Doing Him Good (The Very Good Boy Duet Book 2) Page 2

  The whole way there, Oma gave me the friendly third degree about my love life. “Not dating anyone? When I was your age, I had already had a three-year-old and another one on the way.”

  I squeezed the steering wheel. “Oma, things hardly ever work out the way they did for you and Opa. If I’d married who I was dating at nineteen, I’d be in big trouble.” I didn’t bother to mention that at nineteen, I was in fact as single as I am now, three years later.

  So when Pastor Boone made a beeline for me, his intense, expressive eyes locked on mine, Oma’s reaction to the thought of being left alone at church should not have surprised me in the slightest.

  Yeah. My Oma’s pretty cool.

  I hand her the keys out of my mini backpack. When our hands touch, she gives me a wink. “I want some great-grandbabies before I die,” she whispers loudly.

  I could not possibly be more embarrassed as I turn from her, hoping the floor will crack open and swallow me up.

  In the next moment, however, none of that seems to matter as I turn in his direction and stand up close and eye level with the nicest-looking chest in a waffle-knit henley I’ve ever seen. My eyes scan downward, taking in his classic Levis and hiking boots, before coming back up to his sinewy neck and cute Adam’s apple. Above that chiseled chin and a jawline I could slice grapes on are haunted eyes and a forehead that looks prematurely lined. The churchy life has done a number on his face. I think I read in the paper he’s only thirty-three years old? I only remember that detail because the story noted how he was the youngest mega-church leader in all of Texas.

  The weight of what I’m about to do settles on my shoulders and presses the air out of my lungs. This is a big deal. People will talk. Oma’s friends will be talking about this at the quilting bee.

  But somehow the air between me and Pastor Boone is lighter than the weight that is pushing down on our shoulders. The space between us is charged, enticing. He needs me. I need him. Maybe not forever. But right now. Yeah. This is a good idea.

  I take a deep breath. “May as well have some fun on the highway to hell.”

  Pastor Boone gives me a heated look from beneath hooded eyelids. His expression causes tingles to erupt across the skin on my chest. He slips his fingers in between the digits on my right hand and we haul ass.

  “Come on.”

  That voice. Deep. Severe. In charge. Older-sounding than it should be. Maybe one too many fire-and-brimstone sermons made it that way.

  He nearly drags me out of the sanctuary to the whispers and gasps of his many, many, many parishioners. Who is she? they wonder aloud. Am I a wanton temptress in my old t-shirt and boxy shorts? Hardly. Was Rahab ever an awkward virgin with glasses? Did Jezebel ever forget to run a comb through her bed-head hair?

  His long legs eat up the distance to the back of the church, through the expansive, coffee-shop-styled lobby, past the information kiosk with its church logo cling decals and tee-shirts. I study his body as I trail behind him, his sure grip keeping me tethered to him. He’s so tall and strong it makes my heart flutter. His body is not beefy, but lean, with long, strong legs and sinewy arms revealed beneath his pushed up sleeves. His powerful gait stops when we reach the gift shop.

  He says nothing but veers inside. Without letting go of my hand, his other hand goes to the leather cord around his neck, on which hangs a large silver cross. He gently pulls it off over his head and quietly sets it down on the counter in front of a wide-eyed teenage cashier.

  “Pastor Boone?” Her lip trembles.

  “Nancy. It’s only right that I give this back. Good luck getting that volleyball scholarship. I know you’ll do great things. You take care now.”

  I would feel sorry for her as a tear spills down her cheek, but when her gaze moves from him to me, her eyes narrow at me ominously as soon as Boone’s back is turned and he’s headed out the door, pulling me behind him. She’s got a teenage crush on her pastor, I think. I’ll bet she’s not the only one.

  He opens the passenger side door of his SUV like a gentleman. When he slides into the driver’s seat and slams his door, he’s anything but. And I like it.

  I know what he wants. It’s all over his face. Now I can smell it on him. I don’t bother playing coy or waiting for him to come to me. I lean all the way in and he catches my face in his capable hands. His mouth urgently claims mine and my lips answer back. We don’t hesitate or tease or peck. It is simply on like fucking Donkey Kong.

  My lips part with the hard pressure of his mouth and our tongues slide together. The kissing is rough, deep, intense and urgent. I’ve never been kissed like this before. Boone’s taste and smell carries a faint hint of my favorite thing in the world: a south Texas ruby red grapefruit.

  My hands rest over the backs of his hands as they cup my face. I suck in a breath when I feel his rough, hard knuckles. I assumed he’d have soft hands, being in his line of work and being so young. There’s a story there, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to like it. But that can wait. All I want to do now is ram my tongue down his throat. I kiss him harder and he groans into my mouth. The sound causes heat to bloom at my core and my blood pressure to rise.

  My hands travel down his strong arms until they rest on his chest, and I clench my hands in his waffle-knit shirt like I need to keep myself from floating away.

  Boone lets out another sound, something between a moan and a growl in response to my grabby hands. He pulls me closer. The car’s console is an unwelcome barrier between our bodies.

  We both seem to realize at the same time that things can only go so far in broad daylight in this parking lot in this car. We break away from the kiss, both of us breathless but still holding on to each other.

  “If we go much further I’m going to have to tear your clothes off, and I don’t want to embarrass a lady in public,” he says between shuddering breaths, somehow sounding extremely horny and polite at the same time.

  “Such a gentleman,” I reply.

  Boone’s eyes cut away for a second then come back to my gaze. “Manners isn’t the only reason. I … I don’t want my first time with a woman to be a public display.”

  Relief and excitement flood through me as I realize what he’s saying. He’s never had sex before, and he wants it to be special. Boone is one of the good guys.

  “Where are we headed? I assume your place is nearby,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “I want to know where you live. I want to know everything about you.”

  Me? The guy who just went nuclear on his career thinks I’m the interesting one?

  “And that way you can be there when your Oma comes back with your car. You know, to make sure she’s OK.”

  I sigh and look into his dark eyes. He’s so serious, and his concern for my Oma is so damn charming and heartwarming. With no further thought, I agree to take him home with me and he punches my address into his GPS.

  Once we’re safely buckled in, he starts the engine. “Never seen you in church before.”

  I clear my throat. “I don’t go. It’s not really my scene.”

  A slight smile plays at the corner of his lips. “I’m glad you were there today.”

  My cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink as I fidget with the seat belt. Then I explain, “My Oma wanted to go and nobody else in the family wanted to take her.”

  He nods while he cranks the wheel to hang a left onto Plano Parkway and heads south. “You’re a good granddaughter.”

  I look down at my fingers while I spill the truth. “It’s not that. I sort of read about your arrest in the paper and it was the first time I was ever interested in stepping foot in that building.”

  He barks a laugh. “Really? Why now?”

  “Because, honestly, it’s the most interesting story I ever heard.”

  He turns his head and gives me a shy, crooked smile, showing just a hint of teeth. “It ain’t like what you read in the paper.”

  “Oh, in that case you should see what my mom’s reading on Facebook.”

/>   “Oh geez, don’t tell me.”

  I shrug. “Suppose you tell me your version.”

  He stops the car at a light and shifts his weight to face me, his long arms resting on the wheel. “I’d been driving around, thinking dangerous thoughts, wondering how my life ended up where it has. Things weren’t making any sense to me anymore. I’m supposed to have the answers, and I don’t. I don’t know, maybe it was wrong for a young person like me to take on such a huge responsibility. And then I realized, I don’t believe anything I say up on that stage anymore. I drove kind of far out into the country, thinking of going out to my sister’s for target practice, you know, to do some real thinking. And then along the way, I saw that sad, underfed-looking pit bull tied to a tree in somebody’s yard.”

  A truck horn behind us blares.

  Unfazed, Boone faces front and sees the green light, then drives on.

  “So I saw that poor old dog and I snapped. I hopped the fence, cut the rope it was tied up with, and I took the dog. I drove it over to my sister’s dog ranch, gave her some money to help cover vet care, and I thought that was the end of it.”

  He continues with his story as I make a mental note to ask what the fuck is a dog ranch.

  “And then I did it a couple more times. It ain’t hard to find neglected animals out in the country. Especially if you drive around for hours and hours. But they caught me. Someone saw me, snapped a picture. Cops picked me up the next day. My sister and her fiance bailed me out, though I told them not to. I don’t want her blabbing to our parents. The story will give our Momma a stroke.”

  I play with the hem of my shorts and stare at my tattoos as I listen. Lifting my head, I ask, “Don't you think the publicity will reach them? Your mug shot was in the Dallas Morning News.”

  Boone shakes his head. “Last I heard they were on some spiritual retreat with no phones or Wi-Fi access, so I’m hoping to put that confrontation off as long as possible. Actually, my sister’s getting married next weekend, so hopefully it’ll keep until I see them at the wedding.”

  I don’t feel like he needs me to counsel him on this subject. I mean, what are we doing here, anyway? Becoming bosom friends or getting ready to fuck?

  My question is answered when he pulls over at a gas station. “I’m going to get some condoms. Do you need anything? You hungry?”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing, because I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him. The giggle tries to bubble up because he’s so sweet. His thoughtfulness is putting me in danger of getting attached.

  At the mention of food, my tummy rumbles and my hand goes to my stomach. My butthead brothers ate all of the grapefruit and all I got was one biscuit and a dollop of sausage gravy, and that was hours ago. “Yes, but here, let me …” I open my backpack and pull out my coin purse; I had thought to bring cash just in case I was met with a church offering that morning. Even at a disciplinary event such as that, it would not have surprised me if those folks passed the offering plates around. I knew that Oma, even on her fixed income, never failed to bring cash to any church gathering. Her generosity is admirable but it also makes me feel protective of her.

  “Darlin’, put that money away.”

  My fussing fingers stop picking out the tightly folded up dollar bills and I look up at Boone. I can tell he’s not going to let me pay for my own snacks, so I don’t even try to argue. “Some of those flavored almonds and a Diet Dr. Pepper, please.”

  A smile creeps across his face as he studies me for a beat. He’s committing this snack to memory. He’s thinking he wants to see me again after this, and the idea of that causes a flutter in my stomach. “Yes, ma’am.” The wink and the nod that follows nearly has me following him into to the store, grabbing those condoms and dragging his cute ass directly into the bathroom to have dirty gas station sex.

  Once he’s back in the vehicle, I fill the rest of the time until we arrive at my apartment by switching around the radio stations. When we arrive, Boone looks around and frowns.

  “Where are we?” he asks.

  “Dallas,” I reply smartly.

  “I don’t like this neighborhood.”

  “You don’t have to like it. This is where I live.”

  “You should move.”

  “Bossy,” I say, then look my apartment building up and down. “It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s not safe for any woman to live here alone.”

  I look around. “I like it. It’s old. It has character.”

  “Which character? Linda Blair?”

  “No. Oscar the Grouch.”

  Boone drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “If you’d shown up sooner I might not have gotten into this mess.”

  “How so?”

  “I could have been spending my time figuring out how to get you out of this shithole.”

  I pout. “It’s not a shithole.”

  “It kind of is. You’re too good for this place. ”

  Looking down at my fingernails, I notice my red polish is starting to chip. “You don’t even know me.”

  “But I’m gonna know you. In the biblical sense and otherwise.”

  The way he says all it with his thick twang has my knees tingling.

  “Pastor Boone,” I say, but it’s hardly a coy admonishment. It’s more like he’s taken my breath away.

  “And you can stop calling me that. I’m just Boone to you.”

  Almost as soon as he closes my apartment door behind us, he removes my shirt so quickly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it left a burn mark on my skin.

  I’ve kissed guys in my apartment before, but never backed up against the door. Never with my body begging to be dominated by the world’s most courteous and intriguing man. The physical side of all my past relationships have never gotten past the light petting, tongue kissing, and hand holding phase. My high school prom date felt me up over my dress, but when he commented that he wanted to rip it off me in the heat of the moment, that’s where things ended for the night. I’d spent a couple of laundromat paychecks to afford that dress and there was no way anybody was going to rip it. Apart from that, I didn’t trust the guy.

  At the moment, I don’t feel the least bit attached to whatever shirt I was just wearing. Nor do I feel like I have any reason to distrust Boone. I somehow feel like I already know him. Maybe it’s the way his eyes travel over me in between hot, intense kisses: studying my face, my eyes, my lips, my neck, my breasts. He looks like I’ve given him a gift. Or maybe it’s because all I can think about are those lips of his. Full, but set in a serious line, like life has robbed him of laughter. When he does smile, it’s like the sun shining in the middle of a storm.

  “You need to know something,” I say. “You’re not the only virgin in the room.”

  Boone’s long, slow sigh warms up my cheek. His eyes close and he drops his forehead, resting it against my collarbone. He lets out an unintelligible groan. I understand the feelings I think he’s experiencing. This is probably too much responsibility for a spontaneous fuck.

  When his head comes back up and he opens his eyes, they are dark, hungry, and I think I hear a growl at the back of his throat. I was wrong in thinking he was having second thoughts. “Delilah. I don’t want to pressure you or anything…”

  My name in his mouth does all kinds of wonderful things to my body. I feel the blood rush between my legs, my nipples strain against the lace of my bra.

  My voice croaks out a hoarse whisper. “Come closer and put all the pressure on me.”

  Chapter Three

  Boone

  I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m sure my moves are so clumsy she can tell right away. Our teeth keep knocking together as we kiss, for shit’s sake. She’s nice enough not to laugh at me, though.

  All I know is I like the way she looks at me, the way she talks. Her face and hourglass figure don’t hurt. And I really, really like kissing her.

  I tilt my head and kiss her pouty bottom lip softly until she opens to me. I p
ush my tongue into her mouth, and soon our tongues are tasting each other in a warm, sensuous dance that could melt a block of ice at the North Pole.

  I’ve been on dates before. I’ve kissed women before. I’ve been turned on by women before in a way that made me curse the dictates of my pastoral contract.

  But now, I’m free.

  I’m not a pastor anymore.

  I don’t have to abide by their rules anymore.

  I don’t have to be a virgin anymore.

  Well, as long as she’s OK with it.

  Delilah’s hands circle around to the back of my jeans and latch on to my belt. She moans into my mouth and welcomes my tongue exploring hers.

  I take a moment to memorize the warm, beachy scent of her skin as we kiss. The inside of her mouth tastes like Altoids and her lips are like something else. “Cotton candy.”

  “Hm?” She opens her eyes in the middle of a kiss.

  “Your lips. You taste like cotton candy,” I say.

  She smiles. “Is that good or bad?”

  I have another taste and say, “If you’re sharing with me, it’s good.”

  She smiles hesitantly. “Sorry to tell you, but it changes day to day depending on my mood. Tomorrow it might be black cherry.”

  I trace my nose along the delicate shell of her ear, then kiss each of the tiny silver hoops and studs from the lobe all the way to the top. While she talks about lip balm, all I can think about is where else she might be pierced. My cock twitches at the thought. I draw a line with my nose from her earlobe down to her shoulder. “I’ve never touched a breast before. Can I touch yours?”

  “Wait, you what?”

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “Yes, of course you can touch me. Touch me wherever you want, Boone.”

  “Good,” I say, cupping both breasts in my hands. The delicate, lacy trim of her bra entices me to remove it quickly, but I restrain myself, taking in the view.

  My thumbs stroke the supple skin that swells above the lace. Lord have mercy, her skin is softer than I had even imagined.

  The sight of my hands full to overflowing with someone’s tits — Delilah’s beautiful tits — is making me feel some new emotions, and not just horny.