Preacher Man

I watch through half-mast eyes as the man who embodies love to me groans through the throes of his own peak, his hips jackknifing up and lifting me out of the water, his hands yanking me up and back, up and back on his lap, forcing me to ride him straight through to the end, the warmth of his spend jetting inside me.

“Daddy,” I sob, collapsing on his chest a moment later. “Daddy, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says gruffly, laying kisses on my hairline. “You are mine. Nothing and no one is ever going to take you away from me.”

That doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t try.

CHAPTER SIX

Joseph

Walking into the weekly church picnic with Mila, the urge to laugh strikes. It wouldn’t be the jovial laugh my congregation is accustomed to, however. No, it would be a whole lot more sinister. Totally unsuited to this bright, sunny day on the great lawn beside the church, the smell of pie wafting in the air.

So I thread my fingers through Mila’s slimmer ones and grind the sound to dust with my back teeth. Everyone has stopped to watch us arrive and I knew it would be like this. Each and every person is a threat now. Someone that might look at Mila wrong or breathe in her direction in a way that I don’t like. Now that I’ve given in and claimed her, I don’t want to share her, especially in the pretty new dress I bought her as she slept late this morning. One of many. No, I want her in our bed wailing for Daddy while the posts of our bed slam into the wall.

I don’t feel like laughing any more. My upper lip curls in a snarl as a male member of the congregation tips his hat in our direction, his eyes raking over Mila’s ripe figure. I disconnect our fingers and grasp the back of her neck instead, letting my touch slip higher into the strands of her hair, wrapping the strands around my knuckles. Everyone in attendance at the picnic was already regarding us with nothing short of awe, but they step back now, probably sensing my beastly energy.

This was inevitable when I made Mila mine. I can’t be their affable preacher any more. The love of my life walks beside me and already might be carrying my child in her belly. I’m not the kind of man who can separate from his wife at a social event and let just anyone have the pleasure of her company. These men sense she’s been bred. I know they do. They’re probably picturing her naked, sweaty, being ridden in a mess of sheets—and she’s so irresistible, they can’t help but want a turn.

And while they obviously sense a change in me already—it’s plain on their alarmed faces—they don’t know I would slit their throat for daring to touch Mila’s hand.

Mila turns her body into mine, her hands climbing my chest. “Everyone is staring,” she whispers. “I think they’re waiting for you to say something.”

She’s right. Normally I would be shaking hands and addressing the concerns of the locals, counseling them, whether or not I have the correct expertise. But I already know in my gut this phase of our life is over. I meant what I said to Mila. She brings out the man I am at the very core. And than man isn’t able to keep up the ruse of a holy man. She’s roused the animal inside me and more than that, now that Mila knows the truth, her watching me continue to lie doesn’t sit right. She deserves a man who is true to himself every moment of the day.

Mila traces a finger down the center of my chest and bites her lip. “Joseph?”

I curl an arm around the back of Mila’s shoulders and draw her as close as possible. Making eye contact with every male in the vicinity, I press my lips to her forehead. “I’ve made her my wife,” I rasp, dropping my hand to the small of her back, where the curve of her ass begins. “Mine.”

People trade disquieted looks, no sound on the great lawn besides the rippling of the wind through the nearby forest.

Applause happens slowly, an uncomfortable smattering, before it dies.

I tuck Mila into my side and continue through the parting crowd, noticing her mother standing off to the side at the pie table, trying not to make direct eye contact. Good. She’ll never have access to her daughter again. She was blessed with the sweetest angel on earth and didn’t appreciate the gift she’d been given. Mila’s mother peeks over and I tell her as much with a dark look. She’s mine forever.

“Joseph,” Mila murmurs with a grin, curling her hands into the material of my long, black jacket. “The ocean sounds good about now.”