Page 41 of The Preacher's Pet

“I’m sorry if I made things difficult,” I say. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Jesus … Ophelia … I… You need to …”

I don’t say anything but just keep looking at him as the battle rages over his face.

Then something calm and powerful settles over him, and he reaches out and places his hand on top of my head, stroking my hair. I rest there, just for a moment, peace washing over me.

21

ROMAN

I’m aching all over.

My heart aches at the sight of her. She gazes up at me, her huge, different-colored eyes piercing my soul. My muscles ache with the tension within me, and the need to be gentle, when I’m feeling anything but. My cock aches with the need for her touch.

None of that can happen. I will make her leave us alone, but I’ll allow myself this one, perfect moment.

And it is perfection. Sweet, poisonous, blissful perfection.

She’s so submissive, yet so strong in her submission that it’s as if the Earth and the universe and the gods all heard my deepest desires and created my perfect woman.

My palm smooths over her hair, brushing it gently, relishing the silky feel of it. She turns her head to the side, cutting off her intense gaze, but resting her warm cheek against my thigh as she sighs, and it sounds like a happy sigh.

Gods. This can’t be happening.

The panic hits me hard and fast, and I step to one side. She falters as if she’s going to fall forward, but plants one hand on the ground and glances up at me through a curtain of hair.

“You need to leave,” I snap.

The anger is back, as is the simmering violence. I’d told myself I’d try to level with her and reason with her. But instead, I’m back to where I started.

She stands, brushing dirt from her hand onto her jeans. She raises her perfect, blonde brows at me, and manages to look down her nose at me somehow, despite being so much smaller. Every hint of her beautiful submission is gone now. Her cheeks are twin spots of embarrassed red, and her eyes are narrowed.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot. Of course, I must leave so your friends aren’t compromised by being around me, right?”

I step toward her, and she takes a couple back, almost stumbling against the trunk of a tree. I reach her and bracket her between my arms, my hands planted on the rough bark. My chest rises and falls, and I try to control my breathing.

“No, Ophelia, you need to leave because of me.” I lean in and run my nose up the column of her neck. She gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. “It was true that I was worried about the effect you’d have on us all, but now? Now, I fear for what I’ll do to you, and how little control I have left.”

I let my lips linger against the skin of her neck and breathe her in. Soap, skin, a slight hint of something from her hair like maybe coconut? She smells like innocence, and I’m nothing but sin.

“Do. You. Understand?” I say against her neck.

She swallows hard, and I step back. My hands are balled into fists, and my breathing is tight, restrained.

She holds my eye, her gaze unflinching.

“I think you’re wrong,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

She’s already turned, walking away, as I told her to, and I already want to run after her and drag her back.

“Youarein control, very much so, and that’s maybe what I need most of all.” She speaks with her back still to me, but her words are powerful and heavy on the breeze.

She doesn’t turn back. Instead, when she reaches the edge of the grass, she breaks into a run and races for the college.

I fall back, my legs wobbly as I stagger to regain my balance.

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