Page 73 of The Preacher's Pet

“What do you want it to be?” Malachi throws in. “It needs to be something completely unconnected to anything you might do or say normally. It needs to stand out and also be something you won’t forget”

I nibble at the inside of my lips and cast my gaze around the room, trying to think of something. My focus lands on the empty pizza box.

“Anchovies,” I announce. “My safe word is anchovies.”

“Good,” Roman praises. He looks around at the others. “You two got that?”

Cain and Malachi both nod.

Cain stares at me, his expression serious. “Are you sure you want to do this, Angel? One hundred percent sure?”

“Yes. And if I change my mind, I have the safe word, right?”

My answer seems to please them all, and in turn, that pleases me, too. I want to make these men happy. “What time do we start?”

“Three a.m.,” says Roman.

“Like last time.” I draw in a shaky breath.

I don’t have much experience sexually, and I’m pretty sure most people won’t get to experience the erotic fear of being chased through the woods. I’m reminded of my dreams and wonder if perhaps they were premonitions rather than dreams.

Whatever they were, they’re about to come true.

40

ROMAN

I’ve been so fuckingon edge since we told Ophelia. We made her take a bath, full of scented oils, and we put her to bed with instructions to try to rest. Cain is snoring softly on the sofa, and Malachi is playing a video game, headset on. I’m pacing the kitchen area. I’m nervous and stressed.

There are so many ways this can go wrong. I could make things worse for this girl. I have asked myself repeatedly if I’m just inventing a reason to chase her, to fuck her. I don’t think so, or at least not entirely.

I do believe that sex is an incredibly powerful energy. It’s partly why I’ve never participated.

Pushing away from the kitchen counter, I stalk to the room where the altar is. Once in there, I close the door behind me and sit in front of the altar where I have photographs and objects arranged.

I sit cross-legged, arms rested, palm up, on my thighs, and my eyes closed so I can concentrate. I take a breath and speak.

“Dear ancestors, I ask you this eve to show me the right path. Am I correct in thinking that by giving this girl my essence for the first time, I’m going to help her make a connection tosomething stronger than her Prophet? Show me if this is the right thing to do.”

The window is ajar, and the soft rustle of the leaves and the wind outside are the only sounds I hear. For a long time, I sit, waiting for… what? I’m not sure. Nothing comes. No sign. I sigh and open my eyes, glancing out of the window, and freeze.

There on the ledge, wings folded, is a butterfly. It’s late for there to be one out now. Too cold, really.

Yet, there it is. Stunning in all its beauty. When its wings fall open, I see it’s a monarch—a truly beautiful butterfly. It flaps its wings a few times then takes off. I turn to the ancestors and smile.

“Thank you.”

With this sign confirming my belief that this will help her, I remain cross-legged, with my eyes closed, to try to clear my mind. I’m nervous I’ll fuck this up for Ophelia somehow. I’ve never done this before—the sex part, I mean. What if I suck at it? The things my uncle did to me never required me to act in any way. I would just lie there, frozen in disgust and fear. What if those feelings overwhelm me once more?

I can’t bear for her to feel rejected. On the other hand, what if I get so overexcited I come before I’m even inside her?

“Christ, Roman, get over yourself,” I chide, but I know the reason I’m so worried is because this is important for her. She needs to feel that we three are her new protectors.

We must be both the thing she fears in the dark and the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a damn fine line to walk.

Focusing on calming my breathing, I try not to keep thinking about sinking into her perfect, pink pussy. I can’t stop thinking about it, though. If I give myself a release now, maybe that will help ensure I don’t come in my damn pants before I even get undressed. Or worse, come all over her pussy just from looking at it.

Normally, when I can’t handle the frustration any longer, and I give in and touch myself, I watch porn. If I let my mind do its own thing, I invariably end up somewhere I don’t want to be as old traumas surface, and it’s a cold shower on my libido. Ever since Ophelia came into my life, though, I’ve not had that issue. The few times I’ve touched myself—in the shower once, and another time in the bed here—when she was at class with Cain, and Mal was on a run, I’ve just had to think of her pussy stretching to take Cain.

---