Page 52 of The Preachers' Promise
We’re using her, filling her holes. She makes strangled choking sounds, but she still takes us both. One day, will one of us be able to take her ass, too? I picture the three of us fucking every orifice and it’s too much. Hot cum surges up my cock, and pleasure races up my spine. I let out a growl of pure bliss and squeeze my eyes shut. I pump stream after stream of myself deep into her pussy, just as Roman lets out a yell of his own, and, with his fingers knotted in her hair, empties himself down her throat.
“Fuck,” Malachi says from the sideline. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Utterly spent, Ophelia falls back against the mattress. “Oh, my God. I think I died and saw heaven.”
“Are you okay?” Roman asks her. A frown marks his face and his lips are pinched.
She throws him a smile. “Better than okay.” But it doesn’t seem to ease his frown.
I wonder if he’s pissed that he shot his load down her throat because he couldn’t hold on until he fucked her, but I doubt it’s that. He looks perturbed rather than angry.
“I could sleep for a week,” she adds.
Malachi tosses himself onto the bed beside her. “Same.”
She curls up into his chest, and I drop into the spot beside her.
The past twenty-four hours have been a lot, and we could all do with some rest.
26
ROMAN
I leavethe other three curled up together on the bed, all sound asleep. It’s still early evening, and we haven’t even eaten, but none of us slept last night. I imagine Ophelia had been terrified in that facility, and we’d been traveling and making plans to free her, so other than a couple of short naps when someone else had been driving, we’ve all been sleep deprived.
I throw on my pants and slip out of the room, unsure where I’m even going. I want to take a walk around the perimeter and make sure nothing looks out of place. We’re safe here, but that nagging feeling we might not be persists.
I’m worried about our future. What the hell are we going to do from here?
We can’t stay at the safehouse forever. While it might be fine for a week or two, we’ll outstay our welcome pretty damn fast. If we’re gone from college too long, the dean will contact our families to let them know we’re missing. That won’t go down well either. Will we be kicked out when the dean finds out we kidnapped Ophelia from the facility? Can it even be called kidnapping if she wanted to come with us? She is an adult, after all.
There’s a part of me that wants us all to just run. We have money and connections. We’ll be able to get fake passports and leave the country. As long as we’re all together, that’s all that matters.
I tell myself that, but I know it’s not the truth. At least not for the others. I wouldn’t care if I never saw my family again, but they won’t all feel the same way. Ophelia went missing once before. She wouldn’t put her parents through that kind of hell again. While her father might deserve it, especially after committing her to that hellhole of a facility, her mother seems like a good person. Ophelia will know that her mom most likely wouldn’t survive her going missing again.
Of course, she could call her mother once we’re safely settled somewhere new to let her know she’s okay, but I still think she’d find it hard never to see her in person again, and even a phone call could give someone a clue to where we were.
No, we’re going to have to face up to what’s coming, though fuck knows how we’re going to do that and not lose Ophelia.
Thoughts of her take me back to us being in bed together earlier.
I feel like shit that I wasn’t gentler with her. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Everything,is the answer that comes back.I’m fucking broken.
I had the crazy idea that Ophelia could fix me, and I could fix her in return, but what if I end up dragging her right down with me? What if we both make ourselves worse with what we’re doing? It’s a dangerous game we’re playing. We all have demons inside us that could crawl right out into the open if we let them.
I wish I had my knotted rope with me. There’s nothing I want to do more right now than kneel in the woods, naked, and use the lashes on my back. I need to repent for everything—for the violence that lies so deep inside me I can’t control, and how myneed for Ophelia takes over all rational thought. I didn’t think I was that kind of man, but I’ve proven myself wrong.
Am I more like my father—and maybe even my uncle—than I’d like to admit? The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I have to do something about this tension spiraling in me.
There must be something in this house I can use.
I wander from room to room, checking inside each of them. I reach a door and open it, to discover a staircase going down. I reach for a light switch and turn it on. The space floods with light, and I slowly navigate the stairs. The huge cellar has been converted into an at-home gym. There’s a flat screen television embedded into one of the walls, and large speakers in every corner. The sides of the room are filled with weight machines and cross trainers and treadmills. The middle has mats and free weights. Something catches my eye.
It's a jump rope.
I cross the space and pick it up. The rope is just the right thickness and weight. Experimentally, I tie a knot in its length and pull it tight. It feels right. I tie another, and another, until half the rope has knots at intervals along its length.
