Chapter 3
Morgan
“You committed the church to thirty-thousand dollars?” Daddy says.
I grimace, ashamed. I twirl my fork, wrapping the spaghetti around it. The dining room is cavernous. Gold trim lines the ceiling. The mahogany table seats twelve but only three places are ever used. Mother sits beside him. White silk blouse. Matching slacks. Not a wrinkle anywhere.
“I know,” I reply. “That guy you warned me was there. He used the livestream to pressure me to donate. I had no choice.”
He leans back in his chair and thumbs the end-of-day scruff along his jaw. It’s peppered, like his hair. The chandelier reflects in his cufflinks. Mother keeps her spine straight. Hands folded near her plate. She listens, never interrupts.
“You are nineteen. Still young, but an adult. You need to be ready for snakes in the grass. Next time, insist you will speak with the church board to get it approved.”
Mother nods along like she’s heard it all before.
Subtly, I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye before it can run down my cheek. I don’t want him to see me cry. I can’t be weak or he’ll trust me even less because emotion is a weakness in this house.
This mess-up wasn’t fair, though. Jack was a monster. A heathen.
A clever heathen.
A hot clever heathen.
He was tall with dark hair that fell near his eyes. The shadow cast by the strands was stark against his laser blue eyes. Nothing gentle lived behind them. Their color was pure in their gleam, but his words were as wicked as the devil’s.
And Lord, I am so ashamed because the confrontation should’ve ended much sooner. I just stood there, soaking in every second with him. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
But why?
Sure, those tattooed arms drew my attention.
Thick lines of black and deep red wrapped around his forearms, bold and unapologetic.
The ink looked alive against his skin, the shapes sharp and uniform.
The designs slid down to his fingers, spilling letters and figures over his knuckles, but I didn’t have time to decipher them.
Oh, and those biceps poking out from his cotton tee-shirt were more pronounced than I’d like to admit. Not to forget the way his heavy frame caged me in so fearlessly. His cologne, rich with a mix of Amberwood and spices, ignited my senses. It was too intoxicating.
He was too intoxicating.
That man is everything a girl could want, and everything she shouldn’t.
Thankfully, I eventually snapped out of it. I am grounded enough to deny sin-fueled temptation when it counts. Not like Ingrid, who has been fooled by men more times than I can count. It was annoying how she talked about Jack’s sex appeal the whole car ride after.
Not me.
I clear my throat.
“Eugene mailed the check. That’s the last time we have to deal with the Killbornes. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“Rightly so,” Dad agrees. “We can’t be making huge donations right now. The land for the new church is three million. We close in two weeks and can’t have anything go wrong.”
I nod. “I won’t let you down again.”
But inside, I am nervous. Tomorrow, I have to face Gabe — and I can’t afford another mistake. I can’t compromise my family by getting physical. My body’s desires aren’t worth the risk.
Suddenly, a memory resurfaces. Jack’s breath as warm and real as if his knuckle were dragging down the swoop of my neck. His voice, so deep and taunting.
I shudder and set down my fork, irritated, because my body burns with need. It’s been betraying me the last three days since I met Jack.
Deep down, I can’t deny the truth. That man awakened something in me.
Desire I can’t seem to keep at bay. I think my curiosity is getting worse.
I am a virgin, after all. Is that so wrong?
Why did God make me flesh if I wasn’t supposed to be tempted?
As long as I abstain, my body’s reaction is no fault of my own.
“Dad. How do you know the Killbornes?” I ask.
“I knew their parents. They died five years ago in a car wreck. It was terrible. Then the eldest son—”
“Jack.”
“Yes, Jack. He inherited the house and center. He was eighteen at the time, so he was granted guardianship of his brothers.”
“So he’s twenty-three?” I ask, a little too excited to learn more about him.
“Mm-hm.”
“That’s sweet he wanted to raise them. It sounds like his family experienced a lot of grief at such a young age.”
Mom says nothing. Only lifts her wineglass and takes a small sip. Just enough to wet her lips. Dad shrugs, also seeming unaffected.
“Jack got into trouble the first few years. Drank too much. Tons of traffic violations. I bailed him out of jail once in respect of his late parents who came to our church every week. Jack never thanked me. Flipped me off and said to stay out of his life. You can show people kindness, but some have the opposite reaction.”
“Huh. I wonder why.”
Daddy finishes his steak and shrugs. “Who knows why, darling. Hopefully, Jack will come around, but he’s not someone I want you near. Associating with him would hurt your brand.”
“It would,” I agree. “I have zero interest in seeing him.”
“Smart girl. I like Gabe. Now there is a man to admire.”
Mother smiles on cue, soft and practiced. The kind that photographs well. Then she finishes her wine and sets the glass down carefully. Already gone in her head.
“Yep. Gabe’s great,” I reply half-heartedly.
I finish my meal and go to bed. When my eyes close, Jack’s sinister grin flashes, his smirk holding a sense of danger. It’s the same smile that made women swoon on the livestream.
Stop thinking of him, Morgan.
Gabe. Think of Gabe.
Frustrated and determined to banish thoughts of Jack, I grab a Bible with the pages cut out that stores my vibrator.
I envision being on my knees for Gabe, holding the first cock I’ve ever seen in person. It was smooth and hard. Velvety soft. Tasted like skin and musk or something. Until he came.
I grimace slightly.
Didn’t like that salty goo.
Focus, Morgan!
Quickly, I press the vibrator to my clit and remember the stuff I liked. The warmth, his fingers in my hair, his soft breaths from the pleasure I gave him. It was kind of empowering to have that effect on a guy.
But what if it was someone else like the guy who helps me with communion? He’s much hotter than Gabe. Or the one who sings in the choir. His baritone voice is so sexy. Or...
An image of a man’s jeans unzipping.
Jack’s.
Mmm. He’s sexy times ten.
I wonder what his length looks like. I want to see it. Feel it.
Gosh darn it. What in the world is wrong with me?
Yet, I close my eyes and much to my dismay, I picture his muscled body over me. That black shirt off. A body I can only imagine. Tattooed arms caging me in. Sculpted biceps I want to feel under my palms. His shaft pressing into me. I bet it feels amazing.
I gasp softly, the sound carries above the vibrator’s hum. Soon, my orgasm claws at the surface as I think of him fully inside of me, our foreheads pressed together. It’s incredibly hot and overwhelming.
Just then—
The stained-glass image from the sanctuary flashes behind my eyes.
My orgasm retreats like a rabbit fleeing a wolf.
It’s over.
The inky blanket of guilt shrouds me like it does every time I try to climax, but this time, it’s heavier.
I place a pillow over my face. I hide there, as if Jesus himself is watching from the heavens and shaking his head in disappointment.
Especially for thinking about Jack, who is clearly a nonbeliever.
In the morning, I carefully slip my vibrator underneath crumpled trash in the waste bin.
For a moment, I stare ahead, debating if I should really throw it away.
No. Leave it in the trash. I need sex off of my brain, or else, every day will be worse than the last. I’m losing control and it isn’t healthy.
There. I already feel in control.
I think.