Chapter 23
Morgan
I’m not as tough as I thought. I thought if Jack left, I could bear it—
Suddenly, I’m dragged across the bed and scooped into his arms as he sits on the edge.
“Easy,” he soothes.
“You stopped,” I cry.
“Morgan, you were hurting.”
“Was not!”
He shakes his head.
Maybe I didn’t fool him.
“It didn’t hurt that bad,” I rephrase.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says dismissively.
I sniffle. “I liked it.”
Which is true. It was intense, raw, and intimate. Better than I fantasized.
In fact, where’s the guilt?
I push that thought aside when he rises for his tee-shirt.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say hastily.
He ignores me.
Firmly, I grab his bicep and pull him back onto the bed. “Stay with me tonight, please.”
He stares for a moment, then looks away.
“Jack, listen, it hurt more at the end, but it was perfect. Is this because you said I love-?”
His eyes widen in absolute horror. Just as quick, his expression shifts, darker and contemptuous. He snaps:
“Whatever preacher-fuck you marry will know you aren’t a virgin now. You realize that, don’t you?”
I have to blink a few times to process his brash words.
Jack being Jack.
That brick wall I loathe is building right before my eyes.
I swallow and nod. “I’ll tell him my hymen ripped while jumping on a trampoline.”
He gives me a dismissive glance. “Stupid.”
“Or from riding a horse.” I smile playfully and shrug. “I heard it happens.”
“Or my fat cock,” he says sternly, and places a pillow over his face. “Fuck, Morgan. Why did you have to be so tight and do all that dumb shit? Moan the way you do. Your body.” He tears the pillow off his face and glares at me. “This is all fucked up.”
“Wha- why?”
He’s up again, pacing. “And I’ll tell you another thing. If you didn’t hurt so bad, I would’ve fucked you till you went cross-eyed. That preacher will never screw you better than me.”
Ohhh.
Maybe he’s jealous. Weird, considering I didn’t bring up someone else.
“And what the hell are we doing?” he growls, and puts on his shoes. He shakes his head and talks to himself. “A virgin. Of course it would feel different. She is different.”
Different.
The word stings more than any insult.
He heads toward the door.
Panic spikes through me, sharp. My chest tightens. The room feels colder already, emptier. I don’t want him walking out like this. Not angry and unfinished.
I speak before I think.
“If you leave, I’ll call Blake. He’ll sleep with me and stay.”
Mid-stride, he stops. Turns. The muscles of his jaw tick and his eyes narrow.
“What did you say?”
My pulse hammers. I should take it back. I should apologize. I’m not this person. But desperation and fear twist together.
“I’m not a virgin anymore. It was easier than I thought, and Blake’s a man of the cloth. Sex with him will be a holy union. Divine. You wouldn’t understand.”
“A holy union...” His voice trails off.
“Yep. Not like the thing we just did.”
Silence.
I tense as he approaches.
“Come here.” He points at the end of the bed.
My stomach knots, but I obey, crawling to the spot. I’m apprehensive, but giddy that he’s still here.
“Up on your knees, legs spread apart.”
Again, I obey, this time wearing a shy grin.
“Now put your hands in prayer.”
The order is a slap to the face and I balk, my heart thudding. I stay frozen, but he grabs my wrists and places my palms together firmly in front of my chest.
I remain still, reluctant.
His hand floats between my parted thighs, and his fingertip finds my entrance. He circles the raw opening and presses at the tear.
I wince, but stay posed, my body trembling under the intense gaze of this man.
“Morgan Leigh Montgomery, the dumb preacher’s daughter. She got her little pussy ripped, and now she wants a pastor to fill the ache I left.”
He looks at the ceiling and points. “Pray to him. Ask your God for forgiveness.”
My chin quivers. I’m embarrassed and confused, like God is watching. And worse, as Jack’s finger toys with that sore spot, I’m aroused despite the pain.
“Pray,” he repeats, darker. “Say dear God.”
My throat tightens, and to my surprise, I speak.
“Dear God.”
“Good, church girl. Pray for forgiveness, not because you had premarital sex, but because you slept with an atheist. You didn’t want salvation. You wanted me.”
I gasp softly. “I want salvation more than anything.”
“Do you?” Two of his fingers slide in, and the intrusion makes me shudder. “That’s why you don’t want me to walk away. You want someone to see the real you. The sinful girl you can’t show the world. The one that uses her pussy to get what she wants. Even tries to convert nonbelievers with sex.”
I try to talk, but I can’t.
He hits that sensitive flesh inside, and I lock around his finger.
“Look at you naked. Wanting my fingers to fuck you and make you moan. Be honest. Tell God what you really want.”
From somewhere deep within, dark thoughts fight to break free. My voice shakes.
“Dear God...” I inhale deeply, the forthcoming words so vile, I hardly believe they’re coming from my lips. “I want to belong to Jack. I want to be his church slut.”
His eyebrows lift, his expression as shocked as I feel.
“Morgan,” he grumbles. “You always have to make it harder for me.” Then slowly, his eyes narrow, but follows with a subtle nod. “Keep going.” He strokes the spot more firmly, and my eyes close as I suck in a sharp breath.
“I pray for your forgiveness, Lord, because I like Jack using my body for his pleasure. I like an atheist fucking me.”
Three times.
I have now cursed three times in my life. It’s unimaginable, but with Jack, I don’t know who I am anymore.
“Good, preacher’s daughter. And does this sinful girl want anyone else?”
I shake my head.
“Oh? She only wants my cock here?” He thrusts his finger deep and I gasp.
Breathless, I nod. “Jack, I won’t let anyone else touch me.”
It’s more a promise than a performance line.
His jaw flexes, but he pushes forward.
“Tell God amen so I can make you cum again.”
My head tips back. “I need to go. Amen.”
“Fuck,” he growls roughly, then kisses me like he’s dying to show his approval.
However, my possessed-self isn’t done. Something far more provocative spills from my lips.
“Your turn, Jack. Obey me. Say, ‘I’m yours.’”
His lips purse, flooding me with insecurity.
I practically shout as I order, “Pretend. Just for tonight.”
He hesitates, but something in his eyes flashes, and the energy in the room shifts darker.
He grips my jaw firmly. “You’re mine, Morgan. All fucking mine. I mean it. You say that prick’s name again and-”
“I won’t!”
However, I linger in his last statement, wondering if those words came from a real place. If we could be together, maybe that’s what he’d really say.
He grabs my ass cheeks and pulls my body flush to his, kissing my mouth with passion.
After, he utterly raptures me. I unravel for him again and again — till I see the heavens, blinding white.
Hopefully too bright for God to see my sins, even though Jack sees them all.