Chapter 17
June
“Holy fuck.”
It was about the tenth time he’d said it—still a little in shock over what we’d done tonight, I suppose.
I was curled up in his bed, covers barely draped across my hips, my skin still humming.
The room was lit from a small window over the bed, moonlight streaming in, the only other light coming from the kitchen.
Silas appeared in the doorway a moment later, the tupperware of ambrosia in one hand and two forks in the other. He was still completely naked—just utterly casual about it, like walking around bare-assed with fruit salad was part of his daily ritual.
He handed me a fork, then climbed into bed beside me, setting the ambrosia between us. “Holy fuck,” Silas muttered. “Just…holy fuck.”
“The ambrosia, or the literal holy fucking we just did?” I asked, scooping out a bite of my own.
He huffed out a laugh, one hand dragging through his hair. “Both…but mostly the second one.”
I grinned and took another bite, savoring the sweetness of the pineapple and marshmallows. It was absurd, really—sitting here post-coital, naked and sticky with sex and sugar, eating a classic southern potluck dish.
“I’m serious,” he said, watching me with this sort of dazed look. “I’ve had my world rocked before, but you just performed a whole exorcism with your thighs.”
I nearly choked on the ambrosia.
“Please put that on my headstone,” I said between laughs. “June Fontenot: minister and…sexorcist?”
“The exorcism puns have got to stop,” he laughed, shaking his head.
I looked up to kiss his cheek. “Never.”
We fell into an easy rhythm—spooning bites out of the container, brushing fingers, legs tangled together beneath the covers. This…this was heavenly—sitting in bed with a gorgeous man, eating delicious food, laughing.
It was exactly the kind of heaven my family would have told me to be ashamed of.
“Oh, you uh…” Silas paused when I looked up at him, “you’ve got—”
He gestured at my collarbone—but instead of finishing his sentence, he ducked his head and dragged his tongue across the spot. I moaned softly, but he pulled back, smiling.
“You had some marshmallow,” he murmured.
“Ah…excuses,” I said, then pointed lower on my breast. “You know—I think I’ve got some marshmallow right here, too.”
Silas gave me that crooked, reverent smile. His hand skimmed down my side, then he bent his head and kissed the spot I’d pointed to…then his tongue darted out, and I felt it all the way in my toes.
“Mmm,” he rumbled against my skin. “Yep. Definitely marshmallow.”
I let my head fall back against the pillows, laughter bubbling out of me.
“You’re insatiable,” I murmured, combing my fingers through his hair.
“I’m thorough,” he corrected, kissing a path lower, voice husky. “Wanna make sure I taste every inch of you.”
My breath hitched when he kissed just below my breast. “You know you’re actually making more of a mess,” I teased, even as my hand drifted lazily down my spine.
“That’s the goal,” he breathed.
He placed one more kiss on my hip, then he settled beside me again to share more ambrosia. We took a few more bites, then he cleared his throat.
“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” he asked. “All that…claiming the room, body is mine, body is yours.”
I hummed, taking it slow as I swallowed another bite. This…it was all fun and games until I had to talk about why I did this—then things got a little dicey.
“You don’t have to,” Silas started, but I cut him off.
“No—I want to.” I put down my fork and took a deep breath, curling closer to Silas.
“After my um…after my suicide attempt in undergrad, I found a sex-positive group in the city for folks recovering from purity culture. We’d talk about theology and embodiment and trauma and sex…
about how much damage had been done by people twisting scripture. ”
Silas’s arm tightened around me. He wasn’t eating anymore either.
“We weren’t trying to be edgy,” I went on. “Just…trying to make ourselves whole, you know? Trying to make our way back to God.”
Silas didn’t say anything right away; just kissed the top of my head, his lips soft and still against my hair.
“And I guess that’s how you became…a sexorcist,” he said after a beat.
I couldn’t help but laugh—and I could feel how Silas reveled in it, in knowing exactly when to ease the tension…when to listen. I looked up at him, finding that he was just staring—and I grinned.
“You really do love me, don’t you?” I asked.
“Did you just notice?”
I snorted. “I recall you mentioning it while you were fucking my brains out…but I think it just clicked.”
“I do somethin’?”
I chewed on my lip, searching for the words. “You just…you know me. I don’t get how, but you know me better than…anyone?”
He hummed. “Don’t tell Delilah.”
I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. “I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to welcome you to the fan club.”
“Even if she doesn’t get to be president anymore?”
“You’ll never take that title from her.”
He chuckled, shaking his head—then he tilted my head up to kiss me again…slow and chaste, even with both of us naked. When he pulled back, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You talk about God different than anybody I’ve ever met,” he said.
“I just don’t think God should be in a box,” I shrugged. “I don’t think any of us should be. I mean…if we’re made in His image, didn’t He make us this way for a reason?”
Silas nodded as if he’d never heard something that made more sense. “You really believe that,” he said.
“With everything in me,” I murmured, resting my head on his chest again. “Not all the time. Not without doubt. But…yeah. I believe God made me…messy and loud and complicated and hungry. And I think He prefers to leave it a bit of a mystery why exactly He did that.”
Silas was quiet, stroking my back. “And it doesn’t scare you?”
I smiled. “Not anymore.”
We lay there a while, the air thick with moonlight and the scent of marshmallows, everything warm and easy. I let my fingers trail along the curve of his ribs. He smelled like sweat and sawdust, and I’d never felt so safe.
He kissed my forehead, soft and slow. “You know,” he said. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen…but what’s really drawn me in is how damn brave you are.”
I let my hand drift lower, resting over his stomach. “You know,” I whispered, “if we keep talking like this, I’m gonna start crying…and you already made me come three times, so I’m kind of tapped out emotionally.”
Silas laughed, full and warm. “I’ll stop philosophizin’.”
“No, don’t,” I tilted my head to look at him. “I like your voice when you’re talking about things that matter.”
“Good thing I like talkin’ about you then, huh?”
I nestled closer, my body warm against his, heart full. We didn’t say much after that…just drifted in and out of conversation, kissing, laughing, feeding each other ambrosia. When sleep came, it came easy.
And when I finally closed my eyes, I felt it.
Peace.
Right here in this room, in an old parsonage, in a church haunted by grief and shame and fear.
We were writing something new.
Word by word, body by body, breath by breath.