And now this.
Our first night together, the night we met, that motel they were staying in, it wasn’t anything to write home about.
And the bar where they’d played that night was not an arena.
This…
Was something else.
“Where are the guys?” I asked.
It seemed to take him a year to answer, “Not here.”
I turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Show me the master.”
He got me, I knew it when his arms tightened and he murmured, “Cher.”
“Show me, Preacher.”
He studied my face for another year and then he took his arms from around me, placed a hand on either side of my head and brought his face closer to mine.
“I didn’t bring you here for that, Lyla.”
“We’re celebrating something you worked hard to earn by me giving you something else you worked hard for. And earned.”
He made this groaning, growly noise I felt like a physical touch in a very private part of me before he erased the minimal distance between our mouths.
We made out, right there by the windows with a view of LA at my back before Preacher broke it, took my hand and walked me down a hall to the end of it.
The master was large.
I could see it had its own bathroom and walk-in closet.
It also had white walls and white furniture and diaphanous white curtains on the French windows.
But mostly, I was staring at the bed, which was a king-size mattress set on a tall boxy platform (painted white).
It had a white comforter and loads of white pillows.
And above it, the only color in the place.
A huge picture of three pink tulips with white edges on their petals.
Preacher stopped us just inside the space.
It was me that walked him to the bed.
Once there, I took a deep breath, turned to him, lifted my eyes to his and kicked off my pumps.
Then I stated, “I’m in love with you, Preacher McCade.”
There was no groan in his growl when he heard that.
I then had his hands on my ass, his mouth on mine, his tongue in my mouth and in short order I had my ass to the bed, and after, his body on mine in said bed.
By now, I knew his sweet spots.
And he knew mine.
But as he peeled the clothes from me, and I returned the favor, we found new ones.
His lips and tongue and beard could make miracles.
And they did.
The only time I felt funny was when he slid down between my legs, right before his mouth closed on me.
And then I didn’t feel anything but his mouth on me.
I had never had an orgasm.
In all of our groping and rubbing and kissing, I’d come close.
But I climaxed against his mouth, arching toward the white ceiling, my fingers buried in his hair.
He was up and covering me, working my neck with his lips, cupping me between my legs warmly with his hand, when I recovered.
“That was…wow,” I whispered my understatement.
“I’m in love with you too,” he said against my neck.
I stared at the ceiling. “What?”
He lifted his head and all I could see was the beauty of Preacher McCade.
“I’m in love with you too.” He caught a tendril of my hair, wrapped it around his calloused finger, and held my eyes. “I love you, Lyla. My Lyla. Prettiest girl in the world. All for me. All mine. Made for me.”
I made a noise that was kind of a sigh, a moan, a sob and kissed him.
He went to pull away and I knew why because I tasted me.
But I caught his head and held him to me, pressing up to him.
He groaned in my mouth, the fire he’d quenched sprang up again, and suddenly, I was desperate for him.
Suddenly, in a way I didn’t know existed because I thought I’d always felt that way, I couldn’t get enough of him.
I couldn’t take in fast enough this amazing man who loved me.
It got to the point where he had to warn me, doing it gruffly, “I’ll stop, anytime you need me to stop. But just sayin’, baby, soon, it’s gonna be hard to stop.”
“Then don’t stop,” I panted against his lips before I kissed him again.
He took over the kiss and, well, everything.
And then he was searching for his jeans, pulling out his wallet, sliding out the condom.
“You don’t have to watch, cher,” he muttered.
“Do you not want me to watch?”
“I want you to do what you want.”
“Then I’m not missing a thing.”
And I didn’t.
I didn’t miss watching him roll the condom on his long, thick, beautiful cock.
I didn’t miss him spreading my legs like he was preparing to make an offering to a goddess.
I didn’t miss watching him lower his big body onto mine.
And I did not miss a second, staring into his eyes, our breaths fusing, as slowly, very slowly, he filled me.
There was a twinge when he started and there was so much to him, there was a moment I was worried I couldn’t accommodate all of him.
But then he was inside.
And it was perfect.
He was perfect.
As I’d somehow known from the start, we were perfect.
“Yeah?” he grunted, like he was in pain.
“Am I hurting you?” I whispered.
“Baby, that’s my line.”
I smiled up at him.
He made another delicious noise before he slanted his head and kissed me.
Then he made love to me, gliding a hand between us because he was Preacher.
And he was sure to give me mine (again).
Before he took his.
He’d come back to me after he dealt with the condom, whipped the comforter out from under me, the sheet, then got in bed, took me in his arms, pulled the sheet over us, to my breasts, and then me into his arms.
My back to his front, our eyes to the French windows which had a view to a rectangular pool with lounges with white cushions, tall, lush greenery all around the deck and a pool house at the end.
“You’re bleedin’ a little,” he muttered in my ear.
“I’ll live.”
“You sure I didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m sure I’d tell you if that happened. I’m also sure that the first time that happened between us I don’t want to talk about blood or pain, the former you said is only a little and the latter I barely felt.”
He chuckled.
I settled into my man.
Then I said, “I’m yours.”
His body did a funny jerk before he shifted to shove his face in the side of my neck.
“Forever, Preacher,” I whispered.
“Fuck, I love you, Lyla,” he rumbled.
I liked the sound of those words so much, the feel of them, I turned in his hold and we started making out again.
“Preach, man, where are you? You can’t find dick in this mausoleum!” we heard Jesse hollering. “Dude! Show yourself! Tim bought steaks. Tom’s out firing up the grill. We’re cooking out and christening this pad!”
At the end, his voice was getting closer.
And the bedroom door was open.
“You come back here, brother, I’ll shoot you!” Preacher shouted.
I could actually feel the shock coming down the hall.
Then, sounding like he was getting pissed, “Is Lyla with you?”