Page 4 of Preacher Man (Divine Temptations #1)

Chapter Four

Jake

T here ain’t a better feeling in the world than a warm engine between your thighs, the smell of summer dust in the wind, and the promise of a beautiful man waiting for you on the other end.

I grinned from the moment I woke up that morning, and now, roaring down the county road with the late afternoon sun at my back, I felt ecstatic.

And damn if I didn’t have a good reason.

The preacher man—Ethan—had finally said yes.

He agreed to go on a ride with me.

Just the thought of it, his arms wrapped tight around my body, his chest pressed up against my back, the hum of the bike beneath us, had my cock stirring in my jeans like it had a mind of its own. I adjusted myself with one hand, let out a breathy laugh, and muttered, “Down, boy.”

What was it about him? That soft, haunted look in his eyes? The way he held the Bible like it was both armor and confession? Or maybe it was the way he blushed whenever I teased him, like no one had ever dared to flirt with the preacher before.

Since the day he arrived in Meadowgrove, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

And I’m not just talking about the sinful shit, though Lord knows I’d had a few unholy thoughts.

I mean actual stuff, like what he looks like when he wakes up in the morning, or how his voice would sound if he ever just… let go.

It was just after five on Sunday afternoon. By now, the flock would’ve scattered, the pews empty, hymns echoing into memory. The little white church came into view at the top of the hill, and my pulse kicked up.

I groaned softly, feeling another twitch in my jeans. “Damn it,” I muttered. “Gotta slow down. Don’t wanna scare the preacher off.”

I eased up on the throttle and rolled past the church, gravel crunching under my tires as I pulled in front of the sad little trailer that squatted behind it like an afterthought.

Tragic didn’t even begin to cover that trailer. It was more a collection of rust and regret than a home. Ethan deserved better. Hell, he was better. But I knew better than to offer pity to a man like him. He didn’t want charity. He wanted something real.

I was just swinging my leg over the bike when the door creaked open.

Ethan stepped out, his face dark with something stormy. Not anger, exactly. Something worse.

Regret.

Shit.

He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe like he was bracing for impact. My gut clenched. I could already feel it coming—the backpedaling, the polite excuses, maybe even a line about “temptation” or “impropriety.”

Nope. Not today.

I wasn’t letting him chicken out.

Not when I could feel the tension vibrating between us like a live wire. Not when my bones were humming with the truth of him, the pull of him, the deep, unspoken yes he hadn’t dared to say out loud yet.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice easy. “You look like a man about to cancel a date. That’d be a damn shame.”

“It’s not a date,” he said, a little too fast.

“Sure it is.” I gave him my best shit-eating grin. “It’s just one with helmets and horsepower.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” he said, glancing down the road like maybe he’d spot divine intervention in the trees. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. And I’ve got… responsibilities.”

I stepped toward him, slow and steady. “Ethan,” I said, real quiet now, “you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders since the moment you got here. Just for today… let me carry you instead.”

He blinked. Swallowed.

Gotcha.

I popped open the little carrier box strapped to the back of the bike and pulled out my spare helmet. “Here,” I said, offering it out like a peace offering. Or maybe a promise. “It’s clean. Barely used. You’ll be safe with me.”

His hand trembled as he took it.

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.

His cock.

Pressed against my lower back.

Hot. Hard.

Real.

I nearly drove us into a ditch.

My whole body went rigid, and for a second, all I could hear was the wind and the roar of blood in my ears.

The preacher man was turned on.

And I felt it, clear as day.

I bit back a groan and forced myself to keep the bike steady, even as my dick throbbed like it was trying to punch through denim.

I wanted to pull over so fucking bad.

I wanted to drag him off the bike, shove him up against a tree, and kiss him until he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone a single Bible verse. I wanted to hear him beg. Not for forgiveness, but for more.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Because Ethan needed more than that.

He needed the truth. He needed to want this. Not just with his body, but with his whole damn soul.

He needed to fall for me the way I was already falling for him.

So I swallowed hard, grit my teeth, and forced myself to keep the speed steady.

“You good back there?” I called over my shoulder, loud enough to carry.

There was a pause, then the faintest, breathy, “Yeah.”

He sounded wrecked.

Good.

Me too.

I shifted again on the seat, trying to ease the pressure without giving myself away. It didn’t help. My cock was rock-hard and straining, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

I told myself to calm down.

Don’t lose him before you even get the chance.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to focus.

The county road unspooled ahead of us, golden light streaking through the trees like heaven itself was trying to show off. The warm wind whipped across my face, but all I could feel was Ethan—pressed tight to my back, silent, stiff, and still hard.

Jesus Christ.

I should’ve just kept riding. Looped back around to town. Played it safe. But my body wasn’t listening to reason anymore. It wanted him.

And my house was just down the road.

It started as a flicker. An idea. A whisper.

Take him there.

Show him what it feels like to be wanted.

Let him feel safe, then make him beg to be ruined.

I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to talk myself down. Ethan wasn’t some hookup. He wasn’t just another pretty face. He was complicated and repressed and—God help me—he was turning me on more than anyone ever had.

Would it be so bad?

To just see what happened if I got him inside my house?

I hit the turn without fully deciding. The dirt road crunched under the tires as I drove us onto the path that led to my ranch house. My heart was hammering, sweat prickling at my temples.

“Where are we going?” Ethan called over the rumble of the engine. His voice was cautious. Curious. Maybe even a little hopeful.

I didn’t answer.

Because if I opened my mouth, I’d say something filthy.

Instead, I prayed to any God still listening that my hard-on would calm down before we got there.

Nope. My dick was stubborn and insistent, practically a damn homing beacon for preacher flesh.

And now, as we rolled to a stop under the shade of the old pecan tree beside the house, I realized I had a new problem.

How the hell was I supposed to get off the bike without Ethan seeing just how painfully turned on I was?

I shifted in my seat. That only made it worse. My cock was rock solid, straining against denim like it had a personal vendetta. I sat there for a second, trying to breathe, trying to will it down.

No luck.

Ethan moved behind me, shifting like he was about to climb off. “Where… are we?”

I sighed and swung one leg off the bike, staying turned away from him like a coward. “My place,” I mumbled. “Thought maybe we could stop for a bit. Cool off. Get a beer.”

Casual. Cool. Like I wasn’t half a second from losing my goddamn mind.

I kept my back to him, hands on my hips, staring at the dusty driveway like it held the secrets of the universe. Please, I begged silently, don’t look down.

But then I thought—fuck it.

He made me hard. Let him see it.

So I turned around.

Slow. Intentional.

And there he was, mid-dismount, one leg over the bike, arms still braced on the seat. He froze the second he saw me.

Ethan’s eyes dropped.

Locked on my crotch.

And damn if that didn’t make me harder.

I didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. I just stood there, hips tilted slightly forward, cock outlined so clearly you could probably read the stitching on my briefs.

I let him stare. Let him feel that tension coil in the air like lightning.

Then I grinned, one eyebrow cocked, and asked, “So tell me, preacher… you ever bless something this big?”