The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(77)

“Always so ready for me, Peaches.”

At the first moan that slips through her lips, I lose my composure. I tear off her panties and throw them on the floor at my feet. Then I grab her under the knees and yank her to the edge of the pulpit, staring down to watch where my thick cock prods her wet heat.

“Watch it with me,” I tell her.

Together we gaze down in awe as I sink inside her. She lets out a small gasp as I fill her completely, latching her arms around my neck again and yanking my lips to hers for a kiss.

“What could be more godly than that?” she whispers through heavy gasps.

As I move out and back in, savoring the sensation of being inside her, my hunger growing with each thrust, I let myself feel what it’s like to fuck her without shame. Even here in my childhood church, on the same pulpit my father once preached from. I imagine God is here, not condemning this but celebrating it.

Without all the rules and doctrines, we are just two bodies finding the most divine and explicit pleasure two people can find together.

She cries out for me, so I hold her tighter, moving faster and harder. The podium rocks against her weight as I fuck the heavenly spot between her legs. Our moans echo through the empty building, and just like last night, I let myself go, indulging in what I truly want.

And what I truly want right now is her, filling her up, hearing her cries of pleasure, and fucking her as many times as I can before this ends.

My hips are pistoning against her now as I grow closer and closer to my climax. She’s hanging on to me for support with an expression of rapture on her face.

I pick up speed, pounding into her relentlessly as she lets out a deep, husky moan, seizing up in my arms as she lets out her cries of pleasure. When I finally feel myself releasing my own climax inside her, it feels like heaven.

And, like she said, what could be more godly than that?





July

The Hero





Thirty-Four

Sage

“H oly shit.” The alarm in Adam’s voice pulls me out of my sleep. My head is against his bare chest, lying in my bed with Roscoe on his lap.

“What?” I mumble sleepily.

“We’re making headlines.”

I feel the bright light of his phone screen on my face, so I peel my eyes open and stare at a news article, an old photo of Truett and Adam together, front and center.

“What does it say?”

He pulls it away from my face as he reads.

“Prominent Austin-based preacher, Truett Goode, faces scrutiny from followers due to his oldest son’s risqué behavior on the amateur porn app, FanVids.

The famous preacher and author has lost more than twenty thousand social media followers and is being publicly criticized for his silence on the matter. Loyal followers are still awaiting a statement from the preacher and his family. No word yet from thirty-seven-year-old son, Adam Goode. The longer Truett Goode withholds his public condemnation of his son’s actions, the more he risks losing.

“The Goode family patriarch is worth more than forty million dollars and has a seven-figure publishing deal with Good Shepherd Press on the line.”

When he stops reading, I sit up and stare at him with confusion. “They didn’t even mention me.”

He smiles and kisses my head. “Then they’re definitely missing the best part. But Peaches, this is huge. Truett is losing status as we speak. All while he sits on the deed for a sex club.

He has to be sweating.”

This piques my interest. “Brett can’t possibly pay him back the loan he took out. What do you think your dad will do with that deed?”

My mind is turning with ideas and it feels like there’s an opportunity there. If I were to make the same bargain with Truett that I did at the gala two months ago, would he take it this time?

“I don’t know,” Adam says with a dark smile creeping across his face. He looks so proud of himself. And I sort of love that.

So I touch his arm. “This is good news. It means it’s working.”

He’s staring down at the article as he nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Something about this bothers me, though, because if we’ve accomplished what we set out to do, does that mean we’re done? What more could we do? We set out to do this for three months, and it’s already been two. Even if we aren’t fake dating anymore, I still don’t know what we are and if that deadline still exists.

“We should celebrate,” I chirp excitedly. I hop onto my knees and Roscoe takes this as a sign that we should all get excited, so he starts hopping on Adam’s lap and barking at us both. We laugh when he gets so worked up he starts gnawing on Adam’s hand.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks.

I jump off the bed and find my underwear littered somewhere on the floor. “Well, last time, we went to your church…”

“Yeah…” he replies, sounding uneasy.

When I give him a salty look, his brow furrows. “I think it’s time we take it to my turf.”

“I know you’re not suggesting that we go to the sex club owned by the guy I put in the hospital.”

“Listen,” I say carefully, “I know all the back entrances in that place. I could smuggle you in so easily.”

“Sage, no.” He barks with the tone of a father disciplining his petulant child.