, vaguely shivery feeling.

  “Thank you,” I whisper against his jaw.

  “This is what we do.” He kisses my cheek, and I feel his hand move up my arm so it’s cupping my shoulder. “You’re okay, you know? Remember what the book says—about what God thinks. Everything about you is perfection, McD.”

  I shut my eyes. Say it enough and I hope I’ll believe it.

  “I know,” I manage. I’m pretty sure he’s referencing Genesis, which says God made humans in His image. Other than that, I can’t think of a single place in which the Bible insinuates that I’m perfect.

  Vance’s hand caresses my hair—bleached pale from the sun, and slightly too long. “I know you know.” He touches my chest. “I want you to feel it, too, though.”

  This man… There’s no one like him.

  He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking. “I know you, Sky. That’s what I’m good at.” He brushes his lips over mine again. “After this, we’re going home together. Eyes on the prize.” He waggles his brows.

  “Thank God for that.”

  I walk around to his side of the car as he gets out a tool box full of sculpting stuff. We walk side by side through the church, Rayne winking at me a few times and giving me his little sweet smiles. We stop for a moment in the atrium where his mural covers the wall—so vibrant that it almost looks like something off of a computer screen.

  “You’re incredible. You know that, right?” I ask him.

  He rolls his eyes as his cheeks color. “You’re the pope. I’m just the artist.”

  “Michelangelo.” I catch his hand. “Remember what the New York Times said?”

  Vance snorts. “I’m not even gonna say what that was.”

  He’s told me this story before, though. The best profile a publication’s ever done on him—the Sunday edition of the New York Times—and Vance insists the reporter, a woman, was more interested in him than in his art.

  “Modesty is a virtue, Rayne, but modesty when you’re as talented as you are is a sin.”

  He shakes his head, and I smile because he really is modest.

  I walk him to his atrium; it’s one that’s more interior to the church, so anyone coming near him would need to go through more than one guard—not that he knows that.

  There’s a fresh slab of marble that he gr
eets with a grin.

  “Nice sight,” he murmurs, running his fingertips over it.

  “You are.”

  “You gonna watch me on the cameras?” he asks, grinning.

  “What do you think?”

  Vance laughs, and my heart does a slow roll as he smiles. “Go on, preacher. I’ll be right here.”

  I drag air into my lungs and paste a smile on my face, and Rayne’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives me a smile. He steps from his slab of marble to me, wrapping am arm around my back so he can hold me tight against him for a second.

  “You want me to walk up later?” he asks. “Come and see you in your office?”

  I press my cheek against his. “It’s okay.”

  I’d never say it, but the idea makes me nervous. Things today are going to be strained enough without anything…extra.

  Still, when Vance folds me into a big bear hug, I let myself relax against him. I deserve that. We do.

  Pretty soon, he’ll be my husband legally. Pretty soon, we’ll wear the rings. I’m not going to worry about someone seeing me hug the love of my life. I’m not going to worry about any of this. Love is love. Is love. And that’s a hard stop for me.

  “Well, are you or aren’t you?”

  “Like I said, Kimber—I am.” I grit my teeth, blinking at my desktop computer—which has gone to sleep—and squeezing my cell phone so hard it might break. “I don’t see the point in taking our conversation beyond this point.” I’m going to get married, and that’s that.

  “The point is theological, Pastor McDowell. Marriage and…partnering…are two completely different animals.”

  I exhale slowly out my nose so it won’t make a sigh sound into the phone. “I’m heading into a meeting, Kimber. If you would like to move your membership—”

  “What I would like, and what a lot of us Evermore donors would like, is just for you to wait, Luke. Even just a few months. You’ve waited your entire life to even go public with this information. What’s a few months when you’re living with this man—this artist—anyway.” I blink, gritting my molars. She goes on: “Let us see how regular Christians, specifically the ones who attend Evermore, will react. See if we can ease them into this. And then you do what you want. Go off and get married. Maybe something international, where the licensing is done—”

  I end the call and rise from my desk chair, hurling the phone across the room onto the largest couch, where it bounces off, onto the rug. A few deep, measured breaths—I can still hear the echo of her saying “artist” like it’s “shit”—and then I’m striding over toward a window, twisting the rod that opens the wooden blinds and blinking at the courtyard.

  I should feel better knowing Vance is in the building. I could sneak downstairs and see him, do the things we used to. But this isn’t like that. Nothing is the same now.

  I shut my eyes again, replaying highlights from the board meeting I’d just gotten out of when Kimber, one of our largest Bay area donors, called my cell phone. Everyone was tactful, sure, but how do you package “we’re worried everyone will leave because of you” in a way that doesn’t come off like…I don’t even know.

  I promised Vance I’d call him or go down to see him if this happened. But I can’t. I go back to my desk chair, hold my head in my hands, try to tell myself all this is temporary. These are hiccups. Yeah, it’s what my new therapist would call “triggering,” but I can handle being triggered.

  No one wants you.

  You’re a mistake.

  Now that they’ve found out what kind of man you really are, they’re all disgusted.

  So what? What do I care what these bigots think?

  Still, my stomach churns as I think of how many people on the board expressed the same idea that Kimber had: that maybe I should wait to get married.

  “Leave the attention on what matters—on the church—instead of your love life,” one of them advised.

  But you can’t do that. You’re already married, Luke. Remember

  I promised myself to him. In every way that matters, Vance is mine forever—and I feel like crap that a-hole donors like Kimber Fischer don’t know it, and neither does my own damn board…because I haven’t made it public. Because we aren’t legally wed here in California. The international thing Kimber suggested? We already did it—or we would have, if we had been able. Two men can’t even marry in the Caymans.

  I get up and pace around my office, feeling numb except the hard pound of my heart as I stop at the window, watching a man in a blue uniform steer a cart filled with pallets of soft drinks toward one of the church doors.

  I can’t stay here.

  Why’d I think this could work?

  The phone rings again—this time, it’s my office line—and I step over to the desk again. I can’t bring myself to sit down, so I answer standing.

  “Luke, this is Paul Marshall.” I grit my teeth again, stepping over to the couch with the cordless phone.

  “Hi, Paul.”

  “Wellington and I just wanted to check up on you. See how things are going. I know maybe it’s not appropriate, seeing as how we only just attended that one men’s seminar, but—”

  “No. You’re just fine, Paul,” I say as my shoulders deflate. “I remember you two.”

  I can hear him smiling as he says, “You do?”

  “Of course.” It comes out drolly.

  “I guess that makes sense.” He sounds thoughtful. “Anyway, I had you on my mind last night and Wells said I should give you a call. Figured you might be getting other calls today, too.”

  “Oh, yes.” I rub my forehead.

  “We wanted to be sure you know how much your presence in your…post means to the rest of us.”

  To gay men. “We have lesbian friends who attend Evermore as well,” he says. “In our circles, there’s been rejoicing. We feel…seen. And that’s not your job, that’s not your responsibility, of course. It’s just a happy side-effect. But we’re behind you, one hundred and ten percent. Anything you need, consider us your feet-washers.” He chuckles, and I cover my face with my hand.

  “In the Jesus way,” he tacks on quickly.

  “What other way is there?” I’m being dry, trying to put him at ease, but the ensuing small silence lets me know I’ve missed the mark.

  “No other way,” he says, and I laugh.

  “Paul. It was a joke.”

  “Right. I know.” He tries to laugh, and I lie on my back on the couch.

  “Thanks for calling.” I blink at the ceiling. “It’s appreciated. Truly.”

  “You’re welcome. Maybe we could…I don’t know. Do you go out with church members?”

  “Of course I do, at times.”

  “Well, if you ever find a time, just let us know. We’d love to do dinner. We could host you. Both of you. Only if you have time.”

  I shut my eyes, thinking of Paul and his partner Wells, plus Vance and me, around a table. Something shifts in my chest, making my neck and face warm.

  “We’ll have to take you up on that sometime.”

  “Just let me know.”

  I can tell he’s nervous.

  “I will. Thank you, Paul. You two take care of yourselves.”

  He tells me they will, and then the call is over. I have maybe two minutes of down time—time in which I think of Vance downstairs. I think of biting his warm neck, of how I’d love to bend him over and—

  The phone rings again. I blow a breath out before I answer.

  “Pastor, it’s Ansley. I’m with Casey Blevins and Frank Piedmont, and we’re down in the lobby. They were wondering— Well, the three of us were hoping we could come up and discuss something, briefly. Just a few…nuances. All theological, not personal or anything. It shouldn’t take long. Maybe half an hour most.”

  So, that means forty-five or fifty minutes. And what the does ‘not personal’ mean?

  “Sure.” I push myself up. “I’ll be waiting.”

  I fire off a quick text to Vance, refu
sing to let myself read the texts he’s sent already this morning. If I do, I know I’ll feel like crap.

  Pearl is going to bring your lunch down. I had a meeting come up unexpectedly. The time slot after this is an international call, but I’ll check in right after that. I’ll be down.

  I send another quick text. Love you, Rayne babe.

  His text comes so quickly that I know he must have been watching his phone. Love you more, Sky. I’ll be waiting.

  He sends me a heart, drawn on his phone with that fingertip drawing feature I can never figure out.

  I send a bunch of hearts back. Before I can slip the thing into my pocket, there’s a knock at my door.

  Vance

  My phone says it’s 4:30. I'm trying not to feel too disappointed, but I haven't seen or heard from Sky at all today, except the one time near lunch when he texted.

  It's okay. I knew it would be crazy. I can take it.

  Doesn't mean he's checked out. He's just busy.

  So am I. I'm working on a new commission—Mars in the forefront, with the other planets fanning out around it and the larger ball of the sun to the rear left. This one's been a bitch to work out the dimensions, but I did it, and I'm happy with the prelims. Going to come out pretty damn cool.

  I've got marble dust all over me, and my black T-shirt and green cargo-type pants are sweat-stuck to me. Still, when I hear footsteps, my dick twitches like one of Pavlov's dogs. And then I'm looking at...some woman?

  I frown, not because I'm trying to be a dick but because she's not Sky, and dammit, I want McD. Want to hear about his day and touch him. Even holding his hand would be enough.

  I bite the inside of my cheek as her eyes sweep me. She's looking at me like she wants to fuck me. She's dressed like a news anchor or a business person. Straight, pale blond hair in a bob, plus a crisp, black pants suit.

  "Vance Rayne," she says in a high-pitched voice that approaches shrill without going there. It's...discordant. Maybe you'd say brash.

  She steps into my atrium.

  "Wow. So you really are doing your marble work here,” she says, looking around.