Page 12 of Divine Temptations

I saw it. I felt it.

But he didn’t pull away.

He ran his fingers over the helmet, like it was some kind of holy relic, then looked at me. Really looked at me. And for a second, the storm on his face broke.

“Okay,” he whispered.

I held the bike steady as he stepped closer, awkward and uncertain. When he tried to swing his leg over, he hesitated, looking about as stiff as a man being asked to dance naked at Sunday service.

I turned in my seat to face him. “Hey,” I breathed. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll be careful. You’re safe.”

His breath hitched, but then, finally, he nodded.

Ethan got on.

Wrapped his arms around my waist.

And Jesus H. Christ.

The moment I felt his body press into mine, the way his grip tightened like he didn’t want to let go, I knew.

I was falling.

Not just into sin. Not just into want.

I was falling for the preacher man.

And Lord help me… I hoped he’d fall with me.

The engine purred beneath us like a satisfied beast, its low growl vibrating through the frame and up into my bones. I kept it slow, easing away from the church with the patience of a saint—which, for the record, I wasn’t. Not even close. But Ethan was pressed up against me, his thighs tight to mine, his chest warm at my back, and that made it easy to take it slow.

Okay—not easy.

Truth was, I wanted to open the throttle and tear down the road like a bat outta hell. I wanted to show off, make him hold on tighter, make him feel something wild and alive after all that holy restraint. But I didn’t. Not yet.

We hit the county road just as the sun dipped low in the sky, golden light slanting through the trees like something out of a damn perfume ad. The asphalt shimmered ahead, empty except for us, the air soft and heavy with honeysuckle and warm grass.

Ethan’s arms were wrapped around my waist, tentatively at first, like he was afraid to hold on too tight. But with every curve I leaned into, every gentle turn I made, he melted in a little more. By the time we hit the open stretch past the Miller farm, his chest was flush to my back and I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my spine.

And Jesus. I’d never felt so… grounded.

Every inch of him against me just felt right. Like I was made to carry him like this. Like his body had always known where it belonged, and now it had finally found its way home.

I wanted more.

I wanted his mouth on my neck, his hands under my shirt, his voice in my ear whispering anything—everything.

Instead, I got his soft exhale against my collar and the ghost of a shiver as the wind picked up.

And the longer we rode, the harder I got.

Not just the good kind of hard, the playful stiffy you get when someone hot brushes up against you—no. This was deep. A slow, building pressure that curled in my gut and pulsed through every nerve ending like I was plugged straight into the damn sun.

I adjusted my hips a little, just to ease the pressure in my jeans, but that only made things worse. Because that’s when I felt it—him.

Ethan stiffened behind me, and at first I thought maybe I’d gone too fast or hit a bump too hard. I eased off the gas, heart hammering, ready to pull over and check on him.

But then I felt it.