Page 34 of Turn That River Red

“Shhh.” I guide her back to where I want her—on her back, with her legs spread wide.

“This isn’t right,” she whispers. “We should—we shouldpray, or?—”

“You want to pray?” I push her skirt up enough that I see the simple cotton panties underneath. They already have a damp spot, and I desperately want to taste it.

I look up at her, waiting for her to answer. The sharp, piquant fear she experienced when I mentioned Reverend Gunner is gone, although a richer fear remains—a fear of me. Not Ambrose the preacher, not the Ambrose she thinks she knows, but Ambrose the boogeyman. Ambrose the killer.

But it’s intertwined with the scent of her desire, and I think I might lose my mind from the combination. Probably I already have.

“Weshouldpray,” she whispers weakly.

I notice that she has not pushed her skirts down.

“I have an idea.” For the second time this morning, I drag myself away from her trembling, willing body. But if she wants to bring God into this—well, I’ll invite him in. “Wait here.”

I go into my bedroom and dig out the old pocket Bible I brought with me. I’ve had it for years, since the 1970s, at least—if you’re going to hunt in Texas, having a Bible in your pocket doesn’t hurt.

I flip through it as I walk back into the living room. When I step through the doorway, Mercy yelps a little and jerks her hand away from between her legs.

She’d been touching herself.

“Practicing what I showed you?” I grin as her face turns red with embarrassment. She doesn’t even bother to deny it.

“Is that a Bible?” she asks instead.

“Yes.” I amble across the room, each step slow and careful. Making her wait. Making her tremble. “You said you wanted to pray.” I hand her the Bible and flip it open to Song of Songs. “So you’ll pray.”

Mercy looks down at the open pages. “You want me to—” Confusion mars her pretty features as she glances up at me. “To read this?”

“Out loud.” I settle down in front of her and curl my fingers around the band of her panties. Her muscles contract; I feel the sudden siege of tension on the air.

“While you’re—” She blushes again.

“While I’m eating your cunt, yes.”

The reaction I get from her is like a shockwave. Lust and arousal flood the air. Should I have said it like that, when I’m supposed to be a preacher? Probably not.

Do I regret it? Not in the slightest.

I yank her panties down and, for the first time, get a real look at the cunt in question. It’s gorgeous—wet and swollen with need, covered with a fine pelt of light brown hair. I arrange myself between her legs and breathe in deep that scent of human prey in heat.

“Read,” I order, and Mercy gasps softly. I know she’s going to obey, and it’s not because she’s a good Christian girl trained to be subservient. This goes deeper than that. She witnessed death, and when humans witness death and want to survive, they need to fuck. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my two hundred years, it’s that.

Mercy takes a deep breath and looks down at the Bible. “‘L-let him kiss me with the?—’”

And I do. I press my mouth against her wet labia and lick them with my tongue, savoring the first musky tasteof her. Mercy cries out, hips jolting against me. I pull away.

“Read,” I command, and I realize a second too late that I’ve just spoken to her the way I speak to someone I plan to kill.

But she doesn’t know that. And, with the pulse of her blood, I feel how much she likes it.

“Do not stop until you come.” I keep using my Hunter voice on her, because fuck, I love how her body reacts. Her eyes turn all to pupil. Her breath quickens. Her thighs push further apart.

For a moment, she stares at me over the pages of the Bible. I don’t move. I won’t touch her until I hear her read.

Then she drops her gaze down and starts again.

“‘Let him kiss me with the k-kisses of his mouth—for thy love is—is—is?—’”

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