Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Tears burst from my eyes, but he only wipes them away with his big thumbs, looking down at me in open adoration. “No. I don’t know. I-I didn’t want to cause your ruin.”
“Without you, I’m ruined. Without you, I was going through the motions. You showed me more. You showed me I’m meant to be a husband.” His gaze transforms with passion. Intensity. Determination. “Marry me, here and now, Farrah. Marry me, instead. Trust me to care for you and your aunt. Trust me enough to build a life with me.”
A moment ago, a miserable existence was inevitable. Now I am floating. More hopeful than I can ever remember being in my life. Maybe for the first time ever. “I trust you. Of course I do,” I manage, though my throat feels banded with emotion. “Love and trust go hand in hand, and I love you to my very bones.”
His eyes mist, but he doesn’t take them off me. He lets me see the promise of our future there. All the joy it will hold. “Say the words, preacher,” he demands, his voice breaking. “Unite me and this woman. Until the day I die.”
Epilogue
Rune
Five Years Later
Isit in the last pew of the church, a worn leather Bible in my hand. I’m supposed to be mentally preparing for the sermon I’ll deliver this afternoon, but I can’t help but look at what I’ve built and marvel. I couldn’t have built a church from the ground up and assembled a congregation without my wife at my side.
Thankfully, I’ll never have to know what it’s like to be without her.
We’re never apart and we’ll never be apart.
The spine of the Bible creaks in my hand and I slowly release my grip, breathing deeply and reminding myself Farrah is only in the supply room arranging fresh flowers for the service. Only fifty yards away. Still, it’s not good enough.
“Farrah,” I shout, my voice echoing through the still, empty church. “I need you where I can see you, please.”
A beat later, I hear the sound a door swinging in the right wing of the church and Farrah walks out into the open, holding a golden vase of flowers…and I’m transported back to our wedding day. We spent that night at an inn just outside of town, her aunt in the room next door. God help me, I don’t think I let Farrah close her legs for ten hours, taking her mercilessly until sunup—and it would be far from the last time I did that. Now that I’ve freed myself of the notion that sex will turn me into a dishonest degenerate, I am insatiable. That hunger is only aroused by one woman, though.
I don’t see anyone but her.
My beloved. My mischievous redhead. My Farrah.
I watch her walk to the altar of the church and place the vase of spring blooms down in front of the pulpit, bending forward as she does so, the blue material of her dress stretching over that tempting ass. I must lean back in the pew and flex my thighs open to accommodate the gathering girth between them, the rush of blistering lust that punches me in the stomach, elongating my cock. The fact that I tried, even for a short while, to hold onto my celibacy once I’d met Farrah is laughable. I never stood a chance in hell once she started licking that chocolate in the field, her knees opening to show her Daddy what he’d spend the rest of his life obsessing over.
Farrah walks up the aisle toward me, a draft fluttering the hem of her dress, teasing the long, loose strands of her hair. The dress is nearly indecent. Not fitting for the preacher’s wife whatsoever, but this is who we are. We are dark and light, Farrah and me. We launched this congregation to spread goodness together and that’s what we do. We help those less fortunate. We organize charity in the town I once served as a priest, her aunt feeling well enough now to head two committees.
But behind closed doors, my wife and I are anything but holy.
Farrah makes slow progress in my direction, tossing her hair back as she approaches, running fingertips down the front of her throat. Lower. Drawing my attention to her sweet, supple tits where they’re plumped together in her neckline.
I hear myself swallow. Sweat dapples the trail of hair beneath my navel. Not for the first time, I field the impulse to recite a Hail Mary, but I remind myself I’m no longer a priest, but a preacher. A preacher who is allowed a wife, thank Christ. A preacher whose dick is swelling so rapidly, he has no choice but to unfasten his pants and lower the zipper, shuddering when his need is out in the open, rigid in his lap, stiffening further with every step Farrah takes closer to him.