Communion (On My Knees Series Book 3)

by Ella James

  "Damn straight." He laughs, looking heavy-lidded.

  “I don’t think that thing is too straight.”

  We're grinning at each other. I rub my palm over his growing erection.

  "You must not like this car too much," he drawls.

  "Pull it over."

  "What?" He laughs.

  "You heard me. Pull over."

  He looks amused, like he thinks I'm kidding.

  "Park the car, V. Or today is going to be a full day at work."

  "Fuck," he murmurs, giving me that rich, husky laugh I hear in my dreams as he pulls onto a side street and off on a grassy shoulder.

  I'm hard enough to hurt as he parks and looks at me from under his lashes.

  "Whatcha want, preacher?"

  "I want that cock in my mouth."

  He pulls it out without question, and I feel a hot throb of my cock and balls just looking at him.

  Yeah, that's mine there... "Move your seat back." My voice is rough and demanding, but I can tell by Rayne's face that he likes it.

  He does what I ask, pumping himself when his chair's back almost parallel with the car’s floor.

  "Did I say touch it?"

  His lips twitch. "No sir."

  "Get your pants and boxer-briefs down to your knees. I want to see those lines."

  That makes him smile. For some reason, I like to bite along those imprint lines from where the seams leave their marks on his waist and hips and on the soft skin of his inner thighs.

  I have to swallow as he does as I ask. His big balls are pressed against the leather of the car's seat, and his dick is like a damn hose—long and thick and far too large for his big hand to handle.

  "Hung like a porn star," I mutter.

  "Says the man himself." He reaches toward me. "Pull yours out, too."

  "I don't think so. This is my feast. Groom's offering."

  "The groom should be offered the other groom's body?" he asks.

  "As a token of thanksgiving,” I tell him.

  "I'm thinking more like a communion,” he says, looking hungry.

  "You're the offering up first, Rayne baby."

  I lean over, wrap my mouth around his swollen head, and suck him like a lollipop. Vanny throbs and spurts some pre-cum for me, and I laugh around him at how ready he is. Then I lose myself as I slip into the rhythm of pleasing him. The one I love most. The most beautiful man in the world.

  I know just how he likes his balls rolled and his shaft stroked and his cockhead licked and sucked and thumped with my tongue. I know I have to wait to pull him deep into my throat because if I don't, he'll blow too soon; I want to do this as long as I can.

  Even though I like to mess with him and act like I'm in charge, I would do anything for this man who's trying not to pull my hair, who slides his fingers into the strands but won't tug unless my mouth is torturing this big dick and he starts to lose all his decorum. My artist—my smiling, kind-hearted, generous artist—has more manners than the whole damn world. He doesn't need money or breeding because he's the only breed. There is no one like Vance Rayne. No one will ever hold my heart like he does.

  So I try to tell him that with just my lips and cheeks and tongue. And maybe some teeth sometimes, just teasing the rim of his head.

  "Fuck, Luke."

  I pull off him for a second, sliding my fist up and down him as he groans like he's close.

  "Say it again."

  His eyelids lift open, and a small grin twists his lips. "Luke. Skywalker."

  I suck his dick back into my mouth, take him deep in my throat, and have to work to avoid choking as my own cock throbs so hard I almost blow in my pants.

  Vance comes with a strangled sound and a thick, hot spurt I swallow greedily. Then he opens his eyes, gives me a wicked grin, and grabs me by the collar.

  "So you think that you're the only one who gets a taste on our wedding night?" He slams his mouth over mine, coming in hard on a kiss that ends up turning slick and tender. He's nipping my lip and I'm about to come...oh God...and then he laughs—Vance actually laughs at me—and frames my face with his hands.

  "You gonna come from just a little kiss, McD?"

  I bite his lip—just hard enough to make him yelp, and Rayne groans. "Gonna get me hard again," he mutters.

  "Gonna come from just a kiss and blowing that big cock and swallowing that load you gave me.” I laugh, feeling so, so sated.

  He captures my mouth again, gliding his tongue in, and I can't help the flush of heat I feel below the belt. His hand is on my nape as he starts sucking my throat—hard enough to sort of hurt.

  "You're gonna leave a hickey," I warn.

  Rayne laps at my damp skin. "Only got one wedding night, McD. I'm gonna take what's mine."

  He pulls my shirt off, and I have a passing thought that someone could drive by and get more pictures of me being a Bad Pastor—but it’s pre-dawn dark and I don't care. Then Rayne’s nibbling at my pecs, biting my nipples—oh God, I'm spilling cum now—and he's licking down my chest.

  He rumbles, "Put your seat back." I'm relieved to do so, moving my body away from that hot mouth that's making my cock and balls throb in time with my heartbeat.

  Then I'm on my back and Vance is climbing atop me.

  "What the..." I laugh softly.

  He pushes the seat back further toward the rear of the car and somehow tucks himself into the small space of the passenger’s side floorboard. Then he guides my cock into his mouth and gives a long, deep, slow suck.

  "So damn wet for me, my sweet groom." He laps up and down me like he's trying to catch the drips on a popsicle, and I'm coming off the passenger seat, moaning. I'm trying to tug his hair but he has no hair. Dammit.

  "Vanny, please..."

  He just keeps licking, tongue like molten velvet as it wraps around me and he holds my balls a little too tight, and I'm so far gone even my abs hurt from the mounting tension. I lift my hips, and Vanny laughs and tugs my balls and nudges them aside with his warm knuckles. Then his mouth is popping off me. I hear a rip, and he's lubing his finger.

  "God...Rayne."

  He pushes a finger in, and then he adds another, knowing how I like that stretched-full feeling. Then he's brushing my prostate, and I'm moaning and seeing stars. He's pulling me into his mouth and swallowing me down; he's got me lodged there where it's oh so hot and warm, and he's sucking at my base. He's moving me in and out of his mouth, licking up and down, pushing the tip of his tongue against my slit, tracing my cockhead's rim and tonguing the little groove under the flange until I'm rocking with my legs, I'm pushing up at him, and Vance is choking on my hard cock. Vance is laughing as he's choking, and I'm moaning, "Sorry. God, V."

  But his fingers aren't in deep, not where I need them. I'm moaning and I can't stop, and then I've grabbed his head. I want to push him down, but I can't do it—not tonight.

  He must know what I’m wanting, because I feel him laugh around me. That vibration brings me to the edge, and then he hums again and shoves his fingers right where I want them, and I can't stop it. I can't even feel it starting. One second, I'm trembling, needy, and then I'm shouting and my body's boiling over, and he's swallowing it down and I'm rubbing his head. He sucks me once more, almost a caress, before moving his mouth off me.

  He grins, wiping his mouth. "That was fucking hot, Sky."

  I blink down at him and realize there are tears on my cheeks.

  "Vanny. You're a monster." But I'm smiling. I'm embarrassed, sort of. Losing it here on the roadside.

  He works his fingers in for a parting tease, and then he slowly draws them out and reaches over to the console and grabs some stuff to clean up.

  As he sinks back down into the floorboard space, he kisses my hip and gives me another coy grin.

  "McD. I got so lost I almost forgot we were stopped here," he says, pouring water on a towel. "But I think you might have gotten more lost."

  I can't help the shudder that moves through me as he cleans me up. I'm still
breathing hard as he cleans his hands and I clean mine. He sits beside me in the passenger’s seat for just a second—really more on me—and hugs me hard against him.

  "Love you," he whispers against my scratchy cheek.

  I kiss his mouth. "I love you more, Rayne baby."

  "Husband." He grins.

  Rayne is climbing back into the driver's seat when blue lights flash behind us.

  It's a gay officer. Thank God. I feel thankful the second he appears at Vance's window. There's a rainbow flag pin on his lapel. He asks for Rayne's license and then he looks back up, narrowing his eyes at both of us. And then he laughs and hands it back.

  "No questions, asked, no answers needed." He claps Vance's shoulder. "Have a safe drive home, sir.” His brown eyes slide to me. “You might wanna put your shirt on, pastor."

  And that's it.

  "Thank God for San Francisco," I say, pulling my shirt on.

  "Thank God that almost everybody likes you."

  I snort. "Nobody knows me."

  "Well, they think they do. And they like what they've seen."

  I lean my head against the headrest, and Rayne takes my hand. He strokes my fingers, and he drives so smoothly I'm almost asleep when the car’s tires bump over the lip of the driveway. I feel Vance’s hand in mine stiffen.

  15

  Vance

  It's almost 5:30 a.m. when I turn onto our street and steer us slowly through the amber glow of streetlamps. There's this moment where I can't believe this is my life. I'm holding my husband's hand as he sleeps in the seat beside mine. I can feel his ring against my finger. Yeah, he's got a fucking ring. Because he's married—to me.

  God, that feels good. How did I not know how good it would feel? I mean, I knew recently, and I was wanting us to do this. But...before. How did I not always know that this was what was missing? Not necessarily the married part; I'm not sure that matters. But the mine. The sense of being able to rest because you know the person is with you, and you'll be there for them. The fucking…permanence.

  I wonder for not the first time if things would be different without all the bad shit that went down this year—for both of us. Sometimes I really don't know if all this would have gone the way it did had I not found Sky in his bed half dead from sepsis.

  And what about what happened to me? It changed...not things between us, but it changed the way that other people saw us. There's a bunch of people out there now who think I'm some kind of hero. Including a lot of the guys we hung around last night. All that stuff makes me feel weird, so I try not to think about it. But for sure, what happened sort of validated Sky and me.

  Part of me is so disappointed that that's what it takes to make people—especially religious people–root for us. Fucking sucks. I don't know what to say about it. That's why when I think about the Netflix thing, I'm not sure I should even tell Sky. What the hell would I say on a TV show? Do your best, kids. Be the nice one that sits with newbies in the lunchroom. Try not to get killed by a hater.

  But Luke could rock that shit. I know he could. Which means I should tell him. Anyway, I said I would. So I have to. That's where my mind is when I hang a right into our driveway. Click the button for the gate.

  I bounce over the hump that's kind of like a mini curb-line, press the pedal nice and steady so Sky won’t wake up as we crest the little hill, and that's when I see—there's a car out front. Some kind of small sedan, and even weirder: It's got interior lights on.

  I guess my hand tightens on reflex because I feel Sky's fingers stiffen. Then he's sitting up in his seat. He frowns, and I can see him notice the car in front of our house.

  "V..." He rubs his eyes, sits up straighter. "Hey make a Uey, will ya? Let's turn around."

  "What?"

  "Do it now, please,” he says, his voice sleep-rough.

  "You want me to turn around in the—"

  "Yes, Rayne. I want you to turn the car around."

  I suck a breath in, braking instead.

  "I don't know that car, Rayne. I don't want to find out what kind of—" His frown deepens, and right about that time, I see a figure in the driveway waving. I realize it's Steven, and he's holding up his phone.

  "Ahh. I had my phone on silent." Sky pulls his phone out as Steven keeps waving us forward. He sounds grumpy as he tells me, "Just keep on going. To the garage, please."

  "Sure thing, baby. Chauffeur's got this."

  He snorts softly, and I'm pretty sure he murmurs, "Like hell."

  I snicker. "You don't think I've got it?"

  "I don’t think you’re the chauffeur. Maybe to avoid appearances like some of that stuff on the internet, I should—" My eyes are on Sky's face as his eyes widen. "V...that's Carrie. You remember, from the—"

  "Office." I nod as my stomach tightens. "She's the one that took the baby."

  I park right behind her car, at Sky's direction. He's out first. I'm pretty sure that's not an accident. By the time I make it around the car's hood, he's standing close to Carrie. I see a baby car seat thing at her feet, and for some reason, my stomach flips.

  As soon as I'm within a foot of them, Carrie stops talking.

  Sky looks at me, and his face is carefully blank. "Vance, Carrie—she says—" He lets out a long breath, cupping a hand over his eyes so he's looking at me but Carrie can't see his face well. "The baby's mother claims you are the father. She says that's why she dropped the baby off at Evermore. And that if you don't take her—well, if we don't—she's going to tell the press."

  Something hard and heavy droops into the bottom of my stomach, even as my heart starts racing out of my chest.

  Sky’s eyes hold mine. “Want to step inside for a minute?”

  "Why don't you?” Carrie says. “We'll just be waiting out here." Her face looks impressively neutral.

  I open my mouth, wanting very much to say, "It's not my baby." But I look at Sky—always the picture of discretion—and I figure that he'd rather if we stepped inside the house, so I nod.

  "That's fine." I look at Carrie, and the words just fly from my mouth: “I can’t handle more than this guy.”

  She gives me a sort of surprised wide-eyed, not-quite-smile expression, and I arch a brow.

  "Sorry," I tell Sky as soon as the door's shut behind us. "Didn't want to give off the impression that…it could be true. To her. To cut down on gossip."

  He laughs, just a low rasp. He shakes his head. "That ship's boarding, Vanny. Pretty soon she's gonna pull out of the port and that's it." He blows a breath out, shaking his head again. "Just another thing we have to deal with."

  "What the fuck?"

  Luke runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it before his eyes pin mine again. "You sure it isn't...possible?"

  I think of Maya, back in New York. She’d had both ovaries removed because of some kind of torsion thing where they both twisted. It was a big deal for her, and she had these little pinkish scars from where they did the laparoscopic surgeries. I don't even want to mention her name on our damn wedding night, so I just shake my head. "Yeah, McD. I'm positive the baby isn't mine."

  "Why would someone do this?" Sky says. He looks down at his shoes. His shirt hangs untucked, the part that’s normally tucked in looking rumpled. For a second, he looks young, like a frat boy after a formal and not the mogul he is. Then his eyes are on mine. "I'm so sorry, Vanny."

  I laugh. "You're so sorry?" I step closer, throwing an arm around his neck. "What did you do, my Sky babe?" I wrap my other arm around his waist and rest my cheek against his hard, warm shoulder. "You're perfection, Luke McDowell. And the two of us?" I lift my head, so he can see my face. "Also fucking perfection. You know what I think? I think someone with not many options looked at us and looked at you and thought about what they think is so much money. In fairness..." I laugh. "They saw a fucking sweet ride for their baby, McD. So they left the baby with that note about how they wanted her to go to you. And then we didn't take her."

  My stomach tightens at that, even though it s
houldn't. "Before they quit—she quit—she tried one more thing. This is like the story you told me, the baby in the fucking basket."

  He laughs, and I can see on his face he thinks I'm ridiculous, and maybe horrifying with the F-bomb. "Moses?"

  "Yeah. Right, him. This woman is sending her kid down the river or whatever. Wanting a king to take her in."

  He shuts his eyes. "Shit," he whispers. He cracks one eye open. "Good recall on that, Vanny."

  I lean in, brushing a kiss over his lips. "Thank you, sensei."

  He hugs me hard, and I hug him back. "Nothing to do with either one of us except granddaddy's pocket book."

  Soft laughter shakes Sky’s shoulders. He squeezes me closer. "I love you. You know that, right? You know how much I love you?"

  He pulls back, leaning his forehead against mine. Then he rests his cheek against mine, his warm hand caressing my nape. "What do you wanna do? You're not looking for a baby right now, are you?" Now he does put just a little bit of space between us, searching my face with his hazel-green eyes.

  I laugh at the insanity of all this. "Sky, we just got married like six hours ago. You're the one with the high-powered Zaddy job. We do what you want. This is a time in life where we should do what you need and what makes you happy. You're in charge here."

  He rests his forehead against mine again. "You are, Vanny. Anything you want, I give you. That's the way this works."

  "Oh, is it?" I run my hand down his hip, and he laughs. "Don't tempt me." He lifts his head again and looks at the front doors. "I know Carrie's got to be tired. Maybe we should ask her in and give them both a room. Let my publicist and legal fix this in the morning."

  My throat tightens. "You don't want a baby right now, do you?"

  Sky’s brows arch, and his mouth twists into what looks like an abashed grin. "I mean..."

  I gape, slapping his mouth softly. "Holy fuck, you do. You fucking want a baby."

  "With you," he says hoarsely. "I want a baby with you, Vance Rayne McDowell." He inhales deeply and looks down at the space between us, seeming weary. "I've wanted a family for a long time," he says quietly.