Page 11 of Preacher Man
Then he asked in a low voice, “You ever been on a motorcycle before?”
ChapterFour
Jake
There ain’t a better feeling in the world than a warm engine between your thighs, the smell of summer dust in the wind, and the promise of a beautiful man waiting for you on the other end.I grinned from the moment I woke up that morning, and now, roaring down the county road with the late afternoon sun at my back, I felt ecstatic.
And damn if I didn’t have a good reason.
The preacher man—Ethan—had finally said yes.
He agreed to go on a ride with me.
Just the thought of it, his arms wrapped tight around my body, his chest pressed up against my back, the hum of the bike beneath us, had my cock stirring in my jeans like it had a mind of its own.I adjusted myself with one hand, let out a breathy laugh, and muttered, “Down, boy.”
What was it about him?That soft, haunted look in his eyes?The way he held the Bible like it was both armor and confession?Or maybe it was the way he blushed whenever I teased him, like no one had ever dared to flirt with the preacher before.
Since the day he arrived in Meadowgrove, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.And I’m not just talking about the sinful shit, though Lord knows I’d had a few unholy thoughts.I mean actual stuff, like what he looks like when he wakes up in the morning, or how his voice would sound if he ever just… let go.
It was just after five on Sunday afternoon.By now, the flock would’ve scattered, the pews empty, hymns echoing into memory.The little white church came into view at the top of the hill, and my pulse kicked up.
I groaned softly, feeling another twitch in my jeans.“Damn it,” I muttered.“Gotta slow down.Don’t wanna scare the preacher off.”
I eased up on the throttle and rolled past the church, gravel crunching under my tires as I pulled in front of the sad little trailer that squatted behind it like an afterthought.
Tragic didn’t even begin to cover that trailer.It was more a collection of rust and regret than a home.Ethan deserved better.Hell, he was better.But I knew better than to offer pity to a man like him.He didn’t want charity.He wanted something real.
I was just swinging my leg over the bike when the door creaked open.
Ethan stepped out, his face dark with something stormy.Not anger, exactly.Something worse.
Regret.
Shit.
He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe like he was bracing for impact.My gut clenched.I could already feel it coming—the backpedaling, the polite excuses, maybe even a line about “temptation” or “impropriety.”
Nope.Not today.
I wasn’t letting him chicken out.
Not when I could feel the tension vibrating between us like a live wire.Not when my bones were humming with the truth of him, the pull of him, the deep, unspoken yes he hadn’t dared to say out loud yet.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice easy.“You look like a man about to cancel a date.That’d be a damn shame.”
“It’s not a date,” he said, a little too fast.
“Sure it is.”I gave him my best shit-eating grin.“It’s just one with helmets and horsepower.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he said, glancing down the road like maybe he’d spot divine intervention in the trees.“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.And I’ve got… responsibilities.”
I stepped toward him, slow and steady.“Ethan,” I said, real quiet now, “you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders since the moment you got here.Just for today… let me carry you instead.”
He blinked.Swallowed.
Gotcha.
I popped open the little carrier box strapped to the back of the bike and pulled out my spare helmet.“Here,” I said, offering it out like a peace offering.Or maybe a promise.“It’s clean.Barely used.You’ll be safe with me.”
