“I want you to know, I loved you before all those women slid into your DMs.”
I wince at her words. They’re both pure and venomous.
She loves me.
No. She loves the idea of me.
“Don’t,” I breathe.
“I loved you before you loved me.”
Her fingers drag down the terry cotton of my towel still snugly wrapped on my hips. Delicately, she glides over the thin fabric covering my length. I shudder, but she doesn’t stop. She skims up and down the hardness underneath, teasing me. I rest my head back against the door and stare at the ceiling, feeling powerless under this woman’s touch.
Her lips deliver a tender kiss to my chest. One peck, then another, longer, wetter. As she speaks, her breath heats with every word.
“Jack, we are meant to be together.”
Her hand unhooks my towel, dropping it to our feet with a whoosh of air. I draw in a sharp breath as her palm cups around my shaft. In a painfully slow motion, she strokes, her touch warm and soft.
It’s everything I want. Morgan, seducing me, professing her love. Touching my cock.
Except she’s wrong. This isn’t the me she wants.
“I’m not a preacher,” I say, keeping my gaze on the ceiling.
“You are,” she answers.
It’s how I suspected she’d respond. Still lying to herself. That makes it easier to grab her hand and stop her seductive touch. I pry my gaze from above and look into her eyes.
“I amnota preacher,” I repeat, more firmly. “I am an atheist.”
“You’ve lost your way,” she says, but this time, there is an ache in her voice, a longing she can’t hide.
She tries to move her hand, but I won’t let her.
“You love the wrong guy. Put on your clothes and go home to him.”
Fire ignites behind her eyes as they narrow. I expect her to cower back, dress, and leave.
She doesn’t. Doesn’t even flinch.
“No, you areFather Killborne.”
Oh, she’s just asking for it.
Then, she fists my cock at the base, too tight to push her hand off. She glares, challenging me. With her eyes set on mine, her knees hinge and she lowers herself at my feet. “I heard God’s will spoken from your lips. That wasn’t memory. That was faith.”
She sits back on her haunches and brings her lips to my tip. I can’t look away. She’s sexy, gorgeous, everything.
And she’s smart.
Because she feeds me into her mouth, her big eyes watching me as she does so. And every movement is calculated and sensual. A perfect tease, right before she plays her next move.
“Jack,” she murmurs, stroking me with her hand. Then licks the tip, swirls her tongue, and pulls back. “I could be your bride. Psalm 45 is our song.” She takes my hand and places it on her head. “Say it.”
Clever church girl.
I know where she’s going with this, and what line she wants me to recite.
