Chapter 1: The Preacher's Temptation
The church office smelled of old paper and lemon polish, but underneath it all was Serge—that warm, musky cologne he’d worn since Eve was young. It clung to the leather chair and the vestments hanging on the hook behind the door. She breathed it in and felt her stomach tighten.
She’d come alone.
Zeke was at the lumber yard, and she’d told him she needed to pick up her grandmother’s Bible from the rectory, a lie that sat sour on her tongue but slipped out easy enough. A week married and already she was lying. Already she was here.
The door clicked shut behind her and Serge looked up from his desk, wire glasses perched on his nose. His face did something complicated—relief and regret wrestling in the lines around his mouth.
“Eve.” He stood slowly, like the word cost him something. “You should be home.”
“I wanted to see you.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended. She tugged at the hem of her sundress, a pale yellow thing that clung to her curves and ended just above her knees. She’d picked it because she knew how the fabric moved when she walked. Knew how his eyes tracked her.
He stared at her for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.
“This ain’t right.” He shook his head, but his hands were already flexing at his sides. “You’re married now. Zeke’s a good man.”
“I know.” She stepped closer, her sandals whispering against the worn carpet. “But I keep thinking about what you said. Before the wedding.”
Serge’s jaw tightened. A vein pulsed at his temple. “I shouldn’t have said nothing.”
“But you did.” Eve was close enough now to smell the coffee on his breath. “You asked if I knew what happens when a girl lets her daddy fuck her first. And I never answered.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Eve, go home.”
She reached out and touched his hand. Just a brush of her fingers against his knuckles, but he flinched like she’d burned him. His eyes snapped open and found hers, dark and dangerous.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need to know.”
The word hung between them—please—and Serge broke.
He surged forward and grabbed her waist, pulling her into him hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. His mouth crashed against hers and there was nothing gentle about it. His hands roamed her body, grip fierce, kneading the softness of her hips, dragging up her ribs, every touch demanding. She moaned against his lips and pressed herself into him, feeling the thick, heavy shape of him straining against his slacks.
“Daddy,” she gasped as his mouth worked its way down her throat, teeth scraping skin.
The sound undid something in him. He groaned and lifted her onto the edge of the desk, nudging her thighs apart with his hips. She could feel him through the fabric—so big, so impossibly thick—and her body flooded with warmth.
“I can’t help myself with you,” he muttered against her neck. “God forgive me.”
Eve arched her back, pressing her chest into his. “Don’t ask forgiveness. Just—” She bit her lip. “Just do it.”
But when his fingers hooked the strap of her sundress and pulled it down her shoulder, the door creaked open.
They froze.
Drey stood in the doorway filling the frame with his massive shoulders. His face had gone hard, jaw locked, dark eyes burning as they took in the scene—Serge’s hands on Eve’s body, her dress slipping, her skin flushed with heat. He said nothing for a heartbeat. Then another.
“Reverend.” The word came out flat. “Didn’t know you’d be conducting private services this afternoon.”
Serge released Eve so fast she nearly fell off the desk. He stumbled backwards, hands raised, babbling half-formed words. “Drey—this ain’t what it looks like—she came to see me about—about a personal matter—I was just comforting her, counseling her.”
“Counseling.” Drey’s gaze swept over Eve, slow and deliberate. She sat frozen on the edge of the desk. Her breathing ragged. Her dress still slipping off her shoulder. Her nipples peaked beneath the thin cotton of her sundress. She looked utterly debauched and completely unaware of it.
Drey’s mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Boy’s my son.” He stepped closer, boots heavy on the floor. “And I know exactly what he got on his wedding night. Four hours in that little house. Neighbors said they heard her screaming until dawn.” His eyes never left Eve’s chest. “But you know what I noticed, girl? You was screaming for more.”
Eve’s face burned crimson. She tried to pull her dress back up but her fingers were shaking too hard.
“You got a taste for it,” Drey continued, circling the desk. “I can see it in every hungry little look you’ve thrown at us. You think I don’t watch you at Sunday services? Peeking up from your prayer book whenever father stands at the pulpit?” He glanced at Serge. “Two generations. I bet that’s got you curious.”
“Drey, don’t,” Serge said, his voice rough.
Drey laughed. It wasn’t a warm sound. “Don’t what? Don’t say what we’re all thinking?” He rounded the desk until he stood directly in front of Eve, so close she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “I’m not a stupid man. I knew my son couldn’t satisfy you. Knew it the moment I saw him come out of that chapel looking like he’d just run a marathon.” He tilted her chin up with one thick finger. “And here you are, barely a week later, bent over your stepdaddy’s desk with your dress half off.”
Eve trembled. She couldn’t breathe.
Drey’s grin widened. “I want a taste.”
“No.” Serge stepped forward. “She’s my stepdaughter. She’s married to your son. We cannot—this has to stop.”
Drey’s hand snapped out and grabbed Serge by the collar, yanking him down so their faces were inches apart. “I wasn’t asking permission.” His voice had dropped to something primal. “You got a choice, Reverend. You can keep your church and your reputation, or you can keep pretending this little girl ain’t burning a hole in your guts every night you lie next to your wife.”
Serge’s face twisted with guilt and shame.
“But what you can’t do,” Drey continued, “is send a message like this and expect me to just forget it. I gave my son a wife.” He released Serge’s collar and nodded toward Eve. “And now I’m going to make sure she knows how to properly honor this family.”
“I don’t understand,” Eve said, voice tiny.
Drey’s eyes found her again. He reached down and ran his thumb across her lower lip. She shuddered involuntarily, her body betraying the fear trembling through her limbs. He smiled at the reaction.
“You will.” He tilted his head toward the door. “We’re going to my hunting cabin. Got a fireplace in there. Big bed. Loads of privacy.” His hands found her waist and she felt the raw power in them. “You’re going to learn exactly what it means to carry this family’s name. And we are going to teach her together.”
Serge opened his mouth to argue but Drey cut him off with a look.
“Don’t.” The word was a hammer. “You already lost your right to make decisions the second you put your hands on her. Now get your jacket. You’re driving.”
Eve slid off the desk on shaky legs. Part of her wanted to run. Another part—the part that had been burning with curiosity since she’d first caught Drey staring at her during the reception—wanted to see what would happen next.
Serge found his jacket. His hands were trembling.
Drey grabbed Eve’s wrist and led her out through the back door of the church. The afternoon sun was warm on her skin, but she felt cold inside. Not scared. Not exactly. Something else. Something that made her stomach flip when Drey squeezed her hand.
“You’re going to do well,” he said as they reached the truck. His voice was harsh, but his touch was gentle. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
Eve let him help her into the backseat. Serge climbed behind the wheel without a word. Drey settled into the passenger seat like he owned everything he looked at. And through the window, the town got smaller as they pulled onto the highway, heading for the hills and the cabin that waited in the trees like a secret.
The engine hummed. Nobody spoke.
Eve pressed her hand between her thighs and felt how wet she’d gotten. The truck smelled like leather and pine. She closed her eyes and thought about how big Drey’s hands had looked on her waist. How thick Serge had felt through his slacks. She swallowed hard.
This was so wrong. Every part of her knew it.
But she’d never wanted anything more.