Page 7 of Preacher Man (Divine Temptations #1)

Chapter Seven

Ethan

I woke up wrapped in Jake’s arms, his breath warm against the back of my neck, his chest pressed to my spine, and his thigh draped possessively over mine, like a man claiming territory.

And maybe that’s exactly what he was doing.

My heart pounded slow and deep, like it had finally found a rhythm that made sense—one that belonged to Jake. But even in that warm cocoon of skin and breath and safety, the guilt came roaring back like it always did the second I opened my eyes.

I’d never felt this happy. Or this damn miserable.

It’d been two weeks since I’d fallen. No, I’d leapt into temptation.

Two weeks of stolen nights, of coming to Jake like an addict every single evening, pretending to the world that I was sleeping in that ugly, lonely trailer next to the church.

Every morning, I dragged myself out of Jake’s bed, threw on yesterday’s clothes, and drove back, praying that nobody saw me.

That nobody asked questions, or noticed how little I slept.

That my God-fearing congregation wouldn’t catch a whiff of sex and sweat on me and see the truth etched across my guilty skin.

But God help me, I couldn’t stop.

Jake ruined me.

He touched me like I was something worth worshipping. He looked at me like he already knew every broken piece of me and wanted them, anyway. And he held me like a man who didn’t just want my body, but my whole damn soul.

I wasn’t stupid. I knew what this was.

I was in love.

And I’d never been in love before. Not with a man. Not with anyone.

We’d never said the words out loud, but I felt them every time Jake kissed me slow. Every time he whispered my name against my skin. Every time he showed up with dinner like it was normal, like we were boyfriends.

He was so possessive, and I loved it.

I loved the way he wrapped a hand around my waist when we watched TV. The way he pulled me back into bed every time I tried to leave in the middle of the night, like letting me go physically, would somehow let me slip away emotionally, too.

And maybe he was right. Because I was slipping deeper into him.

And deeper into sin.

Because no matter how good it felt, no matter how right it seemed, I couldn’t stop hearing the voices in my head.

The church.

My father.

My own.

Taint not thyself with unnatural desires.

You are a shepherd. Not a sinner.

Man shall not lie with man…

God, why couldn’t I just find a nice Christian woman, settle down, have some Bible-approved babies, and pretend this part of me didn’t exist? Why couldn’t I just pray these feelings away like I was taught?

Why did Jake have to be the one?

He shifted behind me, his lips brushing my shoulder. “You awake?” he mumbled, voice rough and sleepy.

I swallowed hard, heart flipping at the sound of it. “Yeah.”

He rolled onto his back, then leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Morning, sweetheart.” Then he wrinkled his nose. “Whew. One of us has got some serious morning breath. Might be you. Might be me. Jury’s out.”

I huffed a laugh, one I didn’t mean to let out, but God help me, he made it easy to forget everything else when he looked at me like that. Like I was the only man in the world.

He got up, stark naked, scratching his abs, and yawning as he padded to the bathroom.

And Lord help me, I couldn’t stop watching him.

His body was pure sin. All muscle and swagger, that perfect V at his hips that led straight to the thing that had ruined me over and over again for fourteen straight nights. I watched the way his back flexed, the calm confidence in his every step.

I didn’t just want him.

I needed him.

And that’s what terrified me most.

I buried my face in the pillow, groaning into it like that might make the shame go away. It didn’t.

A minute later, he came back out, damp from the sink, wearing nothing but a smile. And damn if that wasn’t the most dangerous thing of all.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ too hard,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Gotta do something about that.”

Before I could say a word, Jake pounced—all heat and weight and laughter, crashing down on top of me with a playful growl.

“Jake!” I yelped, laughing as he started kissing and tickling me at the same time.

“You’ve been lookin’ way too serious this morning,” he said, kissing along my jaw and poking at my ribs until I was squirming. “I’m your man. It’s my God-given duty to make you giggle.”

“I don’t giggle,” I protested, breathless.

“You are giggling,” he said smugly, kissing me right on the nose. “Admit it. I’m adorable.”

Jake kept going, relentless, and I couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop feeling him, all around me, inside me, even though he hadn’t touched me like that yet this morning.

He was everywhere. He was everything. And the scariest part was, so was I.

My arms automatically wrapped around his shoulders.

My legs tangled around his waist. My heart, hell, my soul, belonged to him.

“Jake,” I said, voice trembling as I looked up into his face.

His smile softened.

“Yeah, baby?”

I didn’t say it. Couldn’t. My throat closed around the words like they were dangerous.

But he saw it anyway. Felt it. Knew it.

And when he leaned down and kissed me, slow, deep, and full of something too big for either of us to name, I let myself forget the world again. Just for a little while.

We kissed like we’d earned it. Like we deserved it.

And when his hand slid down, pushing the covers aside, and he settled between my thighs, skin on skin, body to body, I stopped thinking altogether.

There was no congregation.

No guilt.

No sin.

Just Jake.

His mouth on my skin. His hands worshipping me like I was holy after all.

And when he pressed inside me, slow and reverent, when we moved together in a rhythm as old as time, I didn’t feel wrong. I didn’t feel dirty.

I felt wanted.

* * *

The sanctuary was warm with early summer heat, despite the rickety old AC unit clanging away in the back like it was fighting for its life. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck as I stood at the pulpit, one hand gripping the edges like they might keep me grounded. Safe.

God, I wasn’t safe.

Not from the truth. Not from the sin.

And definitely not from the man sitting in the very last pew.

Jake.

He was leaning back with one arm slung over the worn wooden bench, legs spread like he owned the room, his faded jeans riding low on his hips and his Sunday shirt clinging just tight enough to remind me of what lay beneath.

His dark eyes, sharp, amused, and hungry, focused on me.

Every time our gazes met, something electric passed between us, and I’d jerk my eyes away like I’d just been burned.

But they always found their way back.

God forgive me, I couldn’t stop looking at him.

He hadn’t been to church in years. Jake told me that himself the first night I stayed over, when I asked why he didn’t come to Sunday services. He’d laughed and said, “I ain’t got much use for holy places. Until now.”

And then he started showing up. Every week. Always in the last row.

Always for me.

I’d wanted to believe it was sweet. Romantic. Some kind of sign.

But now?

Now it felt dangerous. Like each time he walked through those double doors, he brought a spotlight with him. One aimed straight at my hidden sins.

I forced my eyes back to the open Bible in front of me, trying to remember where I was. The words on the page blurred, lost behind the hammering of my heart.

I cleared my throat.

“‘…and the greatest of these is love,’” I read, then looked up again, searching the crowd. “Love. It’s easy to speak of, but hard to live. It requires openness. Vulnerability. Acceptance.”

The congregation stirred uneasily.

It was a small town, and small towns liked small boxes.

Boxes labeled man and woman, righteous and sinful, us and them.

And here I was, the preacher man they’d welcomed with potlucks and whispered prayers, suddenly talking about acceptance like I was trying to pass out rainbow flags with the offering plates.

I kept going. I had to.

“Peace doesn’t come from judgment. It comes from grace. We are called to love one another—all of us—without exception. That’s the example Christ gave us. Not with swords and rules, but with open arms.”

I saw Mrs. Holloway’s lips pinch together like she’d sucked a lemon. The McCreery twins looked at their mama with wide eyes, clearly wondering what on earth had gotten into the preacher this morning. And in the front row, Deacon Harris gave me a glare so sharp it could’ve cut pews in half.

He leaned over and muttered something to the other deacons beside him, all of them ancient and brittle and clinging to the Old Testament like it was a security blanket.

My hands tightened on the pulpit.

Did they know?

Had someone seen me?

Was it the way Jake looked at me? The way I looked at him?

My throat closed up, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think past the fear rising like a tide inside me.

Because what if they knew? What if they’d already seen the truth etched across my skin like invisible ink?

I finished the sermon quickly, barely registering my own words. My voice sounded far away, robotic. And as I stepped away from the pulpit, nodding toward Deacon Harris to lead the closing prayer, I caught Jake’s eye one last time.

He smiled at me. A small, quiet thing. But it wasn’t innocent. It was full of knowing. Full of love.

And it wrecked me.

Deacon Harris took the pulpit like a man claiming land after battle, his hands slapping the wood with authority. He didn’t bother with the gentle lead-in I usually gave, didn’t talk about mercy or kindness. Just jumped right in.

“Let us pray,” he thundered.

The congregation bowed their heads. I did too, but I couldn’t focus on the words. Not with Jake’s presence pulsing behind me like a heartbeat. Not with sweat gathering under my collar, with shame tightening my chest like a vice.

“Lord God Almighty,” the deacon intoned, “smite the wicked, expose the ungodly. Root out those who would defile the sanctity of your house.”

My blood turned to ice.

I looked up, barely, just enough to see Deacon Harris’s eyes flick to the back row.

Then back to me.

Oh God.

“And let not your shepherd be led astray by the wolves in sheep’s clothing who slither into our midst. Let him remember your law, your truth, your judgment. Let him not fall to the whispers of lust nor the deceptions of false affection.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He knew.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was a coincidence. A general rebuke dressed in fire and brimstone. He could’ve meant anything. But my soul didn’t believe that. My soul curled up like it’d been hit.

My mouth went dry. My fingers trembled at my sides. And when the prayer ended with a sharp, triumphant “Amen,” it echoed through me like a death sentence.

I opened my eyes slowly.

Jake was gone.

Just like that, he’d vanished. The door at the back of the sanctuary still swung gently from where he’d slipped out. No smile. No wink. No wave. Just... gone.

I stood there, frozen, as the deacons rose and the congregation filed out, murmuring their polite Sunday greetings, unaware that their preacher was standing in the middle of a breakdown.

They didn’t know I was at war.

With God.

With myself.

Because the love I felt for Jake made me want to fall to my knees and scream.