Those words growled against his ear had his hands scrambling for purchase on Preacher’s slick skin, Memphis’s blunt nails digging into Preacher’s back as his heels drove into the flexing muscles of his ass. “I want more. Fuck me harder. I want to feel you come inside me.”
“Jesus, kid.”
If anybody else had dared use the word ‘kid’ on Memphis, he might have balked, but the desperate rasp of Preacher’s words only had Memphis trying to rally, his cock twitching where it was trapped between their sweat soaked bodies.
Memphis had asked for more and Preacher delivered, his hips now slinging into Memphis in a way that had his toes curling and his breath driven from his body with every hard thrust. Preacher swallowed every gasp, every moan, almost like he was just as hungry for Memphis’s sounds as he was his body. It was overwhelming, all-encompassing. There was nothing in the world that existed in that moment but the two of them, and it was more than Memphis had ever dared hope for.
Preacher’s hips stuttered, and then he was no longer thrusting but grinding his hips against Memphis, his whole body rigid as he came, pulling his lips away to bury his face in Memphis’s throat, his whole body shuddering and twitching in a way that made Memphis feel like he wasn’t the only one who was experiencing an entirely new sensation.
Preacher slipped his arms from under Memphis’s legs so he could straighten them, but made no other move to free himself. Part of him was relieved. It wasn’t that he expected Preacher to get up and run away—they were trapped together for the time being—but some part of him couldn’t stop his brain from jumping back to those other three guys and how quickly they’d run, leaving Memphis alone and humiliated in a dark room.
He shook the thought away. Preacher wasn’t anything like those men. Preacher wasn’t really like anybody Memphis had ever met. He was entirely his own person. A strange grizzly hermit who rescued dogs and children after spending years in prison for a murder he actually committed. Memphis snickered before he could stop himself.
“What are you laughing at?” Preacher asked, voice muffled against Memphis’s shoulder.
“I don’t think it’s as funny if I say it out loud,” Memphis said. Besides, he didn’t want Preacher to think he was making fun of him. Was this why people always wrote books and songs and movies about falling for bad boys? No. Preacher wasn’t a bad boy. Even taking a man’s life couldn’t make Memphis see him as bad. He was a good man who’d done a bad thing for a good reason. He wasn’t even a man when he’d done it. He’d been a boy who was trying to protect his mother.
The smile slid from his lips as his heart skipped a beat. A mother who’d turned her back on him and left him to rot in prison. He carded his fingers through Preacher’s sweaty locks before tugging him up and giving him a chaste kiss.
“What was that for?” Preacher asked, sounding both amused and confused.
“Just cause?”
“I’ll take it.”
“I’m hungry,” Memphis blurted, realizing it was true as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Well, then I guess we should do something about that.”
“I’ll cook,” Memphis said.
“We’ll both cook.”
Memphis arched a brow. “Do you not trust my cooking?”
“I trust your cooking just fine, but if I’m not helping, what am I going to do? Sit on the couch and watch a reality show about bitchy models clawing their way to the top?”
Memphis laughed. “Promise me we’ll never be that bored.”
“Promise.”
Preacher had never thought he’d be the type to enjoy sleeping in bed with another person. Prison life had taught him to value his space. No matter how much he’d gotten along with his various bunk mates over the years, he never imagined there would be anybody he’d like enough to allow them to violate his inner sanctum. Not after years in that six by eight cell. But he’d also never imagined meeting Memphis.
Memphis just made everything so easy once he let his guard down. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh. When their impromptu make-out session in the kitchen almost resulted in burning dinner, Memphis had simply rescued the food and put it aside so that he could finish what he’d started, dropping to his knees to blow Preacher to completion, swallowing every drop before they’d sat down at the small kitchen table and had the most relaxing dinner of Preacher’s life.
They’d fallen into bed, naked and full, and Preacher had taken hours to slowly turn Memphis into a shivering, whimpering mess, fucking him slowly until he was begging Preacher for more, his heels driving into him, back arching, willing to do almost anything just to get what only Preacher could give him. It was sexy as fuck. Memphis was so open to him now. He blossomed when Preacher took charge, enjoyed being bossed around, manhandled. Preacher had never thought of himself as somebody who would be into that, but God help him, he was. He so was.
Memphis had said he didn’t trust anybody, but he trusted Preacher with his body, and, fuck, that was sexier than anything. By the time they’d fallen asleep—Memphis curled up in his arms—they’d both come several times, stopping only to take the dogs out and grab a snack. Preacher had never remembered a time where he’d felt so…content.
He woke just as the sun began to peek through the glass window overhead. He blinked himself to consciousness in time to watch Memphis roll into a sitting position, looking over his shoulder before shoving his arms back into his long sleeve henley from the previous day, pulling it down into place as he padded across the house to the bathroom.
Preacher’s chest grew tight. Memphis wasn’t cold. He hadn’t even bothered with pants, just the shirt, just covering his scars…again.
When he returned, Preacher said, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?” Memphis asked warily.
“Well, you’re clearly not Donald-Ducking your way to the bathroom because of the temperature. You’re covering up. I thought we were past this. You don’t have to hide from me.”
