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Knowing she’s a virgin and knowing there’s nobody else except me and her.
I’d kinda hoped she would be. I mean, an unmarried Preacher’s daughter?
I wonder if I can wait that long though.
Would the old man even approve? I doubt it. Sweet talking to him on the phone is one thing when he thinks I’m only stopping by for gas and maybe a cup of coffee.
Claiming his only daughter as my own, right here on his couch in his living room. That’s an entirely different thing altogether.
“What are you thinking about?” she finally asks.
We’ve been bundled up on the couch for a while now. My stiff member pressing into her belly and side when she shifts, making her purr and distracting me to no end.
“I’m just wondering how long we’ve got. Like this I mean,” I tell her point-blank.
She frowns and I can tell she’s been thinking the exact same thing.
“Dad’s due back tomorrow, maybe the next day at the latest,” she sighs, patting my chest and telling me not to think about it.
But it’s like an invisible clock is already ticking.
I had to rush to make my way to her, to stake my claim. Now I feel like I need to double-time to seal the deal properly, to truly make her mine.
To claim her as my own. Not an easy thing to do if her Preacher Dad gets here or decides to come home early.
The idea makes me itchy. I get up from the couch, suddenly feeling like we need to move.
Like I don’t want to just wait around for the next interruption or thing to interfere with our plans, with us.
“What is it, Noah?” she asks again. “We’ve got time, come back down here or maybe you wanna go lay down on my bed? The air conditioner’s fixed now,” she coos.
But as tempting as it is, I can’t relax. Not until I know she’s all mine and we don’t have to be tied to her Daddy’s house, or his rules.
Rules I’m sure he has, and rules I’m sure we’ve already broken a dozen of just in the past hour.
I wince a little as I zip myself back up, but take my shirt off. I leave my boots on, something about having them on now feels right. In case I need to grab her and run.
It’s the case that’s doing this.
I look over to the doorway, sighing bitterly as I kick myself for letting it out of my sight for as many times in two days now.
“What is it, Noah?” Faith asks again. “Is it me, did I do something wrong?”
I smile at her. “You could never do anything wrong, Faith. I’m sorry,” I tell her, going back to her and leaning over to kiss her.
“I just have a few things on my mind, things I somehow managed to forget all about once I saw you yesterday.”
She looks worried. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?”
I frown, shaking my head. “No, I’m not in any trouble. Only with your Dad once he finds out.”
I chuckle to myself about it, but my words have the opposite effect on Faith, who suddenly turns so pale I think she’s about to be sick.
I slide down next to her, my weight pushing her up at least six inches as I put my arm around her.
“I was only kidding, Faith. You’re an adult aren’t you?” I ask, feeling a little nervous suddenly myself.
“I’m twenty-two,” she says, patting my knee and putting that one to bed at least.
“But, oh I don’t know,” she says, sinking back and joining me in my strange mood.
Not unhappy but not a hundred percent sure of what to do next either.
“I can’t stay here, Faith. Not for long and not once your Dad gets back.” I tell her, opting for the truth instead of fairy tales.
Neither of us has time for that.
“I know,” she whines. “But I’m not letting you leave without me,” she finally says, sounding about as sure as I’ve heard her so far.
“Good girl,” I reply, kissing the top of her head. “But I’m not sure-”
That damned phone rings again, making us jump.
It’s an old Bakelite thing, weighs a ton, and rings like a level crossing.
Looking at each other, we both know who it is. I stand again, ready to go answer but Faith is out of her seat like a shot and in three steps she’s out of sight as I hear her answering the phone.
I feel myself chewing my own lip now, a bad habit I know I’ve just caught from Faith.
It’s not comforting, but it gives me something else to do as I try to think of what to do next.
Picking up the case and bringing it into the lounge, if only to feel I’m still doing what I’m supposed to – move the damned thing, I can hear Faith in the kitchen.
