Cash ran his hands down his torso, soap suds clinging to his skin. Then his hand moved lower, wrapping around his cock, and I nearly gasped aloud. He was impressive, thick and long even in its semi-hard state. I watched, transfixed, as he gave himself a few lazy strokes, his head falling back against the shower wall.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. I was rock hard now, straining against the thin fabric of my pajamas. The rational part of my brain screamed at me to leave, but my body refused to cooperate. I hadn’t wanted someone this badly in years. This man, grumpy and broken as he was, didn’t even hold a candle to my earlier passing fascination with Colt.
Cash let out a low groan that sent shivers down my spine. His hand moved faster now, water and soap making the glide easier. I pressed my palm against my own erection, trying to relieve the pressure. Just one touch and I knew I’d be done for.
Suddenly, Cash turned toward the door, and I jerked back, heart in my throat. Had he seen me? I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my own feet in my haste to get away. I ducked into my bedroom, closing the door as quietly as I could, my back pressed against it as I tried to catch my breath.
What was I doing? This wasn’t me. I didn’t spy on people. I didn’t lust after damaged, angry men who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. Well, I did, but I was trying not to do that anymore. Yet here I was, cock throbbing painfully, the image of Cash touching himself burned into my retinas.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, head in my hands. “Get it together, Mike,” I whispered to myself. This was inappropriate on so many levels. Cash was vulnerable, homeless because of the tornado. He was struggling with his father’s death and family issues I couldn’t begin to understand. The last thing he needed was his host, a pastor no less, perving on him through a bathroom door.
But God help me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. The water running down his muscled back. The way his hand had wrapped around his thick cock. The sound of his pleasure echoing off the tile.
I heard the shower shut off, and panic surged through me. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed the first shirt I could find, and threw it on. By the time Cash emerged from the bathroom, I was sitting on the couch once more, pretending to eat my abandoned sandwich while reading a bible. I kept it open in my lap, hiding the evidence of my arousal.
“Bathroom’s free,” Cash called out, his voice gruff as he passed through to the spare bedroom.
“Thanks,” I managed to reply, not daring to look up.
I waited until I heard his bedroom door close before I let out the breath I’d been holding. This was going to be a problem. A big problem. Because now that I’d seen Cash Callahan naked, I couldn’t unsee it. And I wanted more.
God forgive me, but I wantedsomuch more.
Chapter 7
Cash
Was I surprised to find the new pastor spying on me in the shower? Yes. Did I leave the door cracked on purpose? Also yes.
Pastor Mike and his squeaky clean reputation had annoyed me from the start. But one thing I noticed immediately was the fact that his eyes, despite his best efforts, liked to wander. That coupled with the fact that he decided to lie around the house shirtless seemed like a less than subtle attempt to catch my attention. Then again, the way he avoided looking at me after my shower made me think that I’d misread him. Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting to see me jerking off in the shower. Either way, I loved seeing his face flush red with embarrassment. It made me feel vindicated and turned me on more than a little bit.
As soon as I was in my room, I pulled my towel off, tossing it to the floor. Then I fell back on the bed, stretching out languidly as the sunlight warmed my bare skin. My bedroom door was open a crack as well, just in case this little twink of a pastor wanted to get his guts rearranged. Honestly, I could use the distraction after the long day of dealing with idiot realtors.
Wait… could pastors have sex? They could, right? I wasn’t religious, but I’d heard stories about pastor’s wives before. Thereal question was, were they allowed to be gay?ThatI hadn’t heard of before. Mike didn’t seem to have an issue with other people being gay. Hell, he’d already attended a gay wedding in his first week in Sagebrush. But accepting others and accepting yourself were two completely different things. Just like how my father could accept Brooks, but not me.
I let out a loud sigh, throwing a hand over my eyes to block the sun. Fucking family. I wished I could just forget they ever existed. I wished I could wipe everything that had happened to me so far from my mind and jump ahead to the moment where I had a million dollars in my pocket and a new life on the way. All the past did was hold me back. And yet, it seemed that every chance my brain got, it pulled me back to it, forcing me to relive the worst parts of my life over and over again.
I fucking hated it.
Maybe what I needed was a good fuck. The kind that would leave me sore and empty-headed, unable to think about anything except how good it felt. I hadn’t gotten laid since before I’d found out about my father’s death. Between traveling here and dealing with all this tornado bullshit, I hadn’t had time to find someone willing to take the edge off.
My cock twitched at the thought, still semi-hard from my shower session. I wrapped my hand around it, giving myself a few slow strokes as I considered my options. The pastor was definitely attractive with that toned body and those innocent blue eyes. And the way he’d stared at me in the shower... that wasn’t just accidental. No one lingers that long by mistake.
I listened for movement in the house, wondering if he’d take the bait. The thought of corrupting a man of God sent another surge of blood to my cock. It would serve him right for spying on me. And it would give me something to think about besides this godforsaken town and all its memories.
Minutes passed. I kept stroking myself lazily, imagining what it would be like to have those perfect pastor lips wrapped around my dick, those blue eyes looking up at me all desperate and wanting. But the hallway remained quiet. No footsteps. No hesitant knock at my door.
“Fucking coward,” I muttered, rolling onto my side and giving up on the idea.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, thinking maybe I could find a hook-up app that worked in this backwater town. But as I scrolled through my options, I realized I didn’t want to deal with the effort. Meeting someone new, making small talk, finding a place to fuck that wasn’t the pastor’s spare bedroom. It all seemed like too much work.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, deciding food was a better use of my time than chasing after some holy roller who was too scared to admit what he wanted.
When I emerged from my room, the house was quiet. I padded down the hallway, half expecting to find Mike still on the couch with his Bible, but the living room was empty. His bedroom door was closed, and I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of him hiding away, probably dealing with his own hard-on and a guilty conscience.
I grabbed my keys from the counter and headed out. Might as well go down to Dolly’s and get some dinner. There I could get lost in the crowd for a little while and let the noise overpower my intrusive thoughts.
I didn’t bother driving. The diner was only a couple of blocks away from the church. As I approached, I saw that the flashing neon sign had been destroyed by the tornado, but the rest of the building looked untouched. The parking lot was packed, which wasn’t surprising. After a disaster, people tended to gather inplaces that felt normal. I supposed that made me just like them, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.
