Preacher

by Blake, Joanna

  I was pretty sure they could sense it when you worried, which was next to impossible not to do, especially in this neighborhood.

  “You need something to drink? Eat?”

  The kids showed up hungry for dance sometimes, so I always had snacks on hand. I knew it made them uncomfortable if I made a fuss about it, so I never did. But the snacks were gone by the end of each practice session. I’d just stocked the fridge and pantry in anticipation of a house full of large men. Marcus shook his head and shifted his eyes away.

  “What’s up?”

  “The one who shot him,” Marcus said softly. “That’s my cousin.”

  My mouth opened slightly. I shut it right away before he could see. Keep it cool, Cynthia, I reminded myself.

  “Your aunt’s son? The one you live with?”

  Marcus’s mother had lost custody a couple of years ago due to drug and alcohol abuse. He’d been shuffled off a few blocks over to his aunt’s house instead of getting put into the system. But the truth was, his aunt wasn’t much better.

  She was just better at hiding her addictions.

  And now, apparently, her son, who I knew Marcus looked up to, was the thug who had shot my man. But this wasn’t about the kid or the aunt. It certainly wasn’t about me.

  It wasn’t even about Preacher.

  It was about the earnest young man sitting across from me. A young man who had turned out amazingly kind and thoughtful, even without positive male role models other than Paul and now, Preacher. I’d seen dozens of young men go bad in better situations. Guys I’d gone to school with. Guys who didn’t have a choice but to do bad things to survive. Guys who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  In a neighborhood like this, it was almost always the wrong time.

  The truth was, I more than cared about the kid. I admired Marcus very much.

  “That must be very confusing and upsetting.”

  His eyes lifted to me.

  “I knew he was packing. Selling drugs. If I had gone to the police . . .”

  I shook my head vehemently. That might be the right thing to do, but not for a kid. Not with a violent gang. Not unless something was happening at that very moment that he could have stopped.

  “No. No way. That could have gotten you hurt instead.”

  “That’s what Preacher said,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “When I told him about the drugs and guns and stuff. He said it was better to stay out of it unless someone was getting hurt. And then I should come to him, not handle it myself.”

  “Well, that last part is very good advice. I don’t know about staying out of it for us adults, but for someone your age, I agree with Preacher.”

  “He really didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “What I told him about my cousin. I didn’t say who it was. I just said it was someone I used to be tight with.”

  “No. He didn’t tell me. He would never discus anything you two talked about in confidence.”

  He nodded, looking slightly reassured. But the hangdog expression was still there. I sighed.

  “This is not your fault. You did not shoot him. I know for a fact that Preacher will not hold you responsible, no matter what your cousin did. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I want you to come back when he’s settled and talk to him. He won’t be having office hours for a few weeks, but I know he’ll make an exception for you. In fact, you’ll be doing him a favor.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Most definitely. He’s going to be bored. And I know how much he cares about you.”

  I watched as Marcus chewed that over. It seemed to brighten his expression a little bit. I fought back tears. That sort of thing did not go over with the kids around here.

  “He’s really going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, opening the door and letting him out. “He is.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Preacher

  “Have another bite,” Cynthia said cajolingly, leaning forward from her perch on the coffee table. I could see right down her shirt when she did that. Got a nice whiff of her scent, too. My dick was instantly hard.

  Hell, I’d been constantly hard around her since the very beginning. The only issue now was that she wouldn’t fuck me. Again.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said petulantly. I was tired of being treated like a child. “Come and sit in my lap and let me play with those titties.”

  “Preacher!” She squealed, slapping my hand away. I hissed in frustration. It had been a whole damned week and my lady was not giving up the sweet pussy. “You are not cleared for strenuous activity.”

  “It’s not strenuous if I just use my tongue.”

  She blushed and shook her head at me, standing up to clear the food away. She was always buzzing around me like a pretty little bee. A bee I wanted to fuck with every fiber of my being.

  “Let me watch you then. Play with yourself for me,” I called out.

  She gave me a shocked look over her shoulder as she washed dishes in the kitchen. She’d been waiting on me hand and foot ever since my release. It was nice having her around, but I wanted more than a sponge bath, dammit!

  Though the sponge bath had been kind of fun . . .

  “I don’t do that.”

  “What?” I stared at her. “Never?”

  “Not a lot, and not in a long time.”

  “Woman. Get your ass on that coffee table, spread your legs, and put on a show.”

  “Preacher! I can’t!”

  “You can. You want me to get better, don’t you?”

  “Of course, but . . .”

  “Well, I need endorphins. Orgasms are the best healers.”

  “I told you we can’t . . .”

  “We won’t. You do you and I’ll do me. No jostling.”

  “The guys will be back soon.”

  “No, they won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I hung a sock on the doorknob. Both of them,” I added.

  She chewed her lip and stared at me.

  “Come on, hellcat. I need to see that pussy. I’m fucking begging you.”

  “Okay, I’ll . . . I’ll try.”

  I leaned back on the couch and waited.

  Cynthia dried her hands on a dishtowel and walked over to the couch. I stared as she slowly unbuttoned her shirt and peeled it off her shoulders. My mouth went dry at the sight of those glistening curves. Her skin had a subtle shine to it all the time. It was like she was dipped in gold. No. She was dipped in magic.

  Sex magic.

  “Go on, sit down.”

  I licked my lips as she sat on the coffee table and then scooted the whole thing back a foot away from me. Then she scooted it again, the table legs making a rumbling noise as they slid across the old wood floor. I growled a little, my eyes between her thighs.

  “Take those panties off.”

  She licked her finger and slid it down her body so it dipped into her panties.

  “Are you sure? I don’t need to,” she teased. The woman was torturing me.

  “Off,” I grunted, sounding like the caveman I was. “Take them off.”

  “Okay.”

  She closed her knees and slid the panties down her silky thighs. Then she leaned back and looked at me.

  “Spread your legs.”

  My voice was raspy.

  “Take your cock out,” she said with a challenge in her voice. I grinned, more than happy to oblige her. I was aching for some pressure on my cock. I didn’t have any lube, so I spat in my hand and started stroking nice and slow.

  “You’re already hard,” she breathed, her eyes wide.

  “He’s always ready for you. Spread ’em.”

  Slowly, so slowly, Cynthia’s thighs parted. My eyes were glued to her, between her thighs, staring hungrily as her petals slowly opened for me.

  “Fuck, that pussy looks nice. Every inch of you is p
retty. Every inch of you is mine.”

  She wagged a finger at me.

  “Not yet, it’s not.”

  I cursed. I wanted her as my wife. Then it would be official.

  “Show me. Show me what you wish I was doing.”

  She started slow, teasing her outer lips and stopping to play with her clit a little. I was pretty sure I was drooling by the time her finger slipped inside.

  “Play with those titties, too. Do it.”

  I knew it would take longer to come if she didn’t touch her clit. And that was just fine by me. I was squeezing the base of my cock rhythmically, fighting back the urge to come too fast. I wanted this to last. I wanted to watch her pussy dance when she came.

  At least twice.

  “Fuck, that’s nice. Use two fingers. Hook them inside you.”

  She did as I asked, using one hand to tug on her nipples as the other slowly fucked her pussy with two, and eventually three, fingers. Her hips started rocking and her head fell back. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I watched her slender fingers disappear between her soft pussy lips.

  “Fuck this,” I growled and dove headfirst off the couch, landing right between her thighs. She let out a squeal, but I held her thighs wide as I pushed her fingers away, my tongue thrusting in and out of her sweetness like a pile driver. I moved up, focusing on her clit long enough to make her come.

  “That’s it, baby. Fuck, yes.”

  I made her come again, unable to help myself and taking my time with her perfect little pussy. I’d missed it so much. I’d missed making her squeal and shake and sigh.

  Then it was fuck time. My cock was already angling for her pussy before I’d made the conscious decision to ignore the doctor’s warning. But there was no way in hell some guy in a white coat would keep me from fucking my woman right now. No force on earth could. I notched my cock inside her and pressed forward, moaning as I was enveloped in her heat.

  “Cynthia.”

  She opened her mouth, to whimper or argue, I wasn’t sure, so I kissed her, taking everything I’d been deprived of for the last two weeks. It had been hell, pure hell to watch her, smell her, even touch her a little now and then. But I’d needed more.

  I’d needed this.

  I didn’t care if I opened my wound. I didn’t care if it hurt or slowed down my recovery. Hell, being inside her would even be worth getting shot again.

  I wasn’t going to last long. I knew it. Thankfully, neither was she.

  Cynthia started squealing like a banshee as I plowed into her again and again. I would’ve covered her mouth, but I was chuffing like a lion myself. Or a gorilla.

  No. I sounded like a goddamn bear.

  I roared as my seed rocketed out of my cock into her. She clamped down, her body knowing instinctively to pull me deeper to give us the best chance of insemination.

  Won’t it be a kick in the pants if this is the time that does it?

  There was something profoundly satisfying about pumping my seed into her. Primal. She was mine and my body knew it. The world went black for a minute. I wasn’t unconscious, exactly, just hovering on the brink of it. Basically, I was almost fainting. That’s how damn hard I was coming. But it was a good feeling. The best feeling in the world.

  When I could think and see straight again, I stared down at the woman in my arms.

  “Well, goddamn.”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she said breathlessly as her pussy clung to my shaft, still pulsing around me. I grunted as an aftershock tore through us both. “And do not tell me not to lecture you. That is my prerogative.”

  “You can lecture me anytime you like, darlin’,” I said as my hips jerked again as a jolt of pleasure rocked through me. My body had a mind of its own when it came to Cynthia. My cock was starting to rise again, too. I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “Especially if you aren’t wearing any clothes.”

  The woman distinctively said, “Humph,” which melted into an, “Ahh!” as our bodies continued to shiver with pleasure.

  “I want you to lecture me for the rest of my damned life.”

  “You’re not damned,” she whispered.

  “I know that, sweetheart,” I said as my lips found hers and I started to slowly fuck us both into oblivion. “I’m fucking blessed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cynthia

  “Time to go thrifting,” Clarice said as she looked me over with a critical eye.

  “What? Why?” I demanded distractedly. I was counting money from yet another bake sale to buy uniforms for my dance crew. And now, Preacher had big plans for the neighborhood cleanup, but that cost money.

  Lots and lots of money.

  So far, Preacher’s list was long.

  Extra lights outside of businesses, cleaning up windows and store fronts.

  Helping landlords and tenants spruce up their façades and stoops.

  Planters filled with flowers.

  Hanging plants on the streetlights.

  Security cameras to be monitored by Preacher’s friend who ran a big-time security firm.

  Painting over gang graffiti with murals painted by the local graffiti artists.

  Benches strategically placed to encourage folks to sit and talk, meet each other, and keep an eye on things. More people on the streets meant less opportunities for crime.

  Volunteers to maintain plants and pick up garbage several times a week.

  The way he thought amazed me. I always believed that security was the police’s job and that neighborhood watch groups could only do so much. But he told me that when New York City cracked down on graffiti and garbage, crime rates went down. It was as if people were afraid to behave badly when the streets were . . . well, pretty.

  But that took lots of elbow grease, which we had, and lots of money, which we didn’t. Not yet. But we will, I told myself with determination.

  It was going to be amazing when it all went down. It was going to change things. It was going to work.

  Every little bit counts, I thought as I wrapped up another hundred singles and put them in the safe in Preacher’s office.

  “Because, honey child, those tits are about to break free and sing Hallelujah.”

  I stared down at my chest and then back at Clarice. We both had the same thought at the same moment. The whole Cynthia-is-knocked-up-and-too-stupid-to-notice thought.

  Neither of us would say it out loud, though. Once we said the word, it was real. Once we said it, there was no going back.

  “Let’s take a quick trip to the drug store. I need some new Tutti-Frutti nail polish,” she added with a little wiggle of her tropical colored nails. Each had a different pattern on it in a different color. Polka dots. Squiggly lines. Tiny stars.

  I stared at those brightly colored nails as the reality hit me. The whole ‘almost fiancé’ getting shot thing had distracted me. I was now officially a week late. My boobs were aching. A lot.

  I was totally, 100% pregnant. I knew it in my gut. I had been from the very beginning of my relationship with Preacher, judging from the timeline.

  Good Lord, that was fast. Please tell me I am not making a mistake. Send me a sign.

  Other than Tutti-Frutti nail polish, I amended.

  “You okay, girl? You knew this might happen.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” My eyes widened as my stomach turned over. “Oh, crap.”

  Clarice pushed the waste can over to me as I bent over and threw up my breakfast in one foul swoop. Gross.

  As soon as I was done, though, I felt better.

  I wiped the back of my mouth with my hand and took the bottle of water Clarice handed me, rinsing out my mouth. I grimaced as I stared at the wastebasket. It was going to have to be tossed.

  “Oh, my God,” I groaned. “That was disgusting.”

  “The miracle of life,” Clarice chortled. “I can’t wait to be an Auntie!”

  I gave her a dirty look and went to the bathroom to splash water on my face.
Thankfully, I kept a little toiletry bag with a toothbrush and mouthwash at my desk. If I really was pregnant, I was going to need it.

  Pregnant. With a hell-raising, hard-drinking, motorcycle-riding, bullet-stopping madman’s child. I stared at my reflection.

  What the hell are you doing, Cynthia?

  You are in a sex haze. That’s all this is.

  Stop it. You love him. He loves you.

  Uh, yeah. I was arguing with myself. And it wasn’t going so well.

  And then my mother’s voice filled me head.

  Just because it doesn’t look like the life you expected, doesn’t mean it isn’t the right life for you. You know what I always said about God and plans.

  “He laughs at them,” I said, glancing toward the ceiling. I wasn’t sure where heaven was, exactly, but I knew my mother was there. She might have been hardnosed and tough, but a more loyal, righteous, and caring woman never lived.

  “Come on,” I said, stalking back to the office and grabbing my ancient denim jacket. “Let’s go. The sooner I know what’s up, the better.”

  Then I can decide whether I really have lost my mind and whether I want to find it again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Preacher

  “You lose! Drink up, Preacher,” Hunter cackled in his deep voice. We were playing poker for various, nonmonetary favors. In this case, if I lost, I had to do a shot.

  So far, I’d been losing a lot.

  I’d already promised to loan Nick my beach shack for a month, Vice my cabin, and done more shots than I could count.

  “It’s not nice to take advantage of an invalid,” I grumbled.

  “Invalid, my ass.” Hunter smirked. “We heard you coming like a moose the other day with Cynthia in here. Nick is the only reason we didn’t barge in to see the action.”

  I blanched. Cynthia would not be happy to know they had heard us. And the fact that they had been on the verge of cock blocking was totally fucked.