Page 15 of Preacher Man
Then I grinned, one eyebrow cocked, and asked, “So tell me, preacher… you ever bless something this big?”
ChapterFive
Ethan
The engine had barely cut off before I realized I was sweating.Not from the ride.Not from the sun beating down on the cracked road.No, this heat was my shame, thick and sour in my throat, pulsing between my legs like a curse.I sat there on the back of Jake’s motorcycle, frozen, my hands clenched into fists at my sides where they’d been gripping his waist the whole ride.
God forgive me, I hadn’t meant to touch him like that.
But I had.
I’d pressed myself against him like I was starving.Felt every ridge of his body under that damn leather jacket.Those broad shoulders, the thick muscles of his back, the way his hips shifted when we turned corners.Every move stoked the ache I’d fought so hard to bury.
And it wasn’t just lust this time.That’s what scared me the most.
Jake was temptation with a heartbeat, temptation with a laugh that made me feel seventeen again, and not in a holy way.He looked like sin and smelled like sweat and soap and something smoky—motor oil and danger.And I, like the weak man I was, wanted to pull him close and give in to my sinful desires.
Just like I had before.
I remembered it too clearly.The hushed meetings with Deacon Harris in the church office after Bible study, the tremble in his voice when he prayed over me with his hands shaking, and how we both knew damn well it wasn’t the Holy Spirit moving us.
And when the other deacons cornered me in the sanctuary, their faces tight and pale as wax, the judgment hit like a stone to the chest.They prayed over me.Like I was possessed.And maybe I was.I remember kneeling, sweaty and humiliated, while they called on the Lord to cleanse me of my abnormal desires.
I cried, begged, and swore I’d renounce it all.My weakness.My wickedness.My sins.
They sent me here to Meadowgrove, not as redemption, but exile.The parsonage was a tin can of misery with a leaky roof and a floor that creaked like it was sighing under the weight of my failure.It was punishment disguised as pity.
And now here I was.Standing in Jake’s dusty driveway, trembling in the wake of the same storm.
But worse.
Because with Jake…it wasn’t just physical.There was something about him.His confidence, the way he looked at me like he saw something, not just a preacher in faded jeans and a button-up that stuck to my back with sweat.He made me feel real.
And when he got off that bike and turned around, his mouth quirking into that devil-may-care smile of his, I nearly lost it.
“Ever blessed something this big before?”he said, cocky as hell, nodding toward the very obvious bulge in his jeans.
I actually choked.
Words failed me.Scripture fled.
I tried to laugh it off.I tried to look anywhere else.But I saw it.Lord help me, I felt it.
A wild pulse shot through me.My thoughts blurred into heat and guilt and sheer want.I wanted to bless everything about him.I wanted to drop to my knees, but not in prayer.
And that terrified me.
I took a shaky step toward him.My tongue felt thick, my heart battering against my ribs like a caged thing.
“I… I can’t do this again,” I mumbled.
Jake’s eyes caught mine.And something flickered there.
Amusement.Understanding.Interest.
“Again?”he asked, cocking his head like I’d just handed him a secret he intended to unwrap slowly.
He turned toward his house, boots crunching on gravel.The way his jeans hugged his thighs made me want to cry and curse and praise God in the same breath.
