Page 37 of Turn That River Red

Ambrose grins and slides his cum-sticky fingers across my tongue. I wrap my lips around them and suck, moaning softly at the saltiness of him. He tastes like Reverend Gunner. But he also tastes divine.

“That’s it.” He pulls his fingers out and scoops up more cum from my cheek. “Do you want more, my greedy little princess?”

He doesn’t wait for a response this time, just sides his fingers into my mouth again, and I lick it off his fingers, my hips writhing against the sofa.

“You can have that any time you want.” Ambrose pushes off the couch and takes the Bible out of my hands and slams it closed.

Thatfeels like too much. “You need to clean it!” I cry out, sitting up.

“I need to clean you,” he says. “The book can wait.”

He tosses it on the end table, as if the matter’s closed, and then disappears into his hallway. I stare at the Bible. It’s old. Obviously well-used. I don’t understand how he can just let it bedesecratedlike that.

He doesn’t see it as a desecration, whispers some voice deep in my head. A voice that feels dangerous.

Ambrose steps back into the living room holding a damp bath towel. I can’t speak as he helps me up to sitting, then settles down beside me and gently, carefully, wipes his seed away from my skin.

“As much as I want to leave it,” he says softly. “I can’t have Reverend Gunner seeing you like this.”

“Don’t talk about him.” I’m surprised by the vehemence in my words. So is Ambrose, it seems, because he jerks his dark eyes up to meet mine.

“Feeling guilty?” He arches an eyebrow.

“No.” I force myself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. “But I don’t want to think about him. Not right now.”

“Fair enough.” Ambrose smiles softly—sadly, I think, and I wonder if he doesn’t want to think about Reverend Gunner, either. I can’t say I blame him.

He finishes cleaning me up, then tosses the towel on the ground and kisses me softly. I don’t want to get up from thecouch, even though I know I need to. I have obligations outside of this cabin. What’s happened here—it leaves me dizzy and hot. But it won’t last. It can’t last.

It was just a temporary oblivion to help me forget the horrors of last night.

“I should go,” I mutter, pulling away from Ambrose, straightening up my dress. He doesn’t protest. Doesn’t try to stop me. I run my hands over my hair, trying to smooth it down, and in the flurry, I catch Ambrose’s dark, heavy gaze.

“Do you want me to set up the prayer circles again?” he asks. It takes me a moment to register to his question.

“Y-yes. That would be—that would be good, I think.” I stare at him, lounging on the couch, his arm stretched over the back cushions. I don’t want to leave. I have to leave. “I can’t believe this happened again.”

Images flash through my head. Burl’s gaping neck. His bright red blood. His outstretched arms. I try to force them out.

“There are a lot of monsters in this world,” Ambrose says.

“Do you think they’ll catch this one?”Assuming it’s not the devil. But I don’t say that out loud.

Ambrose studies me for a long time, like he doesn’t know how to answer.

“I’m sure they will,” he finally says.

Reverend Gunner’soffice is thick with panic. When I come in through the front door, Mrs. Harrison is talking with Mrs. Sullivan, their heads tilted together, their voices low and urgent. They both look up at me, but it’s only Mrs. Harrison who rushes over, her arms outstretched.

“Are you all right, Mercy? I heard yousawthe body.”

I let her pull me into an embrace, even though I’m afraidshe’ll smell Ambrose on me. But of course her hug is as quick as it always is. Mrs. Sullivan watches me coolly from afar. She knows what her husband did to me.

“Yes, it was—I didn’t mean to, but—” I try to offer a brave smile. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know. It’s awful,” she says. “Just awful. We’re having a prayer meeting tonight. We have to drive the devil out.”

“Yes, we do.” Mrs. Sullivan’s heels click against the linoleum as she comes to join us. “We need to drive thesinout.”

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