Church Girl

Chapter Seven

Seven

“Honor thy mother and father...except when in the strip club.”

Aaliyah

“D o not answer that.”

I glance up from my mother’s name on the vibrating cell phone screen to meet my cousin’s glare.

“I wasn’t,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to my ears.

And from the arch of her perfect eyebrow, Tamara doesn’t seem to believe me, either.

Sighing, I slide the still shaking phone under my thigh. She has a right to doubt the strength of my backbone. Ever since I answered Mom’s call weeks ago and she issued that ultimatum, and I didn’t show up at the Birmingham airport in two days’ time, she’s been calling nonstop. Her, my father, my uncle and, of course, Gregory. It’s been relentless. And every time, I waver. One time I caved, and my mother’s guilt trip had me curled up under the covers, crying for hours.

Even though I know this is a matter of survival, I bear their disapproval like wet sandbags around my neck, weighing me down. Except for the last few weeks, I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this feeling; it’s not easy to not fall in line.

Tamara sees my struggle, but she’s appointed herself my personal bodyguard and partner in rebellion. And she’s on the job tonight. Literally and figuratively.

“Girl, stop lying. If you wasn’t, you were damn sure thinking about it.” She crosses her arms, and because they’re there , my gaze drops to her breasts, which are lifted in a black bra covered in silver sequins.

Glitter dusts the dark brown mounds, and under the LED lights flashing across the strip club, she sparkles. Sequined bands crisscross her flat stomach and thick upper thighs, bracket the small black triangle covering her sex. Silver stilettoes adorn her feet, and the straps wrap around her calves, ending under her knees. My cousin is gorgeous and built like the proverbial brick house. And from the way all the men’s eyes—a good amount of women’s, too—keep traveling over to the section she insisted on getting for me tonight, I’m not the only one who thinks she’s stunning.

Compared to her, I must look like a country bumpkin...

“Don’t you do it,” she snaps, and my hand pauses just before I reach the slit in my dress to tug the sides closer together. “Stop fidgeting and leave that dress alone. You look like the bad bitch you are, now let it go.” She jabs a finger toward the leather couch. “Let it all go. I brought you out here tonight so you can finally have some fun. Life is more than work, school and worrying over helicopter parents. You didn’t just move here for school. You came to experience the kind of life that’s impossible in Parsons with Uncle Tim controlling every move you make. If you’re going to hell, you might as well include partying in a strip club on your list of sins. Now—” she flicks her hair that’s nearly hanging down to her ass in a beautiful, auburn weave “—I’m sending drinks over here, and I want you to get. Fucked. Up. No one deserves it more than you. When I leave here with you tonight, I wanna be pouring your lil’ runaway bride ass into my car.”

Giving her a small smile—which is a major feat, considering my phone is ringing again —I hold up a hand, palm out. “I solemnly swear to get drunk off my ass.”

“That’s my girl. And enjoy the show. These girls ain’t me, but they’re aight.” She smirks. “Don’t worry about anyone bothering you. I have one of the guys looking out for you while I’m up there.”

“Got it,” I assure her.

“Okay. Remember. Have fun.”

I don’t have a chance to reply before she steps out of the section, descending the short flight of stairs to the main floor. In seconds, and right before my eyes, she ceases being Tamara, my cousin, and morphs into Jade, the featured dancer at the sophisticated and sexy Inferno.

It should feel really wrong, looking at my relative’s barely covered body as she works the room. Given all the denigrating things Daddy preached against places like this, and Tamara in particular, guilt should swarm me like a drone of angry bees. But...it doesn’t. There’s nothing sleazy about my cousin.

On the contrary.

Watching her strut among the people here to see her on that stage, I’m envious. She’s comfortable with who she is—both Tamara and Jade. She’s proud of her full breasts, small waist, thick thighs and behind, as evidenced in the confident stride that carries her past all the people reaching out to her. She’s like a celebrity here, and from the videos of her on YouTube, I see why they’re fawning over her. Tamara’s a gifted dancer who defies gravity with her erotic acrobatics on that pole. And I’m not saying other strippers don’t bring customers in, but it’s Jade listed on the club doors.

People are crowded three deep at the bar that extends across one length of the wall and at all the circular high and low tables. Especially those close to the stage—like an LED-lit runway but with poles. Other private areas like mine—encased in glass with couches, tables and a private pole—dot the area. They sit above the rest of the club, offering unrestricted views of the stage and patrons below. I don’t know how much Tamara had to pay to get me this space for tonight, but I’m guessing it wasn’t cheap. Especially since I’m the only one up here.

God, I feel so conspicuous and out of place.

“Hey, boo. Jade said to take care of you and bring all the alcohol.” A beautiful woman, her stacked body wrapped in a black bralette, boy shorts and boots, walks into my section, her long ponytail swinging over her shoulder. Her dark brown skin gleams under the low lighting. “She wasn’t lying when she said you were gorgeous.” She beams at me, her hazel gaze like a warm, physical caress over my face, breasts and thighs. “I’m Nikki. What can I get for you?”

Why does it feel like she’s offering more than what’s on those bar shelves? A little flustered—and shoot, flattered—I shake my head. “Nice to meet you, Nikki. I can’t lie, I’m not much of a drinker. What do you suggest?”

Again, her gaze sweeps over my body, and nope, I’m not imagining the interest in her eyes. “Not much of a drinker, huh? Well, we don’t want to overwhelm you, so how about I start you off with a cranberry and vodka and a bottle of champagne? If you don’t like either of those, I’ll bring you a different drink. But I think you’ll love trying something new.”

I’m pretty sure the “something new” isn’t just the cocktail. And I can’t help the smile that curves my mouth. I’ve never been sexually attracted to women—admired the hell out of them, yes, but not attracted. But Nikki’s like the female version of Jason Momoa. Not Samoan. No, she’s a beautiful Black woman. But I can’t see anyone laying eyes on her and not having parts of themselves tingle.

I cringe a little at the queer-curiosity vibe I must be radiating. Like I said, I’m not really curious. I’m just not blind. And this woman is gorgeous.

“That sounds great,” I say, praying the heat warming my throat and face isn’t visible. “Thank you.”

“You got it, boo. Be back.” She winks and struts out of the section.

“Whew.” Now that the server is no longer standing in front of me, I wave my hand in front of my flushed face.

If Daddy could see me now, he’d toss me into the baptismal pool and dunk me about six times. First leaving home, not answering his calls and now being attracted to another woman? I can just hear him preaching about being “of the world.”

Don’t get me wrong. I love God, and if it hadn’t been for my faith in Him to take care of me and provide a way—which He has—I don’t believe I would be here in Chicago.

It’s just the judgmental, exclusionary God my dad preached about didn’t match up with the loving, forgiving and compassionate one I worshipped. My God believed in free will, and that was something Bishop Montgomery didn’t subscribe to. Especially not with his family.

Speaking of...

Even though I shouldn’t, it’s like an unseen force lowers my hand to my phone and slides it out from under my thigh. Tamara would curse me out if she caught me right now. Which is why I furtively glance around before going to voice mail to hear the most recent of the many messages left by my family and ex-fiancé. Closing my eyes, I hold the cell up to my ear, physically and emotionally bracing myself.

“Aaliyah Renee Montgomery,” my father’s beautiful, deep, intimidating voice resounds in my ear. And the whole government name again . That’s never a good thing. “This is your father. Again. You are behaving immaturely by not answering your phone or returning messages, and I’m very disappointed. I raised you better than this. But with your recent actions, I’m not sure of who you are anymore or when you became a person who would purposefully break her promises, abandon her family and obligations, then worry her parents. You need to call me back as soon as you receive this. You’ve inconvenienced people long enough for this...rebellion. Send me your location immediately, young lady. I deserve more respect as your father and your bishop.”

Click .

I flinch at the sound of the recording ending, as if Dad had slammed the phone down in my ear.

Shame and hurt battle it out for dominance inside me, and it’s a draw. Both tear me apart, and dammit . I shouldn’t have listened. I knew what awaited me. But like a masochist, I had to hear what my father thinks of me. How he’s feeling toward me. And now...

I’m ungrateful.

Disrespectful.

Juvenile.

A coward.

Dropping the phone in my lap, I pinch the bridge of my nose, not caring about messing up the glitter or foundation Tamara applied to my face.

I don’t belong here. I have no business here. What kind of person leaves their parents—parents who have provided and cared for them all their life—worried and upset? I’m so weak I can’t even return a phone call—

“What’s wrong with you, ma?”

That familiar voice of gravel and mistakes reaches me mere seconds before his earthy scent, which reminds me of the oil used to shine the wooden, leather-padded pews in my grandfather’s old church out in the country. With my eyes closed, it’s more potent, more sensual. Only I could equate church pews with sex.

In somebody’s book, that has to be sacrilegious.

On a deep sigh, I lower my hand and open my eyes, meeting the sterling-gray ones belonging to Von. Immediately, my sex tingles, pulls tight. It’s like his very presence—one look—triggers a thirst response. Which make sense since the man is a walking thirst trap. Like right now, for instance.

He makes a simple black T-shirt, black jeans and boots seem like fashion couture exclusives. His braids appear fresh as does the edge up, and his thick, dark beard is nicely groomed and seems to glisten. The tattoos covering his neck, arms and hands only add to the visual buffet he is, and God, I’m hungry.

As he sinks to the couch beside me, my gaze lifts from his powerful thighs that flex with the movement, up over his wide chest, and finally lands on his wide, dangerously carnal mouth.

Key word: dangerously .

Heat whooshes through me like someone opened a door to the simmering flames in my belly, and a backdraft incinerates me from the inside out. One look at that beautiful, sinful mouth, and I’m dragged back to yesterday in his kitchen when those same lips snatched my soul. Even now, I feel the demand of his tongue surrounding mine, the teasing edge of his teeth over my ear. The cool glide of his lip piercing against my tongue.

The faintly intimidating and wholly devastating pressure of his...dick against my stomach. I’ve seen a naked penis before, have had one inside me. But what Von’s working with?

The logical, rational part of me wants no part of that thing. I like my insides arranged just the way they are, thank you very much. But the other part of me...okay, my vagina...literally weeps to be filled, stretched, pummeled. I’ve never been pummeled.

I so want it.

Swallowing past my suddenly tight, dry throat, I slide the tip of my tongue over my lips.

God, where’s the waitress with that drink? Or bottle. I think I’ll need the whole bottle.

“Aye, I know you heard me. What’s wrong with you?” He nudges me in the side with his elbow before stretching his arm along the back of the couch.

I lean forward, trying not to be obvious about avoiding touching him. Shoot, I can still feel the print of his hand on my behind from when he grabbed and squeezed it.

Sweet Lamb, alcohol .

“What’re you doing here?” I ask in return, evading his question like the high school gym dodgeball champion that I am. “I’m assuming Gia isn’t with you.”

He studies me for several long seconds, rubbing a hand down his mouth and beard. From personal experience, I know his facial hair is both soft and coarse. It added another sensory detail to obsess over when I lay in bed last night.

“I’ma let you make it, ma,” he says, his gray eyes glinting like molten silver in the low lighting. I maintain a straight face as if I don’t understand what he means by telling me he’s very much aware I’m deflecting. He snorts. “I’m here with a few of my employees. I don’t usually hang out, but Gia’s with her mom so...”

He trails off as he slowly scans me from my half-up, half-down hairstyle over the strapless, black bodycon dress that hits me just below the knee and down to the black ankle boots with the highest heel I’ve ever walked on. His gaze retraces its path, lingering on the slit that has most of my thigh spilling out of it, before returning to my face.

“Gotta admit, ma. Wouldn’t have ever expected to see you here at the strip club. I didn’t think good lil’ church girls did things like that.” He cocks his head. “If that part of what you said to G’s principal was true anyway, and you really are a PK.”

Good lil’ church girls.

Usually, that kind of condescension would’ve pissed me off. And, usually, I would’ve had a nice-nasty response that women of the South are famous for along with sweet tea and “bless your heart.”

But it isn’t irritation that stirs behind my breastbone.

Just as it isn’t disdain that colors his words.

It’s a heated insinuation, a raw suggestion. It’s the same lust that drenched his voice when he told me I didn’t kiss like a virgin.

And like last night, I’m caught between fleeing from the onslaught of need and staying right where I am, prepared to beg him to finish what he started.

Clearing my throat, I nod, and because I need something, anything , to do with my fingers, I pick up my phone, clutch it in my hand.

“My father is a pastor back in Alabama. A bishop actually.” Both his eyebrows arch high, and I huff out a small chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a big deal at home.”

“Damn, lil’ mama.”

I squint up at him, trying my very best not to let my gaze drift down to his lips. “What?”

“Some things make a little more sense now, but then others...” He shakes his head. “I’m more confused.”

I wait for him to expound on that, but when he doesn’t, I frown. “So are you going to leave me hanging? What are these ‘some things’?”

“That innocence, for one.”

My head rears back, almost bumping the couch behind me. “Innocent? Why would you call me that?” Before I can control it, my body recoils, an instinctive, physical reaction to that word. I hate that word. Hate more that only Von sees me that way. I inhale, breathing past the sudden tightness in my chest. “Contrary to how you speak to me at times, I’m not a child, but a full-grown adult.”

Von studies me, and for a second, panic swirls inside me that his sharp gaze caught the flinch I’d tried to hide. Or that my face somehow betrayed my thoughts. But when he doesn’t speak—doesn’t poke in that blunt way of his—I deliberately release a breath.

The relief doesn’t last long, though. As his unwavering gaze remains on me, the spacious VIP section seems to shrink, the loud music from beyond the glass dulls. Just like in his kitchen last night, I want to scramble backward. But I don’t. Because there’s a need in me that’s desperate to be in his space, breathe in his earthy, intoxicating scent.

When I was younger, on Communion Sundays, Daddy used to let us kids eat and drink all the remaining crackers and grape juice after service. Right now, I want to gorge on Von—the sight of him, the sound of him, the scent of him...the flavor of him—just as I once did all the communion elements. Unlike those crackers and juice, Von’s taste wouldn’t be for my salvation. Only my destruction.

“So what you’re saying is you don’t kiss like a virgin because you’re not one.”

I snort, waving him off even as my heart throws itself against my rib cage at the reminder of how he’d rocked my world with just his mouth and a hand on my butt. “That’s not a question an employer should be asking his employee.”

“You’re not on the clock. And if we’re going to keep it real, we crossed the line of what we should and shouldn’t be doing when I sucked on your tongue and your nails dug in my back because you loved it. At least, if that little sound you made as you pressed against my dick is any indication.”

Shock ripples through me. I should be used to the things that fly out of his mouth by now. But not...this. Not words this bluntly sexual. No one has ever spoken to me like that. No one would dare. Not even my own fiancé. Ex-fiancé .

I try—and fail—not to squirm in my seat. Try—and fail—not to press my coochie hard against the cushion to alleviate the ache that throbs between my legs. Try—and fail—not to look into Von’s gray eyes and glimpse the intimate knowledge that he knows exactly what I’m doing.

“I don’t know about all that,” I say, hating the breathless quality to my voice. “Who has or hasn’t been inside of me isn’t your business.”

Those eerie, beautiful eyes flash, and moisture seeps out of me, wetting my flimsy panties.

“You’re right.” He nods. “And I don’t care anyway. I don’t give a damn if you’ve fucked twenty men in your past, or if the only thing that pussy knows is your fingers. What matters to me is I haven’t been inside you. And keeping it one hundred, ma? It’s probably a good idea I don’t know how that pretty cunt would curve to fit my dick because I might body a muthafucka over something that good, wet and tight. So yeah, good look. Don’t answer that question.”

How in the hell am I supposed to talk, to breathe , after that ? The drumming of my pulse fills my head, vibrates through my body. A flood opens between my thighs, and it’s embarrassing how drenched I am. A part of me feels like I should demand he get up and leave for disrespecting me with his loose and reckless mouth. That part feels I should be cautious, even intimidated, by the blatant sexuality he doesn’t try to hide.

But that half is a liar.

I’m not disrespected.

I’m not offended.

I’m not unsettled.

I’m turned on and hungry.

Nikki chooses this moment to return, and I forget my irritation that she didn’t appear earlier. This is perfect timing. I could kiss her for saving me from myself and my vagina.

“Here you go, boo.” She bends down, expertly balancing a bucket with a champagne bottle wedged in it and a drink. As she sets both of them down, she tosses a polite smile at Von, but her attention switches back to me. I might be sheltered, but I can read the invitation in her warm smile and the gleam in her pretty eyes. “Enjoy. And if you need anything, just send for me.”

Giving me a wink that doesn’t come across as douchey on her, she leaves, and desperate for something to do with my hands, I reach for the glass with the reddish alcohol in it. Sipping it, I taste the tartness of the cranberry with a hint of sweetness. Yuuum.

“You might want to slow down on that,” Von cautions as I take another healthy sip. “Especially if it’s gonna have you eye-fucking the waitresses.”

I gasp, causing the alcohol to go down the wrong way. Like the lightweight I am, I bend over, coughing, eyes watering. Damn. Why can’t I just drink like normal people?

“Why are you over here again?” I rasp once I get myself together. My eyes still water, but I can inhale. And since I can do that, I take another sip. Yes, it’s a small rebellion, but I’m owning it. “Aren’t your friends missing you?”

Subtle. Very subtle. And from the twitch of his mouth, he fully gets that I’m trying to get rid of him.

“Nah. I came over here for a reason. Don’t think I’m letting go of what had you over here in the strip club looking like you lost your best damn friend. Start there and then finish with why you’re here alone?”

“Listen, Daddy—”

“Find something safe to do, Liyah. Don’t play with me like that.”

There’s a lot of eff-around-and-find-out in that low warning. My eyes widen, taking in his narrowed gaze, the downward curve of his mouth. I swallow hard and blow out a low, trembling breath.

That bright sensation skating over my nerves, spinning in my stomach? Why can’t it be fear? I’d even settle for nervousness. But God, it’s not. That’s all excitement and shimmery want.

“Like I was saying,” I whisper, then clear my throat. Speak louder. “Not that it’s any of your concern because, again, full-grown woman here, I’m not alone. My cousin works here. She’s the one who got me this section.”

Surprise softens the hard line of his mouth, flares in his eyes, and he leans back a little. Thankfully, granting me the barest amount of room to breathe.

“You have a cousin who dances here?” He scans the room as if searching for someone who might resemble me. “Who?” Skepticism colors his voice.

“Tam—Jade.” I catch myself before revealing her real name. But I don’t even try to conceal the pride in my tone.

“No shit?”

“You know her?”

He snorts. “Who doesn’t know her? Shawty’s bad as fuck.”

The spurt of jealousy catches me by surprise. Von isn’t mine. Nowhere near mine. So this...unnerving, twisty feeling doesn’t make sense. I never experienced this with Gregory, and he was the man I’d been about to marry. As a pastor, he had women constantly coming up to him, hugging him, touching his arm, smiling up in his face. And I didn’t care. Not once.

Jesus, if this is what being sexually attracted does to a person, I need to be raptured like yesterday.

“I can see it.”

I jack my gaze from the depths of my cranberry and vodka and back to him. “See what?”

He nods his head, and I don’t flinch from his close scrutiny. “See the resemblance to Jade. The same shape of the face and eyes. No dimples—” he brushes his fingers over my cheeks “—no freckles,” he murmurs, tracing the constellation of marks scattered across my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose. “But the mouth and—” his scrutiny lowers and his teeth sink into his bottom lip “—and that body. Yeah, you and she are definitely family.”

“Bull.” The word explodes from me without my permission. When that silver stare returns to me, my face burns with embarrassment. But I don’t mitigate what I’ve said with excuses. Maybe sitting here in a strip club with loud music, half-dressed women and people who won’t be sitting with me in a church sanctuary tomorrow grants me courage. Or maybe it’s the vodka. Either way, I meet his eyes and say, “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not so insecure that I need false compliments.”

“One thing I thought you learned about me, Liyah,” he murmurs, using that nickname again. I really, really hate that I like it. Despite that it makes me feel special to him when I know I’m not. “I’m not a liar. Don’t need to be. Now, if you don’t see that those perfect titties, pretty hips, thick thighs and gorgeous ass would have every person in here throwing money if you got up on that stage, then you’re the one with a truth problem, not me.” He leans close to me, so close our noses almost bump. I taste the hint of alcohol on his breath, and my stomach caves in with the need to suck that flavor right off his tongue. “Let me clue you in, ma. Confidence is sexy as fuck on a woman. The only thing a man is going to do with a woman who doesn’t know her worth is dog her out so he can keep her where she’s at. Get that head up, lil’ mama, and act like you know who the fuck you are.”

I stare at him, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. He just praised my body and read me for being insecure at the same time. And that’s why I’m fighting back, keeping the moisture from rolling down my face.

Get that head up, lil’ mama, and act like you know who the fuck you are .

Tamara had said something similar not too long ago. Do I really come across so...weak? So timid and self-doubting? My stomach sours at the thought. And sadness coated in shame gels into a hard pebble in my chest.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What was wrong with you?” he asks like he didn’t just strip me uncomfortably bare with his brutally honest words.

“Did it occur to you that the reason I keep dodging the question is because I don’t want to talk to you about it?” I snap.

He cocks his head. “If that’s what it is, then stop playing word games and just come out your mouth and say that.”

“Fine.” I ball up my fists. “I don’t want to talk to you about my personal business because it’s just that—personal. Please and thank you.”

He slowly nods. “There she is,” he murmurs. “Been waiting on her to make an appearance.” I frown. Who is this she and her ? Before I can ask, he says, “Good. Glad you got that out. Now tell me what was wrong. Aye, church girl, roll those eyes again, and I’ma hand them to you. Go ahead and talk.”

“You are irritating as hell,” I snap.

A smile—slow and just a little bit sinister—spreads across his face. The sight of it has another flood drenching my panties. His lip piercing only adds to the picture. At this point, they’re going to need to sanitize this couch when I leave.

“Is that the way you speak to your employer?”

“We’re off the clock, remember.”

He smirks and leans forward again. This time, his nose does bump mine. “Not much about you I forget, ma. Now do you start talking, or do I take that as an invitation to do something else with that mouth?”

We trade breaths, mine faster, softer than his. I know what my answer should be. Easily. But my trembling thighs and clenching sex are throwing in their votes.

“You’re a bully,” I whisper.

“Only when it comes to bullying that pussy.” He straightens, his gray eyes refusing to let me go. Stealing my will, my choice. “Talk, Liyah.”

That damn nickname. It’s as bad as the ma’s and lil’ mama’s . No, it’s worse. I bet he’s called other women the same. But Liyah? It’s all mine.

Huffing out a sigh, I fall back against the couch. Mistake. His fingers graze my nape. Instead of moving his hand, though, he cuffs my neck, his fingertips pressing into the side of my throat.

Oh God. I can’t ...

How does he expect me to talk while he touches me? But his squeezing hand informs me he expects that very thing.

“I was just...” I close my eyes, lift my drink for a sip. “I’m not on good terms with my parents because I’m here. In Chicago. Not the strip club. But if they knew about me being here , they’d be angry about that, too.”

A beat of silence, probably to wade through all that babbling.

“You miss them.”

Do I? I lift my lashes, meet his piercing, unwavering stare. “Yes,” I admit and wait for the sadness to slip in. But looking into his beautiful eyes, only calm wraps around me. It makes no sense. “Not enough to give them what they want, but yes.”

“What do they want?”

“Me to return home.” To fall in line. To go back to being the obedient, silent girl I was.

He’s quiet but his fingers rub my neck, and man ... They’re speaking a language of their own. My vagina and nipples appear to be fluent.

“They don’t agree with you leaving?” he asks.

I don’t want to go into the details of the fractured relationship with my parents. A relationship that had been fractured long before I left for Chicago. Now, the splinters are just more obvious.

“God no.” The confession bursts free, and I glance away from him.

Gentle yet firm fingers on my chin turn my head back in his direction. “No hiding, ma. Something tells me you’re used to that. Baby girl, if you can’t get naked in a strip club, then where else can you strip yourself bare?”

I snort. That’s pretty funny.

The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s suppressing a smile. His hand drops away from my face, and I almost grab for it, bring it back to my chin. He steadies me, grounds me even as everything feminine inside me trembles.

“What’s ‘God no’ mean? You run away from home?”

I choke out a laugh at how close to the truth he struck.

“Something like that.”

I’m not ready to talk to him about Gregory and why I ran out of that church. Because then I’d have to explain how I allowed myself to get to the altar before I found my courage to say no. And he’s already called me out on my lack of confidence and strength once tonight. My feelings can’t handle another hit. Particularly not from him.

I sigh, run my hand over my hair only to have my fingers bump against the bun at the top of my head.

“I wasn’t that stereotypical PK who rebels, causes trouble and disobeys every rule. I tried to be the perfect daughter, obey every command, avoid causing my parents any kind of embarrassment or disappointment. I was willing to do anything to please them, especially my father. But when it really mattered—” when it came down to permanently tying myself to a man I didn’t love in the eyes of God and the church “—I failed. And I left. Ran, just like you said. But not only because I wanted to get away. They didn’t approve of me pursuing art. They saw it as a useless hobby. They didn’t approve of me attending college so far from home. Graduating community college with an associate’s in business administration was enough as far as my father was concerned. That way, I could use my degree to support the church.” And my husband.

“Have you talked to them since you left?” he quietly asks, his fingers steadily stroking my skin.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to comfort me. I shake that self-serving thought out of my head. Von must take my shake as my answer to his question because he shifts closer to me.

“Why? It’s been weeks.” Something dark and intense passes through his gray eyes, momentarily shadowing them. His mouth hardens, taking on a cruel slant. “Did they do—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” I adamantly shake my head again. “Neither one of them ever put their hands on me. And my father is a firm believer in spare the rod, spoil the child. I just never gave him cause to carry that out.” I never defied him, and yet that still didn’t make me good enough. Perfect enough. “I have spoken with my mother since I’ve been here. But that didn’t go too well.” My lips twist at the understatement. “I’m just not ready to talk to my father yet.”

I shrug, and Von doesn’t remove that penetrating stare from me. “And earlier...”

“My father called and left me a message. I told myself not to listen to it but—” Again, I shrug.

“Let me listen to it.”

He holds out his hand, and before I even realize it, I pass the phone to him. He holds the cell up to my face to unlock it, scrolls to the voice mails and presses the phone to his ear.

Mentally, I cringe. Why am I involving him in my family drama? No matter what we’ve said to each other tonight, he’s still my employer. This is crossing all kinds of boundaries. I can’t explain why I let him listen. And as I study the lack of emotion on his face, my palms dot with sweat.

One rule we have in my family is what happens in this house stays in this house. And I’m violating that rule right now by inviting Von into the dysfunctionality between me and my parents.

Seconds later, he lowers the cell and passes it to me. The moments of silence have my nerves dancing beneath my skin.

“Don’t let anyone have your peace, Liyah. They can try to take it, but only you can hand it over to them. Protect it at all costs.”

I study him. It feels like he’s not only advising me but himself as well. And it’s on the tip of my tongue to comment, to demand he give a little quid pro quo, when he lowers his arm, signaling for a waitress. The woman who enters is tall, slimmer than Nikki but just as gorgeous. She strides into the VIP section, smiling widely, her dark gaze not even flicking toward me, fixed solely on Von.

“What can I do for you?” she purrs. The same bralette and boy shorts that barely covered Nikki’s body wrap around hers, and she pushes out her substantial breasts, offering those right along with anything else he might order.

Another spike of jealousy strikes me dead center in the chest. I just manage not to rub the sore spot.

Not your man. Not your man , a voice inside reminds me.

Yeah, but she doesn’t know that , my inner bitch snaps back.

I’m siding with the bitchy voice. It’s just rude for ol’ girl to be batting her lashes and flirting with him right in front of me. I know she sees me sitting here. I have a lot of issues, but invisibility isn’t one of them.

Whoa, girl . I blink. Where did that attitude come from?

“You can bring a bottle of D’ussé and—” he glances at my nearly empty glass “—another cranberry vodka for her. And send some girls over for us.”

She cocks her head, her gaze running over him in a slow, obvious scan. Subtlety? She don’t know her. Anger simmers in my stomach, and I lift my glass, downing the rest of the alcohol.

I’m not the only one over here thirsty.

“I can do that. Anything else? If a lap dance is what you want, I would be more—”

“Aye, what’s your name?” Von interrupts her with a hike of his chin.

The waitress’s smile widens. “Draya,” she says.

“Yeah, check it, Draya. You disrespectful as fuck.” The smile drops from Draya’s face, her expression going slack at his blunt words. But nope, he’s not finished. “You see my girl sitting here and haven’t even looked her way or asked her what she’d like to drink or eat. That’s literally your job. Wait on people and serve. I don’t like that. So no, you can’t give me a lap dance. You can’t even bring my drinks because I don’t trust your thirsty ass not to spit in my shit. So hand over that order to another server and don’t come back up in here.”

He turns to me, lifting his hip off the couch and removing his wallet. Draya stands there, unmoving, mouth open for several seconds before whirling around and stomping out of the section.

Wow .

“What?” He removes a thick wad of bills then returns the wallet to his pocket all nonchalant like he didn’t just tear that woman a new one. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Did you...? Why did you...?”

I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t need to because he pins me with a look that asks, Really, though?

“She got me fucked-up. I don’t do that catty shit. What kind of man would I be if I let her disrespect you right in front of me? Why would she want a man who would do that?” He snorts. “Nah, no way I was letting her play in your face like that.”

“But I’m not your...girl,” I say, using the word he’d given Draya to describe me.

“And?” He arches an eyebrow. “Did she know that? Did she care?”

Since I’d just made that same point to myself, I don’t reply. We stare at each other. I want to avoid that steady, beautiful gaze, afraid of what he will see in mine, but I can’t. Lust swirls inside me—lust, need and a softer, warmer emotion I don’t want to name.

I have a kindness kink. Be nice to me, say soft words, treat me like I matter, and I will spread ’em open for you.

It’s humiliating. No one has ever defended me like that. No one. And now, I can’t separate desire from gratitude. Longing from thankfulness.

“Someone wanted dancers?”

I jerk my head away from him and watch, my lips parted in confusion as three women enter the section. Is that what he’d meant by “send some girls over here”? Strippers? To do...what?

The “what” is answered right away.

One of the women—a dancer with beautiful pecan-colored skin, a long jet-black weave that reaches her behind and a red bra, thong and matching heels—stops in front of Von, standing between his spread thighs. But he waves toward me.

“This is for her.”

Her? Does he mean me ?

“What?” I gasp as the stripper moves toward me with a smile, turns, grabs her ankles and starts clapping her butt cheeks to the Latto hit the DJ’s spinning. She’s right there, inches from my face, and I gape at her, mesmerized by the rhythmic bounce and shake of her ass. “Umm, Von?”

“Relax, ma. You came out tonight to enjoy yourself rather than sitting home watching Tubi.”

“Tubi’s great!” So I might’ve become a bit of a Tubi addict since moving in with Tamara. The movies are so terrible and ratchet, and I love them.

He snorts. “Okay.” He nods toward the dancer, who straightens, winding her hips as her fingers run through her hair. “Have some fun, Liyah. Get some lap dances, drink and let go. Here.”

He shoves the handful of bills at me, and I gingerly accept it. He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Let that money fall on that ass, ma.” Taking a few of the bills back, he rains the money down on the dancer, and the stripper bends over again, hands on knees. She glances over her shoulder at me, grinning. “Go ’head.”

Slowly, I imitate him. The more dollars I sprinkle on her, the harder she twerks.

“Put some in her G-string,” Von instructs, and I cautiously obey, slipping bills between her hip and the red string riding it.

“Thank you, babe.” The dancer turns, her body twisting and grinding, and she’s beautiful, the way her gorgeous body moves, hypnotic.

Another woman in a gold bra and G-string set with hair to match joins us, and she straddles me, her barely covered breasts almost touching my face as she grabs the couch behind my head and simulates grinding on my lap. The first stripper presses against her back, and they double team me.

In front of us, the third dancer twirls and swings around the pole on the small, raised platform in the middle of the section. I can’t lie. Lust takes me by surprise, hardening my nipples and pooling low in my belly. I glance to my right and slam into Von’s molten gaze. I’m unable to look away. The same heat that has moisture drenching my panties is reflected in his eyes.

God, I’m so turned on.

And yes, it’s partly being surrounded by beautiful, undulating women. But more than that, it’s his gray gaze on me.

Shame tries to spread like a virus through my blood. If my father saw me now, he would lose his mind. And then lay hands on me in intercessory prayer to save his prodigal daughter.

Yet, the shame, the guilt, don’t get a foothold. They slip on the desire and longing filling me. The greed and hunger clawing at me.

Somehow, I whip my gaze away from Von’s and focus on the dancers. When I run out of bills, more miraculously appear, shoved into my hand. And soon, just like Von encouraged, I let go. Push everything else out of my mind but the music, the alcohol, the strippers and Von.

A couple of hours and three cranberry and vodkas later, I find myself sandwiched between two dancers, arms raised, hips winding. Laughing, I peek over at Von, who hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He’s been like my guardian angel—or bodyguard—tonight, allowing me to let loose with no interference. A few times, some guys tried to enter the section, but one look from Von, and they all backed up, hands raised. Tamara came by, but after giving a head nod to Von, she shook her head and left, too.

Winded, I make my way back to the couch and plop down next to Von with a grin.

“I’m having the best time,” I say.

He smirks, lifting his glass to his lips. When he lowers it, his full, sensual lips shine with the dampness from the amber alcohol. I slick my tongue over my own lips as if tasting the potent liquor off his mouth. His gaze lowers, tracking the movement of my tongue, sending liquid heat bursting through my belly.

“Do you want to kiss me?” I blurt out.

The vodka swimming inside me grants me eighty-proof courage. There’s no other way those words would’ve escaped me. I let them sit out there, though, echoing louder than the music bumping in the club. The memory of exactly what magic he’d wielded with that mouth haunts me, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, imagining I can still taste him.

He leans back against the couch, watching me through hooded eyes that lower over my frame. He can’t possibly miss the quick rise and fall of my chest or my thighs restlessly shifting, squeezing. When he lifts his gaze back to mine, his darkening eyes confirm he saw everything.

“C’mon, ma. I’m taking you home.”

He stands and fire rushes to my face, setting my cheeks aflame. I duck my head, embarrassment over his rejection riding me hard and hanging me up wet. And not the good wet. The glowing buzz from the alcohol starts to thin until my mind is clear. Too clear.

As I scan the VIP room, I no longer feel free, but heavy and silly. A little girl playing at adult games.

“I should wait for my cousin,” I say, avoiding his scrutiny on the pretense of scanning the club past the VIP entrance. “I came with her, so that’s how I should probably leave. You can go, though. We won’t be here too much longer.”

Tamara had danced over an hour ago, and my cousin had nearly brought the club down with the applause and cheers. The stage couldn’t even be seen under all the money thrown up there.

“I’ll send word that I got you.” He walks toward the entrance. When he realizes I’m not behind him, he stops and turns. “Don’t make me have to carry you out of here, ma.”

His previous warning of me not liking it if he had to put me in a car echoes in my mind. For a brief moment, I consider making him come through on the threat. But I’ve humiliated myself enough for one evening, and I don’t put it past him to do exactly what he said. Snatching up my phone, I rise and wave goodbye to the dancers, following Von out of the section and the club.

“Don’t you need to let your friends know you’re leaving? Won’t they wonder where you’re at?” I ask once we’re seated in his truck.

I shiver in the early October air, having walked a block to reach his ride. He glances over at me then presses buttons on the dashboard. Soon, warm air streams from the vents and over my bare shoulders and arms. I lean forward, closing my eyes to bask in the heat.

“No, I don’t need to check in with anyone. Here.” Twisting his body, Von reaches in the back seat and hands me a black jacket. When I hesitate, he gives it a shake. “Take it. You’re going to get sick wearing that little shit out here.”

“I had a jacket earlier,” I mutter, but still accept the piece of clothing. I’m no fool, and pride can’t keep me warm. “I left it in the dancers’ dressing room with my cousin. How was I to know I wouldn’t be riding home with her...”

I sigh. There I go, rambling again. This man has that effect on me. As evidenced by my unwise invitation to kiss me. I swallow my groan. God, I just want to go home, crawl in my bed and stay there until I have no choice but to face him on Monday.

Slipping my arms into the sleeves of the jacket, I inhale his rich scent. It envelops me, just as the material of the jacket that’s way too big for me.

“Thank you.” I tug the lapels high, dipping my head and avoiding the stare that’s like a heavy hand on my cheek.

“You going to look at me anytime soon, Aaliyah?”

Not if I can help it .

But I turn my head and meet his gaze, which seems darker in the shadows of the truck. Because not looking says so much more. And none of it positive.

“Did you need something?” I ask, injecting a nonchalance and calm into my voice that contradicts the chaotic swirl of humiliation and alcohol in my veins.

“Yeah.” He leans back in the seat, for all the world appearing like someone settling in rather than a person about to pull into late-night Chicago traffic for a drive to the South Loop. “To know what’s on your mind.”

Before I can control my face, it balls up. Seriously? Like he has no idea what I could possibly be thinking? Okay, I have just enough vodka in my system to be honest and blame it on the booze.

“You want to know what’s on my mind?” I ask, shifting toward him and tilting my head. “Yesterday you kissed me, and tonight you invite yourself to my night out. But when I ask you about kissing me again, you basically pat me on the head and treat me like I’m a pariah.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Pariah?”

I make an impatient sound in my throat. “Go ahead. Joke. But I feel like you’re playing some kind of game, and I don’t know the rules. And this is where I excuse myself. You might get off on this, but it’s not fun for me.”

He stares at me, and I’m too in my feelings to be intimidated. All my life, I’ve been made to feel not enough—not male enough, not obedient enough, not perfect enough...not good enough. Jesus is the only perfect person, but in the gospel according to Bishop Montgomery, that was no excuse not to strive for perfection.

For one brief moment in Von’s arms, I’d felt sexy, desired, needed. And even tonight, the way he’d listened to me, stood up for me... I’d allowed myself to forget who he was. Who we were to each other. Employer, employee. Gia’s father and her nanny. But I wouldn’t make that slip-up again. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he considers putting his mouth on me a mistake.

Anger simmers inside me like a boiling pot of water.

It’s not like I asked him to kiss me the first time. He did that. Just like he walked over to my section tonight. I haven’t inserted myself in places where I don’t belong. That’s all him . So it’s not fair that I’m the one sitting here like I did something wrong.

“I’m too old for games, ma. What you saw as playing with your head or feelings, I see as trying to protect you.”

“Did I ask you to?” The anger flares hotter, fueled by what I perceive as him trying to assume a role I don’t need in my life. At least, not from him. “You see me as some wide-eyed, silly girl from some backwater town in Alabama, but newsflash—I can think for myself, care for myself and provide for myself. I’ve made it twenty-four years without your guidance and survived. I’m good.”

Even in the dark, I can see his gray eyes narrow. “Survived. That’s a strong choice of words.”

I sigh, throwing up “Jesus, save me” hands. Of course, that’s what he would jump on, out of everything else I’ve said.

And he can forget it; that was a slip of the tongue, and there’s no way on God’s green earth that I’m addressing it.

“Do you mind if we leave?” I ask through gritted teeth. “There’s a bed with my name on it.”

I probably shouldn’t have mentioned beds. Not with arousal still trekking a path under my irritation.

“Nah, not until we clear this up.”

I sigh.

But his only reaction is to peer down at me. “You’re taking offense at what I said, but me wanting to protect you has nothing to do with how you believe I perceive you.” I snort at that because the man literally told me day one that I didn’t belong in the big city of Chicago. “Aye, ma. I’m letting you make it with your loose-ass mouth and you rolling your eyes, but keeping it real? I probably see you as more capable and stronger than you do, so check that shit.”

I gape at him. He sees me as capable and strong? Since when? I want to ask him to explain so bad, but that would have him thinking I care about his opinion, and I don’t.

Now who’s the liar?

I mentally growl a warning at the know-it-all voice in my head.

“I’d do the same for my mother, sister or Chelle. Can they handle themselves? Yeah, damn right they can. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not coming behind them. No one’s taking advantage of them when I’m around. Not if I can stand in the gap for them.”

“I doubt you kiss your mother or sister like that,” I mutter before I can trap the words.

Damn liquid courage.

The atmosphere in the car changes. His big body stills, and a primal thing inside me reacts in the same manner. Tension crackles in the limited space like a live wire, and though I just slipped into his jacket, the heat rising between us, within me, has me almost whipping it off. Almost, because a purely feminine instinct cautions me not to move.

And though I’ve ignored other warnings when it comes to this man, this warning I heed.

“You want to repeat that?” he murmurs, voice cool and soft as silk.

I shake my head. My mama didn’t raise no fool.

“Unhunh, lil’ mama. You’ve had all that mouth, but now you don’t know how to speak? Repeat that.”

I swallow, then lick my suddenly dry lips. His tone demands I give in to him, and I really, really wish I didn’t want to—but I do. Yet there’s a glutton for punishment that resides within me who wants to push him. To see what he’ll do.

And she wins out.

I shake my head again. Slower. More deliberate.

His eyes flash with heat—or maybe it’s the headlights of a passing car. Either way, my vagina clenches so hard around emptiness that I worry for the state of my panties and his seat. My head swims at the hot girl level of my attraction to him. It’s disconcerting, overwhelming and a little scary. But ask me if I move away. Ask me if I’m retreating, knowing it’s all shades of wrong to indulge in this thing with him. The answer is a guttural, resounding and somewhat embarrassed “no.”

God, my head hurts from all the flip-flopping I’ve engaged in.

“No?” He grants me one last chance to answer, and when I remain silent, he bites his lower lip, and I trap a groan at the sensual gesture. “No?” he repeats.

A big hand curves around the back of my neck, exerting enough pressure to make me lean forward with a whimper. Not of discomfort or pain but of pure desire. The feel of that hard, wide palm around my nape, and those long artist’s fingers pressed to the sides of my throat, shoots sizzling arrows of lust straight to my womb.

He tugs me closer to him...closer still, until I’m straining across the middle console. I plant my hand on the lid of it, but there’s no need. He supports me even as he controls me. Good thing I hadn’t put on the seat belt yet, because it doesn’t seem like he would’ve cared. Not as he leans forward, shoving his face within an inch of mine. I taste the woodsy, cinnamon scent of the alcohol he’d drunk in the club. Glimpse the black and light blue striations in his eyes.

My pulse thunders in my ears. So loud I almost miss his rumbled, “Repeat it.”

I’m no match for him in this war of wills. The smart thing to do would be to surrender so I can retreat to my side of the car. Yes, the smart thing. But as my father has continually accused since I left home, I’ve abandoned reason and all common sense.

Through the rapid pounding of my heart, I whisper, “Make m—”

I brace myself for the carnal onslaught of his mouth. And the blitz does come. But not in the manner I expected. Instead of crushing his lips to mine, he advances with a tender kiss, a nibble to the corner of my mouth. It catches me by surprise. Out of the blue, I’m reminded of one of my favorite Scriptures, about God not being found in a wind or an earthquake or a fire. He was found in a quiet, small voice.

That’s this kiss.

The one from last night was like one of those natural disasters—overwhelming, cataclysmic, world-shaking.

But this one... It’s softer, gentler, but in its own way, no less earth-shattering. No less profound.

There’s a part of me that yells, wanting the storm of his passion. It would be less dangerous. This slow glide of lips over lips, delicate peck to the corners of my mouth, this whispered caress over my jaw and cheek... I’m helpless to its onslaught. Susceptible to its deceptive meaning.

Nothing about Von Howard screams tender or gentle when it comes to sex. But he’s showing me differently, and I don’t know how to take it.

A whimper escapes me as he traces the seam of my lips with his tongue. I suck in a sharp breath, and he uses the opportunity to slowly penetrate me, slipping his tongue inside to tangle with mine. Cocking his head, he shoves deeper, his touch turning demanding as he sucks on me, licks the roof of my mouth, sinks his teeth into my bottom lip. Good God, if this man is this good with just his lips and tongue, how is he with his body, his...dick?

Desire pulls tight in my belly, and heat undulates through me, swirling in my aching, pulsing sex. I think my vagina just volunteered as tribute to find out the answer to that question.

Sex has always been a...complicated issue with me. I’m not afraid of it, just leery. And the experience I’ve had has never inspired a desperate need for it. I could take it or leave it, but mostly take it since I do want to have children one day.

But nothing about the lust urging me to moan and arch my neck so he can have deeper access pertains to reproduction. It’s hunger, pure and not so simple. With Von, I want it all. Want to discover that hurried, messy urgency I’ve seen in characters in books and on TV. Want him to replace...

I shake my head as if the gesture can disrupt the path my brain wanted to take.

“What’s wrong, ma?” Von lifts his head. “Where did you go just now?”

“Nothing. Nowhere,” I answer each of his questions in order and reach for him, to drag him back down and continue what he’d started.

But me fisting his shirt doesn’t move him. Literally.

“What I say about lying to me?” He squeezes the back of my neck in warning, and my sex reciprocates with a spasm of its own. I close my eyes against the backlash of pleasure, and I could cry for the loss of his mouth. “Either tell me to mind my business or you don’t feel like talking about it, but don’t fix your mouth to lie to me.”

I part my lips to tell him it’s none of his business—hasn’t that been preached to me for years?—but something halts the words. I stare at him, struck silent with the truth and the instinctive warning to be quiet both vying for dominance.

On one hand, I’ve been raised on the commandment that what happens in our house stays in our house. On the other hand, though... I’m tired of silence. I love my father with all my heart, but sometimes he contradicts what he preaches, and those occasions seem to always be to his benefit, not mine. God gave us voices not only to uplift Him but also to be truthful. Loving. And by not using mine, I’ve hurt myself. And only He knows how many others.

I lick my lips. “I—” My throat constricts as if it’s aware of my intention and is intent on saving me from myself and my father’s wrath. “I was...thinking about my uncle,” I whisper although it feels like the admission is propelled out of me like a bullet.

Von doesn’t speak, but his eyes narrow, roaming over my face, searching. I don’t know what he sees, but one moment he’s looking at me, and in the next, his hands are on my waist and he’s yanking me off my seat, over the console and onto his lap. I straddle his powerful thighs, and the slight pull in my own has arousal beating inside of me like a separate heartbeat.

His big hand cups my chin, tilting my head up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Head up, Liyah.” His low voice is a deep, resonant rumble in the silent car. “Tell me why you were thinking about your uncle while I was kissing you.”

Jesus, when he puts it that way...

Shame tries to crawl through me, but I shut that down. I’ve fought hard and long not to take on that burden. I’ll be damned if I allow it to place its crushing weight on me now.

I’m not that eleven-year-old girl anymore. I haven’t been in a long time.

“When I was younger, my uncle David visited us. He lived in Norfolk, so I didn’t see him often, but he was always fun and nice to me when he did come to Alabama. Where my father was strict, he was easygoing. Where my father was always busy with the church, he spent time with me, and I loved the attention. I loved him. One day, I came down with a bug, and that evening my parents left me with him to attend Bible study. We sat on the couch and watched all my favorite movies, and at some point, I fell asleep. I woke up to him...”

My heart shudders then pounds as if I’m right back there in my parents’ living room. The metallic flavor of panic floods my mouth. I swallow it down, afraid to close my eyes. Afraid of the images my brain will supply in this moment.

Two hands cradle my face, and I latch onto Von’s strong wrists as if he’s my lifeline, the only thing preventing me from tumbling into a bottomless abyss.

“I got you, Liyah. Finish it,” he roughly urges.

I nod, a breath shuddering out from between my lips.

“I woke to him trying to get under my pajama pants. My top was up over my—” I cut off the rest of the sentence, digging my fingers into his skin. “But I don’t remember if he touched me there or not. When I realized what he was doing, I slapped at his hand, pulling free of him. I fell on the floor, kicking at him and screaming. He tried to grab me, shushing me, but I wasn’t listening. I was so terrified, so hurt. This was my uncle, and I was old enough to understand what he’d tried to do. I ran to my bedroom, locked the door and didn’t open it until my parents got home. I tried to call both of them, even knowing they probably wouldn’t answer because they were in church, but I needed them. But the calls went directly to voice mail. The next two hours were the scariest of my life. I didn’t know if David had left or was still in the house outside my door just waiting on me to open it. I pushed my dresser in front of it just in case and hid between my bed and bedside table. It seemed like forever, but when my parents finally came home, I couldn’t move. All that time praying and hoping they would get there, and I couldn’t go to them.”

I’d been frozen, afraid of...everything. That Uncle David was still there, that he’d lied to them about why I’d locked myself in my room. Afraid they wouldn’t believe me. Afraid they would.

I almost bend my head, but his hands, still clasped to my cheeks, and his order to keep my head up prevent me from doing it.

Keep going. Get it all out once and for all .

“When my parents realized I was in my room, my mom convinced me to open the door. And as soon as I did, I fell on her, crying. When I got the story out, my mother lost it. I’d never seen her lose her temper or yell. And then, she screamed and ran to the kitchen. Before my father could stop her, she grabbed a bottle of wine off the counter and went upside David’s head with it. I truly believe she would’ve cut him with the broken bottle if Daddy hadn’t intervened. My father kicked him out, and I’ve never seen him again.”

“Good,” he snaps. His touch to my face remains soft, but there’s nothing gentle about the brutal anger in his voice. “I wish your dad would’ve let your mother slice him up. If it’d been Gia, he wouldn’t have walked out of that fucking house at all.”

A coldness turns his gray eyes to chips of ice. I shiver, believing him. But anyone who would touch a child deserves all that and more. I have no sympathy for those monsters. Sometimes murder and theft can be justified, mitigated by certain circumstances. But not violating a child. There was no forgiveness in me for that.

“What happened after that? Did your parents press charges?”

“No,” I murmur. “Mom wanted to. She was on her way to get me dressed so we could do just that, but my father stopped her.” And this is the source of my shame, my hurt. “He told her going to the police would only be inflicting more harm on me since I would have to retell what happened to strangers at the station and then possibly in a trial. Also, how would it look that the pastor’s brother tried to touch the pastor’s daughter? And David had only tried to molest me. He didn’t go through with it because I’d woken up.”

“He didn’t know that,” Von growls, his hands dropping away from my face, falling to my hips. His fierce scowl doesn’t intimidate me. Not when it’s on my behalf. “He can’t say for certain what happened before you woke up, just like you can’t. Not that it fucking matters. He’s your father . Fuck how it would look. Fuck everything but making that piece of shit suffer. It’s his job to protect and support you through reporting it.” He glances away from me, a muscle in his jaw jumping beneath his beard. “Man of God or not, your father’s lucky he’s in Alabama, because I swear to the God he supposedly stands for, I would stomp a hole in him right now for failing you.”

For a moment, I’m lost for words. His anger nearly singes me, but it doesn’t frighten me. It...warms me. Though nearly fifteen years have passed, his reaction soothes the jagged edges of something my father broke when he put his church and reputation before me. Because that’s exactly what he did. Yes, he’d kicked his brother out and refused to have anything else to do with him, but he’d also silenced me, making his eleven-year-old daughter feel that if she confessed what happened to the authorities or anyone outside our immediate family, she would be responsible for the negative backlash.

I’d been turned from victim to potential perpetrator.

Von voiced what I’d been too scared to say before—my father had failed me.

As did my mother when she went along with it.

“So I take it they didn’t bring you to the police. Have you ever told anyone what happened?”

“No, Daddy convinced my mother to leave it alone. He swore he’d never allow David back into our house. He made me promise to let our business stay our business. Outside of my therapist, I’ve only told one other person about it.” I pause. “You.”

“Not even your cousin?”

I shake my head and huff out a low breath. “I haven’t because it’s become a habit not to say anything about what happened, but my guilt also eats me alive. I don’t believe I was the first child David tried that with. And because I kept quiet, how many more children has he—”

“No. Don’t you fucking dare finish that thought.” He lifts a hand, pinches my chin and tips it down so I’m staring directly into his eyes. “None of this is on you. You were a kid, a baby. You had no power then, which is why what the adults did and didn’t do in this situation is all the more egregious. And your uncle’s sins belong only to him. He’s the criminal here, not you. If more kids were harmed, that’s because he’s a sick fuck. It has nothing to do with you. Let that shit go, ma.”

I nod, absorbing his admonishment like a sponge run across a wet counter. I’ve told myself the same thing several times over the years. But hearing the words from another person—from him—it validates what my heart had a difficult time accepting.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

His head jerks back. “Don’t ever thank me for something like that, ma. That’s what’s wrong with muthafuckas now. Want credit for what they’re supposed to do. Any person who’s in your life—parent, friend, your man—should give you honesty and speak life into you.”

My lips curl into a small smile as I tilt my head. “Speak life into me? Let me find out you go to church and listen.”

He snorts, dropping his hand back to my waist. “I’m not a PK like you, but I do have a mother who didn’t let me or my sister miss a Sunday school or morning service.” He tilts his chin up. “Be honest with me, Liyah. This is important because I don’t want to do anything to inadvertently cause you harm. Why were you thinking of your uncle while we were kissing? Is sex a trigger for you?”

“No. No .” I shake my head for added emphasis. “Maybe when I was younger, I had a problem with people touching me without telegraphing it. Or without my permission. But I’m better at that thanks to counseling when I was eighteen and old enough to get it without my parents’ consent or knowledge. Still, sex hasn’t ever been a necessity for me. That urgent need to have it? I’ve never experienced that. Until now.” My palms dampen, and my belly churns at what I just admitted. Thank God for the shadows in the car. I don’t think I could’ve had this conversation with him in a well-lit room. “You make me understand desire. And I—” my gaze dips to his chin, unable to look into his eyes as I whisper the rest of my confession “—want more of it. I want to replace my apathy with everything you make me feel when you kiss me, touch me.”

The silence that throbs between us has its own heartbeat, its own texture. Because I can’t not see what his thoughts are, I lift my eyes. The heated lust in his almost knocks me back against the steering wheel.

Without releasing me from his visual tug-of-war, he slowly slides a hand around to the front of my throat. He lightly cuffs me, and another whimper slips free, the light but possessive hold stirring the flames already licking at me. Who knew I would love this? Love the weight of his palm and fingers circling my throat, threatening to tighten and tighten... God, do I have a darker side that I never knew existed?

I squirm on his lap, and he glances down to my thighs, bared by the rise of my dress to accommodate me sitting on him. The material bunches around my hips, and only the very bottom of my dress hides my sex from him. If he lifts the material, he’ll have a front-row seat to my scrap of black panties and how wet I am.

And I don’t care.

Part of me—the part he’s awakened with every look, touch, kiss—wants him to see.

Because though I know nothing good can come from this, I’m not moving. Not until he puts his mouth on me again. And anything else he has a mind to put on my body. Or in.

“I can’t decide if you’re really honest or just na?ve enough to admit something like that to me while your pussy is sitting on top of my dick.”

His blunt mouth is going to be the death of me, one way or another. And I can’t lie. I’m feenin’ for all of those ways.

“Are you looking for an answer?” I ask.

He cocks his head and studies me for a long, tension-filled moment then slowly shakes his head. “Not really. Not when whatever it is won’t matter one way or the other. The only answer I need from you is yes or no about whether you’re gonna let me pull this nut out of you.”

Over the thunderous pounding of my heart, I nod.

“Unhunh, ma. Speak that shit.”

“Yes,” I say, surprising myself at how firm it sounds, when inside, I’m trembling like a storm-tossed leaf. I pause, holding my breath for a second, then blurt, “Pull this nut out of me.”

The surprise that flares in his gray eyes mirrors my own shock at my boldness. And though a tiny voice screams, Who are you right now? I continue to meet his stare.

He chuckles, and the low, dark sound trips over my skin like both a caress and a warning. “Say less.”

His mouth takes mine, and where it was gentle, tender earlier, now it’s fierce and so erotic that a full-body shudder works through me. It’s as if he’s held back until now, and he’s decided to fully unleash on me. My lips tingle under the onslaught, and I can barely keep up with the plunge and suck of his tongue. After a moment, I tilt my head back, surrendering, and the hand at my throat slips to my chin. I let him angle my head any way he pleases. Let him take whatever he wants. Give him whatever he demands.

When his other hand skims up the side of my ribs to cover my breast, I jolt against the lash of pleasure. The groan that slips out of my lips into his mouth is one that borders on pained. That groan transforms into a whimper as he massages my flesh over my dress, plucking at the nipple unashamedly making itself known. The material is no defense against his determined, brazen fingers, and neither am I.

Unable to control my body or manage the lust streaming through me, I inch my thighs wider, sitting fully on his dick. A wave of relief flickers through me as if contact with him telegraphs to my body that there’s hope the fire raging inside me will be extinguished.

Like I said, I’m not a virgin, but I’m also not super experienced. Missionary was my one position, and it’d been...well, it’d been. Now, here I sit in a blacked-out truck, straddling my boss and grinding on him.

“Oh... God.” Breaking away from his mouth, I drop my head back and breathily take the Lord’s name in vain. But He’ll forgive me. Because the pleasure striking my sex is divine.

I find my rhythm, not sure if I’m doing this right or wrong—not caring either way. Not when the slide of my feminine lips over the long, thick column under his jeans sends sparks skating over my skin, down my spine. As if they possess a mind of their own, my hips go to work. Experience be damned. My body—my vagina—seems to have a primal understanding of what will give me the most ecstasy. Thank God for the animal brain.

“Fuuuck.” He releases my jaw and hip, lowering his hands to tear at his belt and zipper. In seconds, his jeans sag open and he thrusts them lower.

I greedily glance down, hungry for my first glimpse of his dick. Something tells me it’s as beautiful as he is. I don’t think there’s anything unattractive about this man. Not the thick dark brows that arrow down over his silver gaze. Not the sensual, pierced mouth that’s damp and swollen from our kisses.

And not the impossibly long, wide shaft he pulls free from his black boxer briefs.

Holy shit .

And hell yes, that curse is warranted. That one, too.

I feel my eyes pinch at the corners as they widen at the sight of him. All of him.

I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to the flutter of anxiety at the thought of that possibly getting inside me . No way in hell that’s fitting into any hole my body possesses. I don’t even think it’s anatomically possible...or correct.

No, I don’t have a ruler, but he must have more dick than I have vagina. Still... I hadn’t been wrong. He’s beautiful. Funny to think of a penis that way, but it is what it is. The dim interior of the truck can’t hide the smooth, silken-looking skin stretched taut over every powerful inch of him. Can’t conceal the broad tip that glistens with wetness at the very top. Or how heavy he must be if the tilt to the right is any indication of the weight he’s packing.

Von’s fist circles his flesh in a grip that appears punishing, and my core spasms in response. And when he pumps his hand up his length, making the head disappear for several precious seconds, my body lights up. My tongue dampens my lips as eagerness I’ve never equated with sex pulses through me.

“You looking at my shit like you want a taste.” By sheer force of will, I drag my gaze up from his fist to his hooded eyes. I don’t answer; I can’t. Desire has stolen that capability. “Open,” he says, staring at my mouth.

I obey. And not because I’ve been conditioned all my life to do so. No, I do it because I want—crave—whatever he has for me. I have a feeling Von’s reward for deference will be vastly different from God’s.

And I’m not wrong.

He slides all four of his fingers between my lips, over my tongue, stretching me to the limits. My mouth is full of him, of the musky yet fresh flavor I intuitively know is the precum that had dotted the tip of his flesh.

Should I be a little turned off by his assumption that I wanted the taste of him in my mouth? Should I recoil at his unapologetic filthiness?

Probably. I mean, I’m weeks out from almost marrying a perfectly respectable, different man.

Probably...but I’m not. If the moisture damn near coating my thighs is any indication, I’m not turned off in the least.

On a groan, I glide my tongue under his fingers, licking as best I can. Tickling the crevices between each digit, I soak in his grunt, hoarding each sound like manna from heaven.

God, I’m being so blasphemous right now.

Again, can’t bring myself to care.

Especially when he withdraws his fingers until only the tips graze my lips...and then carefully but forcefully thrusts them back inside. I squirm, the simulation of sex not lost on me. He repeats the motion, this time reaching farther toward the back of my throat.

Heat sizzles inside me, burning me alive. My hips helplessly jerk, and his other hand returns to my hip, stilling me. Or tries to. At this point, my body has rebelled, seeking more of the acute need that has taken hold like claws sunk into giving flesh.

It’s messy, beautiful and ugly. It’s damn necessary.

“One more,” Von goads, invading my mouth again, his hot, narrowed gaze focused solely on my parted lips. “If you’re this pretty right now I can’t even imagine how you gonna look stuffed full of my dick. You gon’ take it like you are now? Or better, like the good little church girl you are?”

The taunt accompanies the deepest thrust yet, his fingertips tickling the entrance to my throat. My automatic reaction is to gag, my eyes tearing up. A thumb rubs up and down the front of my neck, the soothing touch in direct contrast to the demanding fingers.

“That’s what I’m talking about, ma. You taking it so good,” he croons. “Relax. Breathe slow and deep through your nose. There you go,” he praises, holding himself still as I acclimate to him deeper inside me than anyone before. After several seconds, he slides free, and the fierce pride and lust branding his beautiful, harsh features are more than worth my stinging, wet eyes and aching jaws.

Mortification tries to attack me when he gently wipes spit from the corners of my mouth and chin. But Von tilts my head back so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

“What’re you looking embarrassed about?” He mugs me. Instead of giving me an opportunity to reply, he crushes his mouth to mine, making more of a mess of me. “Don’t ever be ashamed of how much of yourself you give to someone for your pleasure or theirs. This—” he dips his thumb inside my mouth, and without instruction, I suck hard on it. “This,” he growls, “is between us. It’s natural and it’s hot as fuck.” He paints his assurance on my chin, over my cheek, with his damp thumb. “And sloppy head is the best head, ma. Don’t nobody want neat when they’re getting their dick sucked.”

Declaring that as if it’s the Gospel According to Von, he punctuates it with another hard kiss.

“Fuck, I ain’t got no business doing this to you,” he mutters. The admonishment might’ve hurt my feelings if he didn’t tug down the top of my strapless dress, baring my breasts. The built-in shelf bra is sturdy enough—and my breasts are small and firm enough—that I didn’t need to wear a bra tonight, and when that sexy mouth pulls into a snarl, I’m glad. “When I go to hell for dirtying you up, are you going to pray for my soul, Liyah?”

I would’ve answered—I swear I would’ve. If only he hadn’t chosen that moment to vacuum damn near my whole breast into his mouth.

“Oh God,” I wail, my hands flying to his head, clutching his braids.

He doesn’t let my tight grip or my spasming body stop him from drawing hard or from pinching the other nipple.

I’m twisting closer, then bowing away. Hell, I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. All I can claim for certain is I’m on the verge of breaking, and it scares me.

Von lifts his head, and despite my internal, erotic tug-of-war, I reach for him. But he evades me, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat.

“Von,” I whine, prepared to beg for that orgasm he promised me. The orgasm he can’t deliver if he doesn’t get back to what he was doing. Get back. Right. Now.

“Shh, ma. Let me get you right.”

He doesn’t explain that, and as his gaze and his hand lower to between my thighs, any question I might’ve had dries on my tongue. I’m speechless, but my body isn’t. It screams with anticipation and greed as he grabs the hem of my dress and lifts it. Modesty should jump up and shout, “Remember me!” but no, it remains quiet, probably as breathless and eager as I am.

“Goddamn.” His low, heated curse has my nipples beading tighter, has the coil of heat just below my navel pulling tauter. My hips roll all on their own, and his rough and pleased chuckle echoes in the confines of the truck’s cab. “Why that pussy so wet, huh? Why she so pretty?”

On a hum, he traces my fevered skin just above the patch of thong that’s barely covering me. A peek down reveals my puffy, drenched folds nearly swallowing the barely there lace. And in this moment, I’m relieved I let Tamara talk me into a spa day where I was waxed and plucked within an inch of my life. The pain was worth witnessing the lust stamping his features and watching him pull his bottom lip between his teeth. How did I go my whole life not knowing how sexy that one gesture could be?

Von cants my hips forward, pressing my back against the steering wheel. What if I hit the horn? Won’t that telegraph to people—

A long, tortured groan eases out of my throat as he grips my hips and glides my sex up his dick.

Oh God. Who cares about a horn? Hell, what is a horn?

All thought flies from my head at the pleasure careening through me like a summer tornado. And when my clit nudges the rim of his tip, I can’t even recall my name.

“Damn, ma.” He grunts as he does some kind of twist/grind/roll combo that shoves his cock between my folds while circling my clit at the same time.

It’s magic. Wicked sorcery. And I don’t know whether to condemn him for this witchcraft or praise him for his skills. He slides me down his length then snatches me back up. I whimper.

Praise. Definitely praise.

“You got it, church girl,” he urges, his pace quickening as he grinds me over and over his flesh. “Get it. Get me all wet and messy with it, too. Gimme my nut.”

Desperate, I slap a hand over his mouth. If he keeps talking, I’m going to die. Expire right here and my ghost will be orgasming in his lap.

His lips graze my palm, and I don’t need to see his smile to feel it against my skin. He lifts a hand, covering mine, pressing it against his mouth...and sinks his teeth into the heel of my palm. Electrical currents attack my sex, and like a marionette, my body twitches, pulled by the strings of pleasure.

And as powerful, as good as it all is, it’s not enough.

I want more. I shouldn’t. God knows, I’ve already gone a bridge too far. To do more, to tempt more, to dare ask for more...

Screw it.

Whether it’s being drunk on the lust swirling in my veins or the reckless, desperate knowledge that this moment may never come again, I hurl caution and myself over that tenuous cliff called self-preservation and dive into the unknown. Into abandonment. Into danger.

Into him.

“Fuck me.” The demand is a whisper but it’s certain.

He stills but then his hand lifts, encircles my wrist and tugs mine away from his mouth. He remains silent but his gaze is busy, roaming my face.

Flames start to lick at my cheeks at his continued silence, and the “Forget it” sits heavy on my tongue when he reaches into the middle console and removes a condom.

“I can already feel the chokehold that pussy’s gon’ put on me and I want it. Make sure you do, too,” he says while tearing the foil square open and rolling the protection down his dick.

In lieu of a verbal answer, I rise up, notch him at my opening...then slowly, so slowly lower myself down his dick.

Or try to.

What in the hell have I gotten myself into? Or gotten into me?

I whimper, caught between fiery pain and exquisite pleasure. Both vie for dominance, and honestly, I don’t know which is winning.

“Gotdamn, Liyah.” He sinks his teeth into that full bottom lip again, attention focused between us. “There’s no excuse for this pussy to feel this fucking good. You should be ashamed of yo-damn-self.”

If I wasn’t currently trembling, stuck halfway on his dick, debating whether I want to climb off or sink farther down, I’d chuckle at his words. But here I am, trembling and stuck.

His big hands rub up and down my spine, his heavy, warm breath blasts the base of my throat.

On a low murmur, he lifts both arms and holds my bare breasts. His lips close around my nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the hardened tip.

“Oh God.” My head falls back on my shoulders as he switches breasts. Drinking from me and steadily fucking me from the bottom. “Von.”

I can do nothing but hold on, and by the time I’m fully seated on his lap, I’m breathless, overflowing with dick and tipping over the edge into orgasm.

I cry out loud, shaking and creaming all over him, as the tip of that beautiful shaft nudges something within me that has remained untouched until this very moment.

Von holds me through it, dragging his mouth away from my chest to trail kisses up my throat to my ear and whisper things too low for me to catch given the roaring in my ears.

As soon as the first wave of the sensual storm passes, he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to my jaw and then proceeds to fuck the little breath I gained right back out of me.

I fist his T-shirt with one hand and grip his head with the other, hanging on as he goes wild beneath me and I go just as hard, riding him with only instincts and pleasure as instructors. The smack of flesh, the suction of wet flesh releasing and welcoming each other fill the truck.

And when he reaches between us, rubbing my clit with unerring accuracy, I again rush headfirst into a full-on orgasm that gives me no warning. It slams into me, and my back arches so tight I dimly hear the blast of a horn. It’s drowned out by the roar of ecstasy filling my head, tumbling through my body, pulsating in my sex. My...pussy.

Like he demanded, I’m a hot, sticky mess, and I’m making it all over him.

“Fuck.” Von’s voice penetrates the swarm buzzing in my ears. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He punctuates each curse with a thrust against me, and seconds later, he stiffens and he throbs hard and deep within me.

The harsh blasts of our labored breathing echo in the truck’s hot interior that smells of sex. As the red haze clears, cold reality seeps in like a biting winter wind slipping through the cracks.

The modesty and embarrassment I wouldn’t let myself feel earlier creep through me now. What have I done? I cross my arms over my breasts, then quickly yank up my dress, covering myself.

“Hold up.” Von stretches across the console for the glove compartment and removes a handful of napkins and a bag of wipes. Wipes he probably keeps in his car for his daughter. The daughter I nanny.

Oh God . What have I done ?

While I spiral into self-recrimination, he gently lifts me off his dick and efficiently cleans me up, and I’m so deep in my thoughts I don’t even flinch as he swipes between my legs. It’s only when he’s removing the condom and dragging the disposable cloth over his dick that I scramble back over to the passenger side, tugging down the hem of my dress. It’s either put distance between us or offer to replace his hand with my own.

This is bad. So bad. I shouldn’t have ever kissed him, touched him. Because even as I mentally tear myself a new one for being so reckless to have gotten physical with my employer, the greedy need for a repeat simmers low in my belly.

I turn my head, staring out the window still foggy from our...activities. No sooner does the word pass through my head than I’m palming my forehead, silently groaning.

What does this mean for my job? God, no wonder my father didn’t want me out here, out of his sight. Just weeks and I’m forgetting who I am, what my morals are...

But who are you? Shoot, you don’t even know what your morals and opinions are since the only ones you’ve known have been dictated by your father .

I flinch away from the voice in my head that sounds a lot like Tamara.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I bow my head. My father’s stern rebukes fill my mind, and I shrink from them.

I didn’t raise you to be a woman of loose morals. Only a prostitute advertises her wares.

Cleanliness isn’t just of the body but of the spirit.

To be in the flesh is to be separate from God .

Each sermonized statement strikes me like pebbles. Since what happened with my uncle, I’ve tried so hard to be virtuous, as if I somehow drew his attention even though I was a child. And Dad didn’t do anything to discourage that line of thought. He became stricter afterward, more watchful, more...controlling. As if he had to make sure my soul remained pure since the flesh had already been sullied.

Maybe he had a point to be so concerned, so wary. Maybe he’d seen something I hadn’t. The something that would lead me to—

“Aye, I don’t know what the fuck you’re over there thinking, but stop it.”

I only had seconds to process that rumbled order before firm fingers bit into my chin, lifting my head and turning it toward Von.

A fierce scowl darkened his face more than the shadows surrounding us. “Was this shit the wisest thing to do? Probably not. And since you still work for me—don’t even get it into your head about quitting, ma—we shouldn’t repeat it. But do I regret it? Hell nah. Life’s too short for that shit. And since I’ve been wondering about how you taste from the moment you walked into my office at the shop, I’d be fake as fuck to say I have regrets. Baby girl, we grow from mistakes, not use them as memorials to our fuckups. And if you’re not given the opportunity to grow, you don’t learn a muthafuckin’ thing in this world.”

He drops his hand away from my chin, and I stare at him, a little stunned, a lot mesmerized. Sometimes I forget that Von has me by ten years. But then there are moments like these, when he drops profanity-laden nuggets of wisdom, that I’m reminded.

“You good?” he asks, arching a dark eyebrow.

Since I’ve been wondering about how you taste from the moment you walked into my office at the shop...

I would be good as soon as I exorcised that bit of truth-telling from my mind. As for the rest...

“Yes.” At least, I would be.

Maybe.

“Good.” He nods. Without removing his narrowed gaze from me, he turns on the car, the engine rumbling to life. “And I meant what I said, Liyah. Don’t make me have to come hunt your little ass down on Monday. You went to the wall for my baby, you stuck with her now. And she’s stuck with you.”

Not us. Not stuck with us .

Oh God. Here I go. Prime reason why I shouldn’t have kissed this man or fucked him. Say what he wants, I have regrets.

I have real world, intimate knowledge of what Von Howard looks and feels like when he comes.

My regret is that I’ll never do it again.

I can’t.

Not if I know what’s best for me.