I have no idea what I’m doing. None whatsoever. But inviting her back to my place and giving her my clothes seems like the worst possible idea ever.
Guilt.
It’s a familiar feeling. One that I’ve not had to deal with for quite some time. While in prison, I’d felt guilt for how I’d blamed my father. Tom helped me understand that Elias was troubled. There was nothing any of us could have done. We loved him and that was all we could do. Once I shed some of the anger, I’d wanted nothing more than to do right by my father. The first letter was the hardest to write. But every letter after got easier. It got easier because he wrote me back. His letters were filled with love, compassion, and guidance. He even expressed his own sorrows and guilt. It was as though on paper, he could truly open up to me. I felt closer to my father than I ever had been as we slowly fumbled our way to each other.
And now, after all these years, guilt is once again nagging at me. I shouldn’t have brought Lacy here with me. But something about her begged to be comforted and cared for. She needed a friend. Someone she could count on. Being there for someone is Christ’s way. But the darker thoughts roaming in my head are sinful. They’re far from Christ-like. I keep repeating prayers in my head but they get scrambled every time she speaks. My mind isn’t pure right now. There’s a tugging in my heart that I’m unfamiliar with. That, coupled with the guilt, has my mind spinning with every reason why having her here is wrong.
For one, the white shirt doesn’t hide her nipples very well and they poke through the fabric begging to be seen and tasted. God give me strength. The last thing I need is to stare at this teenager’s breasts all afternoon. And yet, here I am. Stealing glances whenever she’s not looking. It’s dirty and wrong. Sinful. Shameful as hell. It’s fitting that my sermon tomorrow is outlined to talk about temptation.
Is God tempting me to see how I’ll handle the situation?
I’m strong.
If I could survive a decade behind bars, I can sure as hell survive this.
She follows me into the living room. I turn it on to the station and kill the lights. With the storm going on outside, it makes for a good day to watch zombies on TV. I sit down on the sofa, offering her the recliner, but she plops down beside me. She drags the crocheted blanket Mom made while I was in prison down into her lap and leans into my shoulder.
“It’s cold.”
I laugh and lean back against the sofa. “That blanket is the warmest one I own. You’ll be hot within minutes.”
Her eyes widen at my choice of words. I silently curse myself for how they could be misconstrued.
“Just watch the show,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.
We watch for three back-to-back episodes. Lacy’s never seen the show before and had lots of questions. I patiently answered them all. And when she wasn’t asking questions, my mind was repeating scriptures about strength. I thought about how I’d deliver the sermon tomorrow. With passion and vigor. Yet, the guilt was still there eating away at me.
When we first sat down on the sofa, we’d both been stiff and awkward. Now, she lies on her side with her cheek on the armrest and her legs in my lap. I don’t know how we got into this dangerous position but neither of us has made any moves to change that. And now, I can’t get my mind to recall one single Bible passage in my head. All I can feel is how warm her feet are on my thigh.
My phone buzzes and I chuckle.
Lacy: The Walking Dead makes me happy.
Our eyes meet and hers are flickering with happiness just like she mentioned. It’s nice seeing the sadness gone from her pretty blues.
Me: Coffee and TWD. A girl after my own heart.
It’s meant to be a joke but as soon as I send it, I feel stupid. Her cheeks burn bright red. I’m giving her the wrong message.
Lacy: I call dibs on Daryl.
I laugh and the tense moment evaporates. From the app on my phone, I order us some pizza but then find myself drifting off to sleep. After last night’s bar hopping, I’m exhausted.
I wake with a start. I’m on my side with my cheek pressed against Lacy’s ribs. Her fingers are resting in my hair. It wouldn’t be so bad—even with her legs sprawled out over my thighs—except that I have my hand on her bare flesh.
One quick look and I’m frozen. The sweatpants she borrowed are pulled low on her hips. Her hipbones are showing and the area from her belly button down to the waistband of the pants seems like a huge naked divide. My palm is possessively splayed out on that part of real estate as though I own it. The thought of letting my lips own her there too has my cock jumping in my pants. Her skin is warm beneath my touch and I startle myself when my thumb caresses it. For one moment, I’m just Easton and she’s some sweet girl—a girl I’m quickly losing my mind to.
I’m still trying to figure out what to do when the doorbell rings. My gaze snaps up to Lacy’s and I find her staring at me sleepy eyed. Her eyes are soft and not filled with terror like mine.
I’m a preacher.
Christ has called me to do something good and impactful. I won’t let him, my family, or my congregation down. I won’t let this innocent girl down either by giving in to my lustful urges that have no place in my heart.
“You should answer that,” she murmurs, her voice raspy from sleep.
I grit my teeth. Despite all my internal pep talks, my body is still responding to her nearness. Dammit. Now I have to answer the door with a ten-inch boner on full display. I choke down my unease and launch myself away from her. By the time I’ve answered the door and paid for the pizza, my cock has settled.
We’re quiet as we eat but Lacy begins tapping away on her phone. Already, I’m hoping it’s a text for me. When my phone buzzes, I flash her a grin.
Lacy: Cuddles and pizza make me happy.
Sweet, adorable damn girl. I don’t even think she realizes just how tempting she is. A little vixen with a pouty mouth and has breasts of a grown woman. She’s messing with my head. My head is screaming at me to remember who I am. Pastor Easton McAvoy.
Yet my heart…
It’s confusing me.
Thump after wild thump of my heart, I find it harder and harder to latch onto my vows I made to God. It’s as though her scent fills my nostrils and intoxicates me. Tempts and slowly destroys me. I’m going to have to seriously get myself together. I may even need to pray with my dad to find my way again.
And this?
Her. My house. Cuddling.
This can’t ever happen again.
“Eat up,” I tell her, my voice raw with a need for something I’ll never allow myself to have. “Rain has stopped. Time to go home.”
Lacy: The piano makes me happy. I didn’t realize how much I missed playing it.
Lacy: Mom’s laugh makes me happy. She’s so beautiful when she smiles.
Lacy: OMG. Coach Long’s AP Calculus class makes me happy…when it’s over.
Lacy: Quiet Friday nights alone make me happy.
Lacy: Listening to you on Sundays as you preach makes me happy.
Lacy: Our Saturday TWD dates make me happy.
It’s been almost two months since I started helping Lacy. And my gallant efforts to not put myself in a tempting situation were thwarted. Each Saturday, I invite her over. A talk with my dad and extra prayers, though, have helped me get my focus back. I’m able to ignore my body’s cravings for hers and instead reach out to her heart. It’s been broken and through Christ’s love, I want to be the one to help mend it. At first, she didn’t talk much. But since then, we’ve peeled away her childhood. All of her broken relationships. Her feeling of abandonment by her best friend Olivia. Worries over her future. The guilt she feels, even though she shouldn’t, about Sean Polk being in prison. The one we don’t talk about much is the loss of Mikey.
“How far along were you?”
My words catch her by surprise and she stops mid-chew. The commercials during the episode are loud, so I hit the mute button. She swallows and picks her purse up from the floor. I watch her dig around until she finds her wallet. Inside is a folded photograph. When she hands it to me, I learn that it’s a sonogram picture.
“Thirteen weeks.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what the sex was but my heart tells me it was a boy. So I named him Mikey.”
I study the grainy picture and wonder how that must have felt for her. She wears the grief and sorrow always just under her surface. It makes my chest ache for her. When I hand the photo back to her, our fingers brush against one another. Our Saturday dates aren’t ones I tell anyone about, not even my dad. After her session with me each week and a prayer, we always come to my house after. As friends, of course. But it’s getting harder to ignore the way my skin buzzes whenever she’s near. Or the way my heart skips in my chest when she laughs. No amount of prayer can counteract the physical way my body reacts to her.
I drag my gaze to the television as I try to work out my thoughts. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing with this girl bringing her to my house every Saturday but it’s stupid. Besides the fact that I’m willingly disobeying God’s will and everything I stand for, there’s more to the situation than that. She’s underage and I’m a convicted felon. It’s a recipe for disaster. And yet, I can’t help but want to spend time with her. For the first time since I’ve been out, I’ve felt a connection with someone. I had a connection with Tom. A father of sorts. We were inseparable until the Lord called him home. But now, the lonely ache that gnaws at me has lessened. There’s a person who wants to spend time with me just as much as I want to spend time with her.
My phone buzzes beside me and I eagerly pick it up. I’ve come to love knowing what makes her happy.
Lacy: This makes me happy.
I frown and glance over at her. She’s lying back against the arm of the sofa and her legs are sprawled out across me. Since today is hot, she’s not covered in the blanket. The light green summer dress hugs her body in a delicious way. The hem of it is on the shorter side and rides so far up her thighs that I get a peek at her white panties beneath. My cock is instantly hard. I grit my teeth and try to look away but I can’t. Today, she’s too damn pretty.
I close my eyes for a moment and say a quick prayer.
You’re stronger than this, Easton.
And I am. But the moment I open my eyes, they dart greedily back over to her.
Her lashes are painted dark with mascara and they bat innocently against the tops of her cheeks. She’s wearing a shiny pink lip gloss that makes her lips seem plumper and more bitable than usual. And her hair—God that hair—is down today in soft, silky waves. Without thinking, I reach over and toy with a golden strand that sits just above her breast.
“This makes me happy too,” I tell her. I’m honest to a fault sometimes. I should be telling her she’s getting the wrong ideas and that this can’t happen—whatever this is. And yet, all I can do is secretly revel in the fact that she’s happy with me.
Her breath hitches when I release the strand and run my thumb across her bottom lip. Once my mind catches up to my action, I jerk my hand away and lean my head back against the sofa. My heart is hammering in my chest. It’s been ages since I’ve been with a woman. So long in fact, I can’t even remember. I may be a pastor, but I’m not perfect. I’ve slipped a time or two and slept with a woman over the years out of wedlock. God wants you to hold out and wait for marriage but sometimes the sinner within doesn’t care. That sinner just wants someone to hold.
I’m lucky my God is a forgiving one.
I have much to be forgiven for.
“Sean wasn’t good to me,” she murmurs, drawing me away from my inner turmoil. My gaze slides between her thighs once more and I’m both elated and disturbed to see her panties again. Her dress isn’t hiding them anymore. Instead of scolding her, I fixate on the wet spot that darkens the fabric. I lick my lips and jerk my eyes to hers.
“He was a bad man,” I agree.
She frowns. “I mean, he said all the right things in the heat of the moment but…” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “We never had anything like this.”
I want to chastise her and tell her we don’t have anything. But again, I’m not a liar. This connection that has burned between us since the moment she stepped into my office is all I can think about. This connection has me up late at night stroking my cock as I imagine all kinds of sinful images with the young teenage blonde on my couch and then fervently begging God for forgiveness.
“Lacy…” My words die in my throat when she takes my hand and threads her fingers with mine.
“Yeah, Preach?”
I laugh and it eases some of the tension from my muscles. “You know what we’re doing isn’t right. Something as innocent as hanging out as friends…” I trail off and run my fingers through my hair with my free hand. “It’s too tempting. I’m no better than Sean. Bringing you here is unethical and wrong.” And the things I imagine doing to you aren’t Godly.
She squeezes our linked hands. “Why is this wrong, Easton?”
“For one, your mother would kill me. Two, I hate the idea of anyone taking advantage of you. Including me. And three…” I groan. “I could go back to prison. I’m not looking to do that again anytime soon. Although, it would give me the opportunity to kick Sean Polk’s ass for hurting you.”
Her giggles have me smiling too. “Preachers can’t say ass.”
“Says who?” I demand with a grin.
“I don’t know? God?”
“God’s less concerned about my cussing and more concerned with…” The way I keep staring at the wet spot on your panties and wondering what it tastes like. “He’s just more concerned with this.”
“This,” she repeats. “God doesn’t want you to be happy?”
I bring our conjoined hands to my mouth and kiss the back of hers. “Honestly, Lace, I don’t know. There’s nothing in Scripture that will guide me through this.”
“I seriously doubt The Bible says you can’t date,” she murmurs. “That you can’t fall in love. Isn’t that what ninety percent of The Bible is? Love thy neighbors and whatnot?” She draws her knee up to rest her foot on my thigh. This forces her dress to reveal more of her panties. The little vixen knows what she’s doing. She’s pushing me further and further toward the edge. Even Jesus was tempted. But his heart was much stronger than mine. The sinner ingrained in me begs to indulge.
“Honey,” I start, my voice husky. “I can’t. As much as I want to, I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Like me? Don’t you do that already?”
I squeeze her hand and kiss her knuckles again. “I definitely like you. More than I ever should.”
“So what’s the problem then?” she whispers, her blue eyes flickering with self-doubt. I want to squash that look in her eyes. She should never doubt how perfect she is. Just not perfect for me.
“The problem,” I growl as I do the unthinkable and run my fingertip along the wet spot on her panties. “This is the problem.”
Her body jolts at my touch. “It doesn’t feel like a problem to me.” Those words come out as a soft murmur.
Oh, God.
What am I doing?
I grasp for verses inside my head but nothing makes sense. Only her. My mind is quiet as she seems to sing a song I’m aching to hear.
I bend my finger and take to running my knuckle along the wet fabric. “The problem is once I start, I won’t stop. I know this with every part of my being.”
She lets out a whimper of pleasure. “Nobody’s asking you to stop.”
I’m hanging on by a very thin thread here. My cock is aching and hard. It’s almost painful against my jeans in its attempt to escape. As if she’s attuned to my thoughts, she rubs her foot along my shaft. It jolts in response and I let out a choked grunt.
“Dammit, vixen,” I snarl.
Self-control is snapping.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
The sinner in me is winning. He’s desperate for her.
“Easton,” she moans. “That feels good.”
Damn right it feels good. I could do so many things that would rock her world. Things that Sean Polk could never have dreamed of.
Stop that train of thought, Easton.
You’re a man of God. Her mentor. A friend.
I murmur a silent prayer for strength but it’s hard to stay focused when each time my knuckle rubs against her clit, she moans in such a delicious way that I want to press my mouth against hers and suck the sound right into my throat.
Her foot keeps teasing my cock. Our linked hands grip each other tightly. My lips kiss each of her knuckles over and over again.
“Please,” she begs, her voice strained. Her eyes have fluttered closed and her teeth bite down on her fat bottom lip as she writhes against my knuckle. “Easton, please.”
“We can’t do this,” I groan.
Can’t.
Can’t.
Can’t.
“Please.”
Dear God those pleas are going to make me lose my mind.
“Lacy.”
“Easton…”
Her panties get wetter and wetter. Images of me pushing my cock inside of her tight body nearly make me go insane with need. I’m lost. So many times I’ve preached sermons on those who were lost and finding their way to God. I feel as though I’m spinning out of control and I can’t seem to focus on him. Will I ever find my way back?
All it would take would be for me to push her panties to the side and slip my finger inside her tight channel. That would be the catalyst for destruction. It would satisfy the both of us. I’d forsake everything I’ve worked hard for and prayed for. My destiny and calling would be blown away with one simple act. The only thing keeping this all from happening is the very wet, very thin piece of fabric between us. And yet…I haven’t even kissed her supple lips. I’m three seconds from fingering her and I haven’t even tasted that pouty mouth.
I’m no better than Sean Polk.
And I’m a disappointment to God.
Jerking my hand from between her thighs, I let out a pained growl. Her arousal, such a sweet scent, permeates the air. I lick my lips because I’m so damn hungry for her.
Please, Lord, give me strength. I beg of you. I’m blinded by lust and the needs of the flesh. I don’t want to sin against you. I don’t want to go down this path because I’m afraid there won’t be any coming back.
“Why’d you stop?” she breathes, her brows crushed together as if she’s physically hurting.
“I can’t.”
She sits up and straddles my lap. Her pink mouth is parted and inviting. I want to nibble on that lip. I want to suck on it, dammit. My hands remain fisted at my sides. If I touch her, I won’t stop.
Please, Lord.
Her fingers slide into my hair and she takes the lead. With slow, fluid movements, she rocks against my throbbing hard-on. The way she grinds against me feels so good. I’ll come in my pants like a loser if she keeps at it. Her hot breath tickles mine when she runs her nose along mine.
“Kiss me, Preach.”
I close my eyes because as much as I want to do that, I can’t. “No.”
“Easton…”
“No.”
Her lips brush against mine and I’m tempted once more. I want to devour this girl. She’s seventeen. I grit my teeth but a groan escapes me the faster she moves her hips. Each movement feels amazing on my cock.
“It can be our secret.”
God will know. God always knows.
“I’ll know,” I growl. “It’s not right.”
She stops moving and stares at me with a trembling lip. “I thought I finally found a good one. And he doesn’t even want me.” Lacy is far from manipulative. This is exactly how she feels right now. It kills me that I’m responsible for hurting her right now.
“Lacy,” I start but she sits up on her knees to move away. “Lacy stop.” My hands grip her waist and I urge her to sit back down.
Her blue eyes are wide as she blinks at me in confusion.
“I want you so bad,” I admit, shame coating my voice. “But if I start this…If I kiss your pretty mouth like I’m dying to…” I swallow. “I don’t know what happens with my life. And honestly, that scares the hell out of me.”
She breaks eye contact and looks down between us. My massive hands dwarf her narrow waist. I like having her in my grip. I like it too damn much.
“I’ll be eighteen this summer,” she murmurs. “That’s close enough.”
I give her hips a squeeze. “I wish it were now. That would make this decision a lot easier.”
A smile tugs at her perfect mouth. “You’d have sex with me if I were eighteen?”
I look up at her and smirk. “I’d do more than have sex with you. I’d blow your mind, vixen.” But then I grow serious again. “And it’s more than that. I’ve made a promise to God and this breaks that vow.”
“God will forgive us,” she whispers, the sounds speaking straight to my cock. Her lips curl into a beautiful smile and damn is she ever gorgeous. “Kissing’s not a crime though.”
“Kissing is a tease. It’ll start something I can’t finish.”
Her dark lashes flutter as she nods, defeated. I’ve never seen a more perfect person. Her skin is flawless—the color of honey. I know she runs track at school and her body reflects that of a runner. Lean and lithe and tanned from the sun. She has breasts that would bring most men to their knees in worship. I’m certainly not immune. In a matter of two months, this girl has rocked the very foundation I stand upon. She makes me question my future and want to forget my past.
“Lacy,” I start. Her blue eyes dart to mine. My God is she vulnerable as hell. “I care about you. More than I should. You deserve someone who could parade you around on his arm. I wouldn’t be that person for you.”
She cups my cheeks and frowns. “I don’t want to be paraded around. Easton, I just want to be loved.” I close my eyes when she presses a soft kiss to my mouth. So innocent and sweet. Just like her. When she doesn’t move away, I groan. My palm finds her jaw. I have every intention of pushing her away.
But then I’m not.
I’m pulling on her jaw to open her to me. Like a gift just for me. The moment a surprised sound escapes her, I steal it. I steal it right from her mouth. My tongue slides past her lips and meets hers greedily. It takes her a moment to realize I’ve given in to kissing her because she lets out a moan and deepens the kiss. Her fingers slide back into my hair and she kisses me hard. I nearly die from pleasure each time she grinds against my cock that is begging for attention. I lose myself to the moment and slide my palms down from her waist to the tops of her bare thighs. Her breath hitches when I slide them back up under her dress.
“You’re addictive,” I murmur against her mouth. “I told you one kiss wouldn’t be enough.”
She whimpers and nods. “I want more too.”
We kiss hard again and then my thumb is rubbing along the side of her panties where it meets her thigh. I brush my thumb past the edge and back over her clit. Over and over again, I massage her over her panties as we kiss. The sounds coming from her are downright erotic. They have me aching for so much more than this. Even the few times I lost my head and had unattached sex while in my position as pastor, it never felt like this. The craving to be with someone was never this intense.
“Easton,” she cries out.
And then she’s exploding.
Lord, please forgive me.