Preacher (The Untouchables MC 5)

It felt nice. It was a little intimidating, but nice.

I tried to explain how it had felt to have a popular upperclassman pick me out of all the girls in our school. Lord knows, he could have had his pick. But for a couple of perfect years, I was the one he wanted.

Or I’d thought so, anyway.

“He chose me. Nobody expected it, least of all me. I was a few years behind him. A skinny little nothing.” Preacher raised his eyebrows at that but didn’t interrupt. I flushed. I wasn’t skinny anymore. But back then, I’d only had the beginning of my curves. “But he chose me. It was like being inside and you step outside and the sun shines on you. Only you.”

He nodded and I took a deep breath.

“He was so good to me. I fell in love with him. Completely and totally head over heels in love. I would have done anything for him. Except . . .” I trailed off, feeling silly for my insistence on staying a virgin. Sure, I had been young, but in retrospect, it kind of seemed like less of a big deal.

“Except?”

“I wasn’t ready to, you know.”

“Have sex?”

I nodded eagerly, glad he got it. I was even more relieved that I hadn’t had to say it. The whole story was humiliating enough.

“And he said he would wait. He did wait,” I clarified. “Just not as long as I needed him to.”

“He forced you?”

I could see actual blood in Preacher’s eyes. Not his blood. Zach’s.

His hands were balled into fists. To be honest, he looked more than a little bit scary.

No. Preacher looked lethal.

“No! He just kept being my boyfriend and found someone else to fulfill those . . . um, needs. My best friend, to be exact.”

“He slept with your best friend?”

“Yes. And I guess, other things? But he didn’t date her. He’d basically leave my doorstep and walk over to hers. It was more of a booty call situation.”

“Idiot,” Preacher sneered. “I would have waited for you.”

“It was over two years, Preacher.”

“Doesn’t matter. I would have waited ten.”

My mouth opened. I shut it abruptly.

“Regretting last night?”

“No. I . . . no,” I said, suddenly flustered with the images of what we’d done together. Mostly what he’d done to me. Dirty, filthy things. Wonderful things.

Preacher things.

“When I finally caught on, I don’t know how long they’d been, you know, getting together, but he said it didn’t mean anything. That he still loved me and wanted to marry me. That she was just getting him off. He said it right in front of her.”

I lifted my eyes to Preacher.

“I almost felt sorry for her in that moment.”

“Don’t. She deserved it.”

I sighed.

“They both still . . . try. To make up with me.”

“He calls you?”

I nodded. Zach did call and text. I rarely responded. I didn’t hate him anymore. I just had nothing to say.

“That ends now,” he growled. “I don’t share.”

“Preacher! I’m not a toy,” I said, shocked that he was being so possessive. I thought this was a one and done thing. Clearly, he had other intentions.

I got a crazy feeling in my stomach at the realization. Part of it was worry. I hadn’t planned on getting into something with Preacher. Not even if it was purely sexual. The man was overwhelming, to say the least.

And certainly not what I’d had in mind when I imagined having a boyfriend. He was old and filthy—a degenerate, really. A criminal, definitely. But he was a lot of other things too.

Sexy, loyal, wonderful things.

He smiled at me, but not a friendly smile. It was dangerous. He grabbed the covers and pulled.

“You said you would tell me your story,” I protested.

“Later.”

Chapter Nineteen

Preacher

“Don’t move so much, sweetheart.”

Cynthia opened her beautiful mouth, and I kissed it, stopping the protest.

“And don’t tell me not to call you that. I’ve earned the right,” I added, smacking her hip. She was wiggling around the bed in anticipation of what she knew was coming next.

I turned my attention back to my work—turning Cynthia into a breakfast buffet.

“Do you want a flapjack, honey legs?”

She growled at me, sounding like a fuzzy little kitten. I chuckled and poured a little bit of syrup over the stack of mini pancakes between her legs. I dripped a little on the pancakes covering her chest too.

“You said we would talk last week, and we haven’t,” she grumbled as I fed her a bite of eggs and pancakes. I was feeding her too, but my meal was going to be a little more fun for both of us. “I need to get up soon.”

“Oh, this won’t take long, sugar britches.” I stared hungrily at her insanely beautiful body. Her golden skin tone contrasted with the white sheets, making every inch of her stand out.

Not that Miss Cynthia ever had an issue with getting my attention. In fact, for a full week, I’d been near or actually inside her almost constantly. I made allowances for work and schoolwork, but barely. Mostly, we just screwed.