Chapter 39
Jack
Under the dim bedroom light, Morgan stands in just a pair of white panties. She seems neither insecure nor confident. More curious, waiting for me to react.
And I am. My heart thunders in my chest. My face is hot. I’m sweating. Tense.
Aroused.
I should run through this door. Flee for my goddamn life. This temptress flaunts heaven, but always delivers hell.
She takes a step closer.
“Morgan, stop,” I beg.
My hand finds the doorknob.
Fling the door open. Run, Jack. Get away from her.
Morgan’s gaze drops to the handle. She stills.
In a cautious tone, she chooses her words carefully.
“If you open that door, the guys out there will see me naked.” She loops her thumbs under her waistband and drops her panties to the floor.
My heart stumbles.
Another step.
I snap my eyes shut, as if that will make the temptation easier to resist, but her body heat radiates as she moves closer.
Her fingertips graze my stomach, just barely touching as they travel down the ridges of my abs. Her breath warms my skin as she speaks.
“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 am not a 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 are Father 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.
“Verse 9. At your right hand stands the queen in gold of Ophir.”
Her nails bite into my thigh and she sucks my cock hard, as if I just turned her on with a simple sentence. Can’t believe this gets her off so much, but I love it. I can’t deny it’s easy for me.
I curl my fingers into hair, gripping her head. Then improvise, taunting, “But my queen is not standing. She kneels.”
She likes it, and pumps, faster and faster. I let my jaw hang and watch her work. I grow tenser as the pleasure builds.
She stops, but keeps stroking the base. She clears her throat and recites a portion.
“You are the most handsome of the sons of men; grace is poured upon your lips; therefore God has blessed you forever.” Her eyes sear into mine. “See? That’s you. You are blessed, Jack.”
She’s so damn cute and hopeless. With a smug grin, I taunt, “Still using that body to convert nonbelievers?”
But this isn’t the indecisive girl I once knew. She doesn’t doubt herself for a second.
At my words, she takes me in her mouth deeper and bobs faster yet, driving me mad. My shaft throbs against her pillowy tongue. She’s won. I’m melting into the door. I’m completely at her mercy.
“Fuck, baby,” I moan, husky. “You’re too hard to resist.”
Her mouth vibrates against my length. Then she pulls me out and with angst in her voice, she says, “Do the part about her dad.”
I don’t skip a beat, and my words roll off my tongue on shallow, shaky breaths.
“Forget your people and your father’s house, and the king will desire your beauty. Since he is your lord, bow to him.”
She moves even faster, harder, like she’s sucking my soul out. I brace against the door.
“Morgan, I’m gonna cum,” I manage.
“Do it.”
Fuck that. I don’t want this to end.
I snatch her, throw her on the bed and kneel between those thick thighs. I sink into her warmth, and her pussy swallows my cock. I groan, because it feels so fucking right and wrong at the same time.
I don’t waste time. I can’t.
My hips snap again and again, causing the air to expel from her lungs. She makes sweet moans that are too sexy for words.
I fucked up.
I’m buried in her and I don’t care. I’m a glutton for her, and I don’t consider the cost. I drag my teeth against her cheek, breathing heavy.
“I fucking love you,” I say shamelessly.
She whimpers, too lost in pleasure to form words. It’s the perfect response and shakes me, like I couldn’t fall for her more.
I wet my thumb and swirl it on her swollen clit, making her hips writhe.
“Cum for me, you church slut.”
Her eyes snap open, and a half smile tugs at her lips.
“Your church...” Heavy inhale. “...slut.”
“Mine,” I murmur, and nip her neck. “All mine. Only mine.”
Her eyelids close and she falls into complete euphoria. Her walls clamp around my shaft as she gives herself to me, hitting her climax.
“Again,” I order, playing with her clit, because I’m addicted. I need to see her cum again.
She riles. I know her body’s overstimulated, but I don’t care. I make her orgasm a second time.
She gasps for air. There’s something about it I can’t get enough of. That stupid, disoriented look on her face. Me having the power to make this woman surrender. Me seeing her this bare and real.
She unravels again.
Again.
And again.
She claws at me, barely able to breathe.
“No! Jack!”
“Say you’ll leave him.”
She balks, blindsided.
I grab her hand and rip off that horrendous ring and throw it on the floor. “You’re my bride, remember?” To make her do exactly what I want, I speak the words like the perfect fucking pastor she wants, with conviction and bravado. “She is led to the king.”
Her eyes blow wide.
I kiss her mouth, hungry and desperate. I keep going.
“A virgin to her king. We’re sealed, Morgan. You’re my fucking queen.”
“Oh, Jack,” she moans. “I’m yours. You’ve always had my heart.”
I release as deep as I can, my cock pulsing against her tight walls.
Our panting fills the space, loud and violent.
Fuck.
I screwed her. I blew my load in her like nothing mattered. I said things I should’ve never said.
The truth I denied for so long blinds me.
I’m in love with Morgan.
Did I ask her to marry me?