Preacher took the aisle seat, and as Debbie edged past, he grabbed her hips and tugged her onto his lap. Quickly divesting her of her backpack, he captured her mouth in a kiss.
They kissed slowly at first—deliberate, leisurely strokes of Preacher’s tongue, so slow, so perfect, and Debbie sighed into his mouth. She forgot entirely about the movie, forgot she was even in a movie theater. She forgot about everything but the lips moving hungrily over hers and the hands quietly roaming her stomach and hips.
Their kisses sped up—quick, hungry kisses in rapid succession—and Debbie felt Preacher grow hard beneath her. She started to squirm, the thick, firm feel of him beneath her causing a now-familiar ache to flare to life between her thighs.
Growling softly, Preacher wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her still. She attempted pulling away to complain, only he captured her cheek and held her in place.
Soon Debbie’s kisses became distracted and messy. These feelings—the needy, pulsating knot low in her belly and the insatiable ache between her thighs—were all she could focus on. She wanted… no, she needed to be touched.
But Preacher seemed made of stone—the hand on her cheek remained firm, and the band of steel wrapped around her middle flexed and tightened.
It took all of Debbie’s strength to pry his hand from her side. Frustrated and aching, she shoved it down between her legs.
As if he’d been waiting for this moment, Preacher promptly broke their kiss and spread his legs apart, unceremoniously dropping Debbie between them.
The disruption gave Debbie a brief glimpse of reality—the movie had begun. Playing overhead, the bright screen highlighted the room full of people. Her cheeks heated, flushing with embarrassment, only to quickly realize that no one was paying them any attention. And that the people nearby were other couples engaged in the same sort of activities.
Then Preacher’s mouth found her neck and his arm snaked around her middle, gripping her tightly. Situating one of her legs over his, he tugged open her jeans.
Debbie’s breathing hitched, all other thoughts instantly forgotten.
His hand slid slowly down her midriff, the feel of his calloused palm against her smooth stomach causing delicious friction that sent a shiver spiraling through her.
His hand disappeared inside her jeans.
Her breath shuddered free, and Debbie sank back against Preacher and gripped his arm, her nails biting crescent moons into his skin.
This was… he was… oh my God.
Eyes rolling back, lids fluttering furiously, she was nothing more than a rolling boil of sensation, waves of heat rising and falling, but never quite cresting.
Afraid of making a sound, Debbie pressed her lips together tightly and turned her head. Preacher glanced down, his eyes dark, his expression hard, determined. Their eyes locked and her lips parted, dragging in a staggered breath.
And suddenly everything inside of her lit up all at once, her body drew up tight, and then… exploded.
Debbie sagged sideways, boneless and breathing hard, little more than a quivering bag of jelly.
Looking up, she found Preacher staring at her, his eyes half-lidded, his nostrils flaring wide with each heavy, hungry breath he took.
Her hand moved of its own accord, cupping his cheek, her fingers twining through his beard. Arching her back, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him gently on the lips. A soft rumble in his throat, he covered her mouth with his and deepened their kiss.
Yes, she loved him.
? ? ?
Holding tightly to Debbie’s hand, Preacher veered quickly through the river of people leaving the theater. He wanted to get back to the park as soon as humanly possible. Back to camp, back inside his tent, and back inside—
He glanced at Debbie. Her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth, her concentration was on the crowd ahead of them. His gaze traveled the rest of her, over all the places he wished he were still touching.
Her tank top was thin, she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the night breeze that greeted them as they exited the theater was just cool enough for her nipples to stand up and take notice. Her high-waisted jeans were snug on her hips and thighs, emphasizing the curves Preacher liked best, but also baggy around her calves and feet, hiding her sneakers. She was both sexy and adorable and damn near perfect.
The following surge in his jeans was a visceral reaction, but it was more than just that. Preacher felt invigorated, and much younger than he had only a week ago. He wanted something again. He was looking forward to something instead of dreading it.
It had grown dark during the movie, the only remaining light emanating from the streetlamps, the brightly lit storefronts, and the full moon hanging low and fat in the distance. A short ways down the street, Preacher spotted half of their group congregated around their motorcycles. The van was gone, meaning the others had already left.
“How’d you like the movie, Wheels?” he asked, glancing down at her. Still biting down on her lip, Debbie fought to contain a smile.
Laughing, Preacher released her hand and slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “It was good, right?” he teased. “My favorite part was when that guy did that thing. You know what I’m talkin’ about, right? That thing?”
Truth be told, Preacher had very little idea what the movie had been about. He’d only managed to catch bits and pieces here and there when he hadn’t been preoccupied with Debbie—which hadn’t been all that often.
Debbie’s blush deepened.
“What?” he asked, “you didn’t like that part? Wheels, come on! That was the best fuckin’ part!”
Bursting into giggles, Debbie turned and buried her face in his chest. Laughing loudly, Preacher squeezed her even tighter.
“Bunch of fuckin’ slowpokes!” Knuckles called out. “Whaddya do—stick around for the cleanin’ crew or somethin’?” Leaning against his motorcycle, Knuckles twirled a pair of women’s pink panties on his finger.
Eyes wide and mocking, Preacher pointed. “Man, you forgot to put your underwear on!”
Seated on their bikes close by, Smokey and Jim began to snicker.
Knuckles stopped twirling and grinned. “Brother, I’m just workin’ out my pussy finger for the next lucky lady.”
Draped over Jim’s back, Anne rolled her eyes and groaned. “Only one finger, huh? I’m guessin’ you’ve left a lot of ladies feeling pretty unlucky.”
“I only need one.” Waggling his eyebrows, Knuckles flipped Anne off. “I got fat fingers, baby.”
“And I’ll break every single last one of ‘em, if you ever talk to my ol’ lady like that again,” Jim growled.
Behind Jim, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Anne stuck her tongue out at Knuckles.
His expression contrite, Knuckles folded his arms across his chest and muttered, “She fuckin’ started it.”
Smokey released a world-weary sigh. “Christ, kid. You sound like a broken record. Tits and pussy. Tits and pussy. You know there’s more to life, right?”