Banging the Preacher

CHAPTER ONE

My ankles are crossed, and I smooth my pleated skirt over my lap. Today is the day. Word is that this new preacher, Pastor Ben Owens, is a hottie. Personally, I cannot imagine a preacher being anything other than middle-aged, overweight, and balding. That is what the other ministers in my life have been. Bless their hearts.

I fan myself with the bulletin. The organ plays Ode to Joy. The minister walks up to the pulpit, and I start to feel like a whore in church. The dirty thoughts that are going through my mind make me blush.

Lord have mercy. I am supposed to be a good, Southern, Methodist woman. The preacher's mouth starts to form words that I don't comprehend. All I notice is his deep, gravely voice and his eyes. His eyes are both blue and green. They remind me of the blue spruce trees I saw last year in Colorado on my skiing trip.

His black hair becomes disheveled when he runs his fingers through it nervously. I wonder how it looks first thing in the morning. I bet it is sexy when it is sleep-tousled—or sex-tousled.

CHAPTER TWO

Each year, the church gives the elderly people in our congregation fruit baskets for Christmas. Many don't have family to tend to them, so we try to fill the void. Church members drop off fruit, and I assemble and deliver the baskets. It has been a mission of mine for years.

Usually, I have someone to help me assemble these baskets, but the flu has really hit the congregation hard this winter. I don't mind though. I enjoy the silence.

Pastor Ben interrupts my quiet time. "Scarlet, I am sorry that there is no one to help. I have rest of the evening off. Put me to work," he says with a grin.

Oh, the thoughts that go through my head. I brush them aside.

"Well, if you don't mind..."

"Not at all."

"Can you put two apples in each basket? I'll start bagging up grapes."

Conversation flows naturally as we work side by side. It is like we have known each other for years. I love how his eyes crinkle when he jokes around. His face just lights up when he smiles.

His hand meets mine as we reach for the same basket. Our eyes lock, and I bite my lip. His breath hitches.

"Scarlet," he says with deep need.

"Ben..." I pause for a moment. "We are at a stopping point."

"We haven't even started," he protests quietly.

"No. With the baskets. I can finish tomorrow."

"Scarlet," he says again with growing need.

Our gaze is unbreakable. "Ben... I walked here. Care to drive me home?"

No words are said. I gather my purse, we put on our coats, and we walk to his truck. We look at each other with tangible lust—forbidden lust.

He opens my door and lightly runs his fingers down my back. I look up at him. The look in his eyes is primal. If this wasn't the church parking lot, and if he weren't the preacher, he'd have his way with me right now.

We both buckle our seat belts. He turns down the radio. His hand travels under my skirt, searching for the waistband of my leggings.

"Scarlet. You see me as a man—not just a preacher."

"Oh, I definitely see you as a man," I assure him.

CHAPTER THREE

We try to look normal as we walk up the sidewalk to my small, cottage house. I unlock the door, and we step inside. Immediately, his mouth is on mine, claiming me. His hands grab at my coat. I shrug out of it.

I break the kiss long enough to take my boots off. Too many damn clothes. We are both taking our clothes off as I lead him down the hallway to my bedroom.

I drop to my knees and pull down his boxers. A gorgeous, fat cock springs out from within the confines. Pre-cum covers the bulbous head, and I lick it off. He moans and runs his fingers through my dark hair. I lick the vein that strains against the taunt skin and slowly take his length in my mouth.

"Fuck. Scarlet, I'm not going to be able to last long. It has been over two years."

I look up at him, cock in mouth, with wide eyes. Two years is too damn long for any man to go without—Man of God or not. I release him from my mouth.

"You need someone to take care of you," I purr. I pull back my pink comforter and pat the light blue sheets. "On your back. I am going to ride that fat cock."

His eyes are cloudy, his moans are guttural, and his cock head is covered in more pre-cum. He lays on the bed. I admire his hard body, and I admire even more his ramrod straight dick.

I strip the rest of my clothes off, and I straddle him. "No more going without," I chastise. "There is no need for that. I'll take care of you."

"Yes. Yes, yes. Please fuck me," he begs.

Slowly, I lower my slick pussy onto his dick. He cries out in need. He is fighting the urge to thrust up into me. Slowly, I move my pussy up and down, squeezing my muscles each time.

His eyes are closed shut. "Can't last much longer," he says with clenched teeth.

"Don't come until I tell you," I whisper.

His face contorts. He needs to relieve his desire. I grind my pussy against him, soaking his cock with my juices.

"Come!" I demand.

I throw my head back and release all the tightness within. The tingling sensation swirls inside me. The sounds of pleasure coming from Ben throw me into another orgasm. One orgasm fades into another.

He grabs my hips and thrusts upward, filling me with his seed. The thought of his cum inside my spasming pussy makes me smile naughtily down at him.

I lay beside him and lightly kiss his lips. Neither of us say anything. We just look at each other and grin.