Page 48 of Turn That River Red

His erection is more than evident.

“Y-yes,” I whisper, my thoughts hazy. “But I wish you would tell me what you’re going to do.”

“You’ll find out,” he says. “Now undress.”

I know I should refuse. I’m married—before God if not legally, which is all that matters. I made a vow.

A vow you never meant.

“Mercy.” Ambrose’s voice lilts in a warning. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and slim. I don’tknow what it is until he squeezes it and a narrow silver blade whips out. I gasp, a sharp lance of terror moving through my chest?—

“Don’t make me cut that dress off you.”

“Why do you have that?” I whisper.

Something dark flashes through Ambrose’s features. “There’s a killer loose. I neededsomethingto protect you.”

My chest flares with heat.He wants to protect me.

But then he presses the flat side of the blade against my cheek, and any warmth is swallowed up by the chill of the metal.

“However,” he continues. “I will use it on that dress if you don’t get moving.”

This time, the fear that curls through me is almost indistinguishable from lust. I twist my arm around to pull down my zipper, the sound impossibly loud in the bunker’s echoing silence. Ambrose keeps his eyes fixed on me as I shrug out of the sleeves, revealing the ugly, industrial-strength beige bra I have to wear. I push the dress down and stand at the same time, letting the stiff fabric fall around me in a pile.

Ambrose’s eyes gleam, taking me in. I have to resist the urge to cover my body, even if I’m still in my underwear, because the way he looks at me?—

It’s like he wants to eat me.

He fingers the handle of the knife, and the blade catches the dim lights and flashes like a camera.

And then hemoves. He moves so fast I don’t see him. One second, he’s watching me, and the next, he has his arm around my waist, pulling me into him, and the knife has slipped between my panties and the skin of my hip.

“I was going to take them off,” I gasp, stunned by his quickness.

Ambrose’s eyes burn. “But this is so much morefun,” he murmurs, pressing the knife blade against my hip as he kissesalong my neck, making me tremble and gasp. I wait for the sound of shearing fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Ambrose slides out the knife and slips it under my bra band.

“Or should I start here?” he rasps into my neck.

“I-I thought you were rewarding me.”

Ambrose chuckles and slides his free hand between my legs to my palm my sex, the heel of his hand grinding into my clit. Even with the layer of cotton, my body explodes with heat.

“Is that enough of a reward for you?”

Then, in another lightning-fast movement, he yanks the knife sideways. I feel my bra band snap more than I hear it, and then I feel it when he slices away the straps with two quick slices of the knife. The ruined bra falls to the ground as Ambrose steps away.

For the first time, he sees my bare breasts, his eyes dark as he drinks me in.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he says.

The compliment surprises me; Reverend Gunner has made it clear, on multiple occasions, that I should be a little thinner, with smaller breasts and smaller hips—that if I were, maybe I would be worthy of being a first wife and not a helpmeet.You have a Jezebel’s body, he told me once, right before he took me over to tend to Pastor Sullivan’s needs.

But with Ambrose, the way he compliments me—it’s like he can’t believe I’m here in front of him.

“Get the panties off,” he orders, in that rough, dark voice he uses sometimes. “I want to see all of you.”

I shove the panties down without hesitation, eager to obey him. He watches me, eyes roving over my body, as I step out of them and stand there in the damp, warm air of the bunker, utterly exposed. I’m not sure what to do with my arms—hang them at my side? Wrap them around my waist? I do the latter on instinct, but Ambrose moves fast again, grabbing my wrists and jerking my arms overhead.

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