Chapter 15
June
Silas was being weird.
Weirder than usual—which I needed to clarify because Silas Ward was, without a doubt, very weird. But this…? It was a new flavor of weird. Quiet, nervous, and not nearly as gruff as normal.
We pulled up to the church and parked in the gravel lot behind the parsonage, Silas pulling his keys out while I carried my tote bag full of notes and the tupperware of ambrosia in my hands.
He was quiet as he unlocked the door—taking a peek up at the security camera he’d had installed a few days before—and then he insisted on doing a quick sweep of the parsonage while I walked into the kitchen.
I told myself it was just paranoia…that he was probably just nervous from all the shit that had happened to us since I’d come back to town.
But when I turned around, he was standing at the threshold to that tiny little kitchen, watching me…and I knew this wasn’t paranoia.
It was something else entirely.
I cocked my head and put my stuff down, then crossed my arms.
“What big teeth you have,” I murmured.
He blinked at me like I’d spoken another language. “Excuse me?”
“You just um…” I paused, laughing. “You kind of look like you’re going to eat me. Didn’t get enough ambrosia back at Loretta’s?”
He didn’t laugh. Instead, he rasped, “I don’t want the ambrosia.”
He stepped into the kitchen slowly, like he wasn’t sure I was something he was allowed to touch. There was barely enough room in here for one person, let alone two, and it brought us into agonizingly close proximity, my eyes tracking up to meet his.
My stomach flipped at the heat in his grey eyes.
“You’ve been real quiet since brunch,” I said, my voice a little hoarse.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“Like?”
He took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat of him, smell the scent of sawdust and soap and sweat. Then he reached out to cup my cheek.
“You’re really somethin’, June Fontenot,” he murmured.
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but the way he said those words…it was like they held a thousand meanings. I knew that Silas wasn’t a big talker, that he was reserved, kept to himself—but his voice shook.
Something meant everything.
“Silas,” I started, but he pressed a finger to my lips.
“Give me a second,” he chuckled. “I’m…not real good at this.”
My lips twitched, but I gave him the silence he asked for. Satisfied, he moved his hand from my lips to my hip, taking yet another step closer—so we were breath to breath, almost kissing.
“I been tryin’ real hard to keep my head on straight,” he said, voice rough. “Tell myself we got time. That I can take it slow. But you walked into that house this morning like you belonged there, talked to those women like you’d been leadin’ them your whole life, and I…”
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. I resisted the urge to speak, to tell him he didn’t have to keep going.
He wanted to talk. I needed to let him.
But all he said was, “I’m losin’ my mind over you.”
The words fell out like they surprised him…and something about that scared me, thrilled me. My hands slid up his chest, over the firm stretch of muscle beneath his button-up, feeling the tension in his body like a wire pulled too tight.
“You’re not losing your mind,” I said quietly. My heart was pounding, my hands itching to be on his bare skin. “I feel it, too.”
His breath stuttered out of him at that, like I’d knocked the wind from his lungs just by saying it. He leaned in, brushed his nose against mine.
“I keep thinkin’ this is too good to be true,” he murmured. “And I’m…I don’t get to keep good things, June. I’m fuckin’ terrified I’m gonna lose you.”
That made something sharp twist in my chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know,” I said. “Because I make my own destiny, Silas Ward. And you’re it.”
His lips ghosted over mine—barely there, more heat than pressure. “Can I kiss you?”
“You’re already kissing me,” I whispered.
That dragged a low sound from his chest. “Not like I want to.”
And then he kissed me for real.
Not gentle. Far from careful. This wasn’t the kiss he’d laid on me a few days ago in the church when I’d first come back…no, this was so much more. This was worship and reverence and prayer and deep, diabolical sin.
I gasped against his mouth and he used it, sliding his tongue against mine in a way that had my knees going loose and my body arching into his. He groaned low in his throat, hands skimming down to grip the backs of my thighs.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he rasped.
I did. I couldn’t help it; I needed to be closer to him, needed to feel the press of his cock through his jeans.
And there it was, there to grind on, hard and eager.
He lifted me without so much as a grunt, like I weighed nothing—and he started carrying me, mouth still on mine, down the short hallway that led into the sanctuary.
“Silas—” I started, breathless, unsure of where this was going but knowing I didn’t want to stop.
“I need,” he cut himself off with another kiss, this one dizzy and off-kilter, as he shouldered open the swinging door to the church. “I need you. I need you right here.”
My breath caught as he carried me past the sawhorse, past the pews…and up the single step to the altar.
The altar.
“Here?” I asked.
“Here,” he said. “Because this is holy work.”
I should have stopped him—I knew that, because every good Christian girl instinct I had left was screaming at me that God was watching, that this was sinful, filthy.
But the way Silas looked at me…there was God in that.
I held his gaze as he lowered me gently onto the unfinished altar—the wood smooth beneath me, recently sanded, still smelling faintly of cedar and sawdust. Sunlight poured in through the stained glass window, Silas backlit in jewel tones.
He didn’t move for a second—just looked at me, with my sundress hitched up around my hips, legs spread on the altar of this church that had once preached nothing but shame.
“You don’t have to,” he said roughly, even as his hands settled on my inner thighs, as he knelt like he was about to pray. “If this is too much…if you need slow, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever.”
God…I didn’t want to wait.
Not anymore.
“Silas,” I whispered. “Don’t make me beg.”
A shudder rippled through him, and something wild flickered in his eyes.
Then he was pulling down my panties, undressing me, tossing them onto the floor. He looked up at me, the stained glass lighting up my skin…and it looked like the space between us was glowing, magic.
His hands skimmed up my thighs, rough palms reverent, fingers brushing the backs of my knees.
He kissed the inside of one…then the other.
I was already shaking, already burning.
“Look at me,” he said hoarsely.
I did.
I couldn’t look away.
And then he lowered his mouth to me like holy communion.
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out—soft, shocked, immediate. His groan vibrated through me, his hands tightening on my thighs as he licked again, slower this time, savoring me like he’d been starving.
“Oh my God,” I gasped, my fingers finding the edge of the altar, bracing myself.
He hummed against me, those grey eyes still trained on me, a dark curl coming free of his topknot. “Say my name instead.”
“Silas—” It came out as a moan, breathless and broken.
“That’s better.”
He didn’t stop—just kept going, every movement of his tongue pulling me tighter, higher, until I was shaking, shivering on the edge of something vast and ancient and powerful.
I could feel it building in the pit of my stomach, could feel the tears stinging my eyes—not from pain, not from fear, but from the way this man touched me like he might not know God, but he knew me and that was enough.
I’d never been wanted this much, worshiped like this.
His tongue circled my clit, slow and steady and intentional, and I shattered—right there on that altar, legs trembling, mouth open in a silent scream, fingers fisting in his hair as I came apart in the place I’d learned to be fearless.
And I was seen.
Utterly seen.
When I finally stilled, when the aftershocks left me boneless and blinking up at the beams of the ceiling, he rose to kiss his way up my body. Silas took me in his arms and held me against him, unable to stop kissing me even as he spoke.
“I wanna make love to you,” he whispered, still kissing me. “Will you let me?”
I didn’t answer right away, still too full of him—of all the feelings he’d drawn from me like he was coaxing music from a long-abandoned instrument. He looked terrified he’d gone too far, like maybe he’d ruin it.
But I wasn’t scared. Not of him. Not of this.
So I reached up to touch his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbone, and as he leaned in, I whispered, “I’m yours.”
His breath caught. I kissed him again, slow and certain, tasting myself on his lips.
And just in case he didn’t believe or understand it the first time, I said, “Yes.”
Yes to him. Yes to this. Yes to the ruin and the grace of whatever we were becoming.
He kissed me back, gathering me into his arms, and I knew then—this wasn’t just going to be sex. Not with Silas.
This was going to be holy.
This was going to be love.