Communion (On My Knees Series Book 3)

by Ella James

  "The emphasis is—well it should be—less on how we're flawed. And more on how God and His love are perfect."

  "Love is where it’s at,” I agree.

  He leans up and nips at my jaw. "What a bad, bad student...Mr. Rayne. I can see your eyes glaze over right now. What are you doing when you watch me on YouTube?"

  I laugh. I told him before when we were apart that I used to jerk it to his sermons.

  “Guess you’re right.” I cup his jaw. "What might help me, Pastor McDowell?"

  "Getting you to pay attention?" Sky laughs, looking like an arrogant ass. "Probably nothing. Maybe only one solution here."

  He grins, and my dick twitches in my pants. "What's that, sensei?"

  He drapes his palm over my cock, rubbing as his forehead comes to mine. "I think you need to be punished."

  Luke

  God bless the future Mr. Vance Rayne McDowell. He knows me better than anybody ever has. So he knows just what I need.

  He shifts his hips away from my hand and stretches out on his stomach on the little bed, cupping himself with his hand. "Nahh. No punishment for me.” He shifts, making his ass pop. “I'm so tired, I think I might just go to sleep right here. Let the waves lull me the way they do."

  I grin. He's not kidding. If he's even a little tired, a rocking boat will put Rayne to sleep. I reach between his legs and rub my fingertips over his balls, which feel puffy through the fabric of the olive cargo pants he wore to the church today. I push the base of my palm against them, making his hips shift.

  “You wear yourself out today?"

  I reach under him, so I can grip the base of his cock, pumping up and down until he groans and he says, "Yeah." His voice is nice and throaty. "I could go to sleep." He rolls over, cupping himself as he looks at me with bedroom eyes. "But I’m such a bad guy. A dirty, uneducated, unreligious—"

  I lean down and bite his lower lip. "Don't be saying things like that about my husband." I give him a deep, hot kiss, rubbing against his leg like a dog in heat and smiling as I do. "I've got the best damn man there is. He's not uneducated, and I'm not sure I believe he's unreligious either." I rub my hand over his dick, which is tenting his pants, and he grunts softly. "Either way, there's no one better."

  "Even said a swear word," he pants, his words slurring slightly as I stroke his hard cock.

  "Even said a swear word." I smirk.

  I take down his pants and free his dick from his boxer-briefs. Then, despite my talk about how he needs punishing, I find myself between his legs. "I want to blow you so bad."

  He chuckles, low, like he's surprised, and folds his arm behind his head. "That right, preacher?"

  "That's right, artist." I rub my scratchy cheek against the inside of his leg, moving up toward his sac, which hangs swollen and heavy. I lap lightly at it. "Been thinking about this all day,” I whisper against his skin. “Nearly killed me not coming and taking what's mine."

  "Yours..." He's breathing harder as his fingers thread through my hair.

  "Oh, yes. Tomorrow you'll wear that ring so no one doubts it."

  "I want to," he says, and he moans as I suck one of his balls into my mouth. He groans again, his backside coming off the mattress. "Shit, that's so good."

  "Good like this?" I suck his cock into my mouth and take him deep.

  This is how I say ‘sorry’ for missing lunch...for not coming down to his new atrium and taking him to some closet and showing him how much I love him. This is how I apologize—even a little—for not wearing my ring today. I’m sure he looked at my hand before deciding to leave his at the house, and if that's not Vance then I don't know what is. I never even talked about it with him prior to this morning, but he's not upset about it. He just wants my happiness, and that makes me want his more than anything I've ever wanted before.

  I suck him good, and rub my thumb over the spot behind his balls, prodding his prostate from the outside, and Vance pants and groans and grunts and thrusts against my hand. Then, when he's near whimpering from wanting to come, and I can taste his precum when I swallow—and when my swallow makes his body jolt—I move my mouth off him and say, "Turn over."

  I pull a little pack of lube out of my pocket, coat my fingers. "Ready?"

  He groans, "Yeah."

  "I know you are. That's my mister."

  He laughs, even as I push into him. Then he groans so loud and rocks back to take my fingers deeper, and I nearly come in my pants.

  "Now you're mine forever. I know how to make you squirm." I've gotten good at finding his hot button, so I do it now—just the slightest brush of my fingertip over his prostate, and he nearly comes undone.

  "Oh fuck. Luke."

  With my other hand, I find his cock, and he rolls over onto his back.

  “Pump me,” he begs.

  "I bet you wanna come fast, don't you? Can't have my guy going all day, these balls filling up..." I cup them, bouncing slightly.

  "No," he breathes, stroking my leg with curling fingers. "Oh God, blow me, please. I want to feel your mouth."

  "Or what?" I lick his balls, and Vance sounds like he might lose it when he says, "I don't know."

  "Yes you do."

  "Suck me, Sky. If you don’t want to let me fuck your throat, just lick around my head up there…"

  I do as he asks, and I once I’ve got my tongue around him, I can't help sucking him into my mouth...and down my throat. I'm throbbing in my pants, so close to coming just from sucking his cock.

  "I love you so much." He can't hear the words, but he can feel them, and I know it’s good because I taste his precum. I twirl my tongue around him and his ass comes off the bed.

  "I'm close." He actually shudders, making me feel like the god I'm not. Then he tugs at my hair. "Get inside me." His voice is hoarse and shaky because he's so close.

  I move my mouth off him and smile. He smiles back, looking drugged with desire. "That's what I've been waiting for,” he rasps. “Fill me up, Skywalker."

  I'm so eager to be in him, it's painful to push my cock in. His whole body trembles as he takes me. He grabs my shoulders and pulls me down atop him, wrapping his arm around the back of my neck and his leg around my flank as I start pumping in him.

  "God...oh fuck. Sky."

  "I love you," I whisper. I give his rock-hard shaft a firm stroke, and he groans loudly, spasming around me as I draw my throbbing cock partway out.

  "Love you," he says back, and as I push deep into him, his lips part and he comes all over his abs. It's his face that pulls me over the ledge with him—that look of pure, raw release. Bliss. I pull out with more haste than my usual and lie against his chest so I can brush my lips along his hard jaw.

  "Fuck." He shudders.

  I wrap him against me, cup his head as his mouth nibbles at the nook between my neck and shoulder.

  "Love you, Rayne."

  "Love you more, husband."

  "Don't forget it, even when I have an off day,” I say. “Promise?"

  “Swear.”

  We eat the veggie burgers we grabbed on our way here and drift, watching the Golden Gate as night falls like a curtain, framing us safely together, here where no one can hurt Rayne or come between us. Maybe that’s what I like about being out on the water. When Rayne asks what I’m thinking, I tell him the ocean is safer than the land.

  “That seems sad,” he says quietly.

  His hand folds around mine. His other arm, around my shoulder, pulls me closer. Queer. I think about the word as we sit, wrapped against each other there on the deck. To some people, that’s all we are—just two-dimensional gay men, written off by every bigot and by folks who just don’t get it; they don’t know anybody that’s openly gay, and never have, and maybe never will.

  And while intellectually I know it doesn’t matter—I don’t need them—there’s logistics. Some of them file into my sanctuary every Sunday. Also, stacked on top of that—on top of pride; my pride, and inexorable self-involvement—it just…sort of hurts. Now that
I’m out, I feel the weight of this…judgment all the time. Even when no one near me is actively judging. Even when no one says a word. Just knowing that the sentiment is out there, that it’s earmarked for me. That there are people on forums in dreary, hate-filled corners of the internet talking about me, talking about Vance. Hating on both of us.

  “Sometimes I want to move to Timbuktu,” I whisper.

  “I’ll go with you anywhere,” he says.

  It’s all I need. Vance is all I ever need to make the world feel right again. To make it feel like I can breathe.

  We go back to the bed and wear each other out again, and then he falls asleep, rocked by the dark water, and I find a nice spot to drop our anchor. We sleep under a light fleece, curled into each other, for most of the night.

  Vance wakes before dawn; I know because he pulls the duvet over us, and when I pull my eyelids open, there’s no light seeping through the blinds. He tucks my face against his throat and kisses my hair.

  "Go to sleep, McD. I gotcha..."

  When I awaken the next morning, I find him smiling at me, lying on his side and sipping coffee with his hand on my hip, all possessive-like.

  He gives me a slow smile. "You sleep okay?"

  "Better than ever."

  He leans down to brush his lips over my forehead. "I love when you wake up."

  I fold an arm behind my head, feeling self-conscious. “Do I look funny or something?”

  "Never. Sometimes I wake up first, and then I'm waiting for you. Eagerly." He waggles his brows.

  I run my hand over his forearm. "Don't stop."

  "I think you know that's not possible." He smiles gently.

  “Yeah, because I’m lucky.”

  “Because you’re mine,” he says.

  We snuggle together for a long time, V setting his coffee down so he can rub my back…and then we’re kissing. Then he's in me, and I'm groaning. Then he’s cupping my cockhead and I'm shouting, making a mess of my lower abdomen. When V’s eyes open, he drags a fingertip through it. He’s smirking as he leans down and kisses my cheek.

  I bite his mouth, and he nips my chin.

  “God, it’s hot when I’m inside you,” he rasps.

  "I love when you’re in me.” I swallow, trying to give him more than I do sometimes. Share more. “I love the way I can't control what moment I come because I just...explode."

  He grins like Cheshire Cat. "You wanna get a shower?"

  "If you get one with me."

  He takes my hand, and we step into the boat’s tiny shower stall like that—holding hands. He soaps me up—as always, extra gentle with my backside, almost reverent.

  "Thank you,” I tell him as I soap his shoulders.

  "For what?" He leans his cheek against the top of one of my hands.

  "Just for everything,” I whisper.

  I don’t know how this will work out—with the church—but I know at the end of every day, I get to climb in bed with Vance. Particularly if nobody kills him. I think about that as I fire the boat up and point toward the dock. I need to touch base again with Rayne’s security guard—the one he doesn’t know he has. Be sure the guy is being discreet so V doesn’t feel like a caged animal, but also impeccably thorough so no one gets near him. We even have security outside now, in the garage and at or near all the exterior doors. Heck, we have security for the buildings I’m not even in.

  That’s what you’ve done to the place—being somewhere that you don’t belong.

  I shut that voice down as we idle toward the dock. V helps me close up shop, and by the time we’re moving up the stone stairs toward my aunt’s house, I’ve got my mind parked in a better place.

  Unlike last time we were here, we manage to get into the car without incident. Vance mentions last time—“that officer was such a fan”—and I can’t help wondering if she still is. Actually, I guess she is, since she tried to comfort me the night I was outside Rayne’s hospital room. Thinking about that makes me feel guilty. I remember being frustrated in the moment, and I hope I didn’t aim that her way.

  “You’re gonna get a wrinkle there,” V teases. He narrows his brows to show me, and I shoot him an exaggerated glare. Then I lay my seat back and shut my eyes, letting his thumb stroke my knuckles.

  “It’s okay,” he murmurs as I crack my eyelids open and glimpse one of the streets about five minutes away from our house.

  How does he always know when I feel down? Am I just obvious—more and more, I’m trying to be an open book for him, in a way I’ve never been able to be with anyone—or is V just really good? Probably both, I decide.

  “I know,” I say. “I just wish this month was over.”

  “What’s the worst thing you can imagine?” V asks. “You know, like what’s your worst case scenario? Has Derek the therapist asked you this already?”

  He hasn’t. I suck a breath in and try to think of the answer. “Someone else…attacking us.” I swallow hard. “Especially you.”

  “What do you see? When you see something that seems like it would be really awful?”

  I don’t want to think about this.

  “I know it sucks,” Rayne says, “but I bet you have this shit cycling through your brain all day, Sky.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “I do.”

  “So give it to me. What’s the worst?”

  “People accosting us. When we’re…out on the sidewalk. Maybe on a date.” Or at the courthouse. “Sometimes there’ll be a crowd that…doesn’t like you. You can feel their animosity. As a pastor. You know, there are some people who think I’m a fraud or whatever. Who think my family made its money through the church. No one likes having haters.” I try to give him a smile.

  Rayne squeezes my hand. “Go on.”

  I swallow and force myself to do that. “I guess I see…someone at the church. Pissed off at me. Yelling me down somewhere that’s public…like where other people can hear. And what I hate the most about it is—” I lick my lips and laugh and look at my lap. “Hell,” I mutter. “This is awful.”

  Vanny laughs. “I know. Feelings are fucking awful. Even I think they are.”

  “The problem is” —I rush it out— “I don’t know what to say back.”

  It hangs heavy in the air around me. V knows what I mean, and I can tell he does just from how he takes his next breath. We’re so in sync; I love that.

  “I don’t know if it’s okay. With God,” I whisper. “I know that it’s okay like in my own conscience. But I spent my whole life acting like it wasn’t. It’s…a congruence issue.”

  When I don’t say more, he murmurs, “Explain more?”

  “If it’s okay to be gay, if it’s natural and even normal, why have people believed for so long that it’s not? And the answer is, that’s not true. There is evidence that in ancient civilizations, men who loved men, women who loved women, or even people in poly relationships were treated with respect,” I tell Vance.

  “In some tribes and small groups, it was thought of as more holy. So it’s just this religion that dislikes it. But…that’s not true either. It’s more than one religion. Things in America picked up steam in the 1940s, when the RSV New Testament published with a translation in which ‘homosexuals’ were rebuked specifically. Before that time, most widely circulating translations focused more on condemning the so-called ‘sexually impure’. But around World War Two, it started shifting. From that point on, anti-gay sentiments within American churches just kept gaining traction, and then it became political—so we know what that’s like. I know all this, that it’s just…societal fluctuations or whatever. So why does it bother me?”

  Rayne’s fingers stroke mine.

  “It’s just…my head’s messed up.” I rub my forehead, which is throbbing like it agrees. “I don’t know. It’s all emotional. Not logical.”

  “So here’s something,” V says. “Just a thought.”

  “Please.” I bring his hand to my mouth, brush my lips over his knuckles.

  “I read t
his book once—I wish I could remember the name of it. It was about…child abuse, I think. And love. Some therapist rec’d it because of my dad,” he says, his low voice going raspy.

  I press his hand against my cheek and nod.

  “So what it basically said is love isn’t something that can be learned in a vacuum. People who are never shown love don’t know how to love most of the time. I think maybe it could be learned from TV or movies. Books. But without any relationship where someone in it loves you—really feels affection for you, shows you warmth—it’s hard to feel love. And feel like you’re worth love. Love is not a one-way street,” Vance says. “So I know your parents loved you. A lot. That’s not my point here. But…” He shakes his head, and I laugh. “C’mon, Rayne. Hit me.”

  “I was just thinking, who loved gay Luke? Right? Who loved the gay kid who knew he was gonna grow up to be a gay man deep down, even if he never came out? Who told him that he was worthy of the whole damn world, and perfect how he was? And if the answer’s no one…then maybe that’s the root of how you feel now.”

  I nod slowly. “Go on,” I manage.

  “I don’t know. Like my mom, she would say basically how it’s normal to be bi. How lots of people have been, and how differences make the world better. When she said she loved me, I believed she loved the whole me. Like, she was good with me, deep down. Who I was. Fully. I feel like maybe no one did that for you. Even though your mom is awesome. I’m not blaming your parents. I’m just saying I think maybe no one did it. So while you have an identity as Luke, and you’re a scholar and a teacher—you’re a pastor—there’s this secret part of you that no one’s ever known. I guess I’m the one who’s known it longest. Even Pearl, one of your best friends, just found out. And…I don’t know. I don’t know how you feel, but I think that would make me feel less than secure. You know what I mean? Like, how does Pearl really feel? She feels fine.” He shakes his head. But…he’s right.

  “I know,” I whisper. “Vance…that is how I feel.” I blow a breath out. Suck another one in. “No one really knows me. And I don’t know how they feel about me. Every time I go into the church, I’m seeing strangers. Or they really might as well be. They, no doubt, see me somewhat different. Now that they know the one thing I kept hidden for my whole life. Everything—it feels like everything—there is to know about me is now known by everyone. I gave them so much of myself before this, as a speaker. As a pastor. I put everything out there for anyone to grab a hold of. I thought that’s what I should do. Give them everything I could of myself. So they know me so well, so they’d trust me when I preached. And now—”