Chapter 21
You Can’t Masturbate to Jesus
RIPLEY
Ifeel like a caged animal, like the ones you see at the zoo pacing back and forth because they’ve been cooped up for too long. I went to sleep dreaming about him and woke up with my hand shoved down my sweats while I pathetically bucked against it.
And I still couldn’t get off.
Preacher’s kept me locked in my room all fucking day, only opening the door to drop off some food before he vanishes again.
Everything in this room feels like it was pulled out of the most boring museum in the world, and the longer time ticks on, the more restless I become.
The only few books I could find were about birdwatching, crocheting, or Jesus.
You can’t masturbate to Jesus.
Well, I’m sure you can, but even I have my limits.
I sigh, striding toward the window, and spotting him out in the field, sipping a beer while he watches the sun setting in the distance. He’s shirtless again, because of course he is.
“Fucking asshole,” I grumble.
Remnants of golden light drip down his skin, making his whole body glow as I trace the thick ropes of muscle that run down his arms. The way his forearm flexes as he tips that beer to his lips… His thighs are my favorite, though. I don’t know if I want to ride them or bite them.
I slide my fingers into my shorts, strumming my clit for the umpteenth time today. I’ve been sure to moan extra loudly when I hear him make his way upstairs, trying to get him to pay me a little visit.
I want to be hunted.
I want to be torn apart by those massive hands.
I want to be marked, bitten, bruised…
Scarred.
But he’s got far more willpower than me, and so the door stayed shut.
Preacher slowly turns his head up toward the window, his big dark hat obscuring his face. All I can see are his plump lips as he raises his beer bottle, knocking back the last of it, but still I’m certain his eyes are locked right on me.
One more shot at enticement.
I let my free hand wander playfully beneath the hem of my t-shirt, teasing my nipple in exaggerated motions so that there’s no question what’s going on, even from a distance.
He tosses the bottle over the fence, turning his entire body to face me before reaching down and squeezing himself over his jeans.
Suddenly I’ve never been more focused in my life.
“Come on, baby,” I mumble to myself. “Show it to me.”
He unclasps his belt buckle, popping open the button on his pants, and I can already see my breath fogging up the window. This is pathetic. One surge of hormones and I’m no better than a desperate man at a strip club.
In fact, I might be worse, I’m practically drooling, watching him pull his zipper down.
But then— he puts his hand inside his fucking jeans? This asshole is playing keepaway with his cock.
I hate him right now, but I know I can break him.
I pull my t-shirt up, pressing my tits up against the window while I fuck myself with my fingers. I’ll make myself come. I’ll show him that I can do this all on my own and I don’t need him or his dick for anything.
I slide a third finger inside, fucking myself hard as I pant like a dog, lubricated by my warm blood. I don’t care how shameless this is, or how desperate I might look.
Preacher spits in his palm and finally pulls his dick out of his pants. Even from up here I can tell he’s especially thick, and the thought of that alone might be enough to get me there.
I’m panting, hips bucking like a dog in heat as Preacher keeps up his languid strokes. Pleasure burns like starvation in my belly, painful, the ache so intense it’s starting to consume me.
I catch myself moaning, but I don’t stop, curling my fingers and hitting that spot which always makes my toes curl. He hit it with that gun yesterday, and I wonder if he’ll do it again tonight once I’ve passed his little test.
I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the rhythm, in pleasure, in the ripe and vivid fantasy of him pinning me to the bed and taking everything he wants. Flashes of lightning shoot through my nerves and my legs start to shake.
I’m gonna come.
Fucking finally.
I picture him chasing me through the woods, a knife in his hand, as he sings my name like a deadly melody.
When he finally catches up to me, he slams me against a tree.
In my mind I’m covered in dirt, blood, and sweat, and I swear I can feel him tear my leggings off of me and push himself inside with one brutal thrust. I can’t stop.
I’m dangling on the edge, grunting and trembling like the pathetic piece of shit I—
I whip around as the bedroom door slams open, ripping me from my well-earned climax. Preacher’s leaning in the doorway, hat tipped low, a smirk on his face, and his cock very conspicuously back in his jeans.
They’re buckled, too, like a damn chastity belt.
“That was quite the show.”
I’m shaking with rage, another orgasm denied.
“I fucking hate you,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
I’m starting to think he wants me to kill him before this test even begins.
Preacher slowly strides toward me, his hand resting lazily on his big gold belt buckle. I can see the obviously swollen shape through the dark denim, and resist the surprisingly powerful urge to drop to my knees.
“Look at how pathetic you are,” he purrs, pushing me up against the window. “Fucking drooling for my cock.”
He grabs my hand and stuffs my bloodied fingers between his lips, sucking them clean.
“Throw on some real clothes and meet me outside.” He grins. “No panties.”
I shiver, the last lingering hope that he’s going to push me up against the window and fuck my brains out slipping away.
God forbid Mr. Control Freak break the rules.
As if reading my thoughts, Preacher pulls a knife out of his back pocket and brings it right up to my throat.
He holds it there for a long time, olive eyes locked with mine as I feel the blade slowly dig deeper and deeper, my breath caught in my chest as it gets dangerously close to the point of no return.
Then, like nothing happened, he hooks the blade underneath my little tracking collar, and in one quick slice it tumbles to the floor with a thunk.
I stand there, stunned.
“What are you doing?”
“No cheating,” he purrs. “From either of us.”
“That’s a big risk, cowboy. I could run for help, I could even bring back some cops. They’d probably let me off easy for what I did, especially when they see what you’ve had going on out here.”
His dark brows knit together, not in anger but more like some kind of intense focus, and for the first time I can see flecks of gold in his eyes, like the final little bursts of dying starlight.
“I’m sure you could, if you managed to escape me. After the test, that’ll be the right you’ve earned, along with your freedom.”
He’s made it clear, after this there'll be no going back, regardless of how it ends.
“Or…” He tilts his head, playfully.
“Or?”
He smiles, a brand new intensity flashing across his face.
“Or you could choose to be reborn tonight.”