A Preacher's Passion (8 page)

Carla Lee’s world was upside down, and Lavon Chapman was the man who’d flipped it. She’d only known him four weeks. It felt like a lifetime. The first week they’d become intimate had been glorious. Stanley was out of town and the kids busy with school. Carla and Lavon had screwed like teenagers, every position, everywhere. But after that week, things had gotten tricky. Stanley came home, and because of his dedication to the Kingdom Keys series and the short time they had to produce it, had cancelled his remaining out of town engagements for the length of Lavon’s visit. Lavon and Carla still saw each other almost all day every day, but Stanley was there as well.

Stanley’s return didn’t totally stop the lovers from their trysts. Citing engagements with Vivian or one of the other members of Ladies First, an organization for pastors’ wives, Carla met Lavon at the Sheraton and enjoyed stolen hours of mind-boggling ecstasy. Lavon’s unparalleled oral expertise was like crack cocaine; the more she had, the more she wanted. She kept telling herself that this good sex was blowing her mind because of how long she’d gone without it. She rationalized that the affair was only eight weeks out of a lifetime marriage. November would come and Lavon would be gone, leaving her with wonderful memories and a va-jay-jay that tingled every time she imagined his face or heard his name.

“Lavon,” she whispered.

“What’d you say?” Stanley asked, coming into the kitchen.

Carla had been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard her husband, or realized she’d said her lover’s name out loud.

“Did you say Lavon?”

“Did I?” Carla asked, busying herself by grabbing fixings for a salad she hadn’t planned to prepare—anything to keep her hands busy. “I may have; I’m trying to organize a ‘to do’ list in my mind and getting copies of my SOS tapes to him is one on the list.”

“Speaking of, how’d your meeting go?”

“Hmm?”

“Your meeting?”

“What meeting, Stan?”

Stan stopped from getting a soda out of the refrigerator and looked at Carla. “Didn’t you tell me you had a meeting today with Ladies First? Planning for the next Sanctity of Sisterhood mini-conference?”

“Oh, that meeting.” Carla had momentarily forgotten which lie she’d used for her afternoon delight at the Sheraton. “No, Boo, that got cancelled so I met with someone else instead.”

“Who?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you don’t know her, she’s not a pastor’s wife. Just a sistah who needs prayer, and a friend.”

Carla wasn’t in the habit of lying to Stanley; their marriage had been above board for a decade. But she hadn’t always been saved, and back in the day, she could lie like a rug, look you straight in the eye and tell you the sky was red with so much conviction you’d almost believe her. In the last three weeks, Carla had found the art like riding a bicycle—a skill that came back with practice.

Stanley came behind Carla and put his hands on her shoulders. “Have I told you lately how special you are?” The contact was brief, rote, reminding Carla what she had to look forward to once Lavon was gone. But she hadn’t missed the sincerity in her husband’s voice. He cared for her, loved her in his own way.

A wave of guilt washed over Carla. What was she doing? Here was a man who’d married a single mother, adopted her daughter as his own, gave her two sons, supported the family financially and in every other way for ten years, and never once gave her cause to suspect he was unfaithful. And how was she thanking him? By screwing the man Stanley had brought in to take their ministry, their successful, fruitful ministry, to a higher level. This is why for the past month Carla had refused to really think about what she was doing; it didn’t feel good. She knew she had to end things with Lavon.

“I love you, Boo,” she said, with a catch in her voice, as she turned and hugged her husband tightly.

Stanley noticed the emotion behind the words. He held Carla at arm’s length, searching her face for answers. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, just emotional I guess, that time of the month.”

“Oh, I see. So that’s why you haven’t been bugging me to fulfill my marital obligations, huh?”

It was true. Since Lavon had arrived in LA, Carla hadn’t had sex with her husband, nor wanted to. The weekly intimacy that she usually initiated had fallen by the wayside, along with the validity of her marriage vows. “I know you’re busy,” she said as a reason.

“And I know how much that aspect of marriage means to you. Maybe this weekend?” he suggested.

“Whenever you want, Stanley,” Carla said, falling short of the enthusiasm she’d hoped her voice would convey.

Carla’s cell phone rang. She picked it up off the counter and checked the ID: Lavon. Seeing his name immediately made her wet, something the man standing in front of her seemed unable to do. Guilt clinched her heart again. Yes, she had to end her affair with Lavon, and she had to end it now.

Stanley gave Carla a peck on the cheek and walked out of the kitchen as she flipped up her phone to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey curvy Carla, how’s my bowl of honey doing today?” Lavon’s voice was low and sexy, the voice that so expertly whispered sweet somethings in Carla’s ear at the point of climax.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to tap down the joy that bubbled over in spite of her resolve. “I’m glad you called,” she said in businesslike fashion. “There are some things I need to discuss with you. Are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

“Oh, Stanley’s there. Yeah, baby, tomorrow’s fine. Say, noon, in my room? I’ll order in lunch and uh, tailor-make your dessert.”

Carla almost moaned aloud. She’d tasted his desserts, had had seconds and thirds. Of all the diets she’d ever gone on, she knew this one would be the hardest. “Yes,” she said after a pause, “the coffee shop will be fine.”

Silence on the other end. And then, “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

At the same time Carla’s resolve was weakening, Stanley walked back into the kitchen, with boys Shay and Winston in tow. She had to get off the phone. “That sounds good, sistah. See you tomorrow.”

Minutes later Carla sat at the dining room table, laughing loudly and eating heartily with the men in her life—the only ones who rightly belonged there. Brianna’s cheerleading practice would be ending soon and they’d all be home, one happy family. Carla intended to keep it that way.

That Friday night, Stanley kept his word about making love to Carla. After they’d showered, separately, Stanley crawled into bed and on top of Carla. He kissed, or a better description might be pecked at her mouth, his tongue darting in and out like a roach looking for a getaway in a suddenly bright room.

Carla tried to slow the pace, taking her tongue and slowly, lovingly, tracing the outline of Stanley’s mouth, her body grinding against his in a sensuous motion. “Let me on top,” she whispered, as she grasped the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

She then grabbed his buttocks, kneading them in a circular motion, slipping her fingers down its crevice. While this was a tactic Lavon thoroughly enjoyed, the act obviously made Stanley uncomfortable. He shifted his body, reached between his legs, grabbed his shaft and pushed it roughly inside Carla. The familiar, decade-old dance ensued:
pump, pump, pause, pump-pump-pump-pump shift, pump, pump, pause, kiss one nipple, kiss the other, pump, pump, pump, pump, ahhhhhhhhhhhh.
And then it was over—for Stanley.

Carla sighed, even as her eyes welled up with tears. Just as quickly she tamped down the emotions. She would not feel sorry for herself. God was good and she was blessed with a godly man, a wonderful father for her children, a beautiful home, and a nice life. So what she didn’t have the intimacy she desired. It was a small price to pay for what she’d been given.
When Stan met you, you were a single mother in a roach-infested apartment…remember that!
“Yes, remember that,” Carla whispered as she slid softly out of the bed so as not to awaken her husband.
Remember that,
she thought, as she went to the closet and reached for “Denzel.” And she tried to remember, tried to ignore her feelings, tried to embrace the passion for the man who years ago had embraced her. But as she found physical release, with the help of her “monster cock,” it was Lavon, not Stanley, who she remembered, the one who in that moment she knew she could not forget.

Passion smiled as she waited for Lavon to answer his phone. Her ex had just picked up Onyx, who would be spending the next two days with him, his wife, and their recently born son. And Lavon had finally agreed to come over to her place for a home-cooked meal. In the past few weeks, she’d mostly talked with him at church, and aside from a midweek lunch date, hadn’t enjoyed any one-on-one time. She’d tried to be patient, reminding herself that he had been brought in for a time-sensitive project. Still, she wanted more to happen faster, and was glad she was finally going to see him in what she hoped would become an intimate setting. Lavon would only be in town a few more weeks. Whatever was going to happen needed to happen now. The thought of what could happen later on that night caused her to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Lavon said as he answered his phone.

“Hey, Lavon! Oh, nothing. Just a silly thought I had.”

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood.” He was welcoming this feeling because the coffee he’d had a couple days before had left a bad taste in his mouth. Or more like the news that had come with the coffee, that Carla wanted to chill things out. Hopefully Passion would help him honor her wishes. “Uh, yeah, what’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you liked strawberries…before I made dessert.”

“Strawberries are cool,” he responded, remembering the last thighs from which he’d licked whipped cream. But those thighs belonged to someone else, were married to someone else. “Yeah, strawberries are fine. See you later.”

A few hours later, Lavon sat on Passion’s couch, pleasantly full from a dinner of baked chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. Georgia women could sure throw down in the cooking department, although if it were a contest between Carla and Passion, Carla would win. Lavon shook his head to interrupt the thought; he had to try and stop thinking about
Pastor, Mrs
. Carla Lee.

“I wish they’d come back,” Passion said, referring to the R & B group Boys II Men, whose concert DVD was playing on her television. “They’re one of my favorite groups.”

She handed Lavon a saucer of strawberry swirl cake, topped with a sugar glaze and thankfully, no whipped cream.

Lavon could only imagine where Passion would have wanted eating whipped cream to lead and he was determined that Carla would be the only member at Logos Word he screwed. “This is good,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had strawberry cake.”

“My grandmother’s recipe,” Passion said, delighted her dessert was a hit. “Oh, and I’ve got some whipped cream if you’d like.”

“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Lavon responded a little too forcefully. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to cover up this perfection with cream.”

They finished dessert and Passion took their plates to the kitchen. When she came back, she cozied up on the couch next to Lavon, rocking gently as Boys II Men sang about making love. “I’ll make love to you; like you want me to…”

Passion’s mind raced as she sat next to Lavon. On the one hand, she was physically turned on by him and wanted to take their intimacy farther than the few kisses they’d shared so far. On the other hand, however, she’d been celibate five years for a reason: She wanted to “live holy,” as her mother would say, and be married the next time she made love. But it felt so good snuggling up next to this man.
Just a little farther,
she thought as she leaned her head on Lavon’s shoulder and placed his hand in hers.

Lavon shifted his body and placed his arm around Passion. His middle finger drew lazy circles on her upper arm as his other hand stroked her thigh. Passion felt a tug in her lower belly as feathery sensations stoked a dormant fire. She raised her head and placed a light kiss on Lavon’s cheek.

As “Water Runs Dry” flowed into “On Bended Knee,” the conversation lessened and the kisses intensified. Lavon nipped and traced Passion’s full lips with his tongue. His hand moved from stroking her arm to stroking her nipple, its hardened presence protruding under the knit top and silk teddy she wore. The friction caused Passion to gasp, granting Lavon’s tongue full access to her mouth, her own tongue swirling around his, her hands traveling the length of his muscled arm.
Just a little more…

Lavon was a highly sexual man. Despite his pledges to the contrary, his hand was soon inside Passion’s loose knit top and under the teddy. He kneaded her mounds of flesh as he trailed his tongue from her cheek to her neck, planting kisses along the way. Before Passion could decry his mouth leaving hers, his lips fastened onto her nipple, his tongue creating tingles from her breasts to her buttocks.

Passion moaned aloud. Her mind screamed stop even as she parted her legs to grant access to the hand pushing its way between them. Lavon rubbed the fabric covering her treasure while Passion pressed his hand harder against her. Her body demanded more, begged for intimate contact. The clothes were in the way.

“We’ll be more comfortable in my bedroom,” she whispered. They kissed again, and this time it was Passion’s fingers that went on a treasure hunt. Her eyelids briefly fluttered open when she felt Lavon’s large, hard manhood pulsating underneath his light wool slacks. Her body reacted to the possibilities of what this massive piece of muscle could do inside her. “Lavon, I want this,” she whispered, squeezing it gently. “I want this so much.”

Her words wound their way through the lust-induced fog inside Lavon’s brain. This wasn’t Carla, this was Passion, and he was not going to have sex with her. He stopped abruptly and covered Passion’s breasts with her teddy before sitting up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff, his breathing heavy. “I got carried away.”

“I know, me too,” she said. She sat up and away from Lavon even as her body screamed its protest at the sudden end to his physical contact.

“Maybe I’d better go,” Lavon said.

“No, don’t,” Passion responded quickly. She placed a hand on his arm before he could rise, and turned once again to face him. She was suddenly nervous and self-conscious.

“I…” Passion stopped, sighed, and began again. “I am very attracted to you, Lavon. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about anyone.”

“You’re celibate, and I—”

“Yes, it’s been several years since I’ve had sex, but it’s not just your physical presence I enjoy.” Passion forced herself to not look at the outline of his still hardened penis resting almost midway down his thigh. “It’s your sense of humor, our conversations. I like being around you.”

“I enjoy you as well,” Lavon admitted. “But the truth is, I’m only here for a few more weeks. I am involved with someone else. It wouldn’t be right for me to sleep with you.”

That’s right,
Passion remembered.
The lucky woman back in Kansas.
His words caused an ache in Passion’s heart and caused her feelings for him to deepen. They were the words of a good man, an honorable man. She wanted him more than ever…when the time was right. She prayed that one day the time would be right. Her still throbbing body wished the time were now.

“Can I cook you breakfast in the morning?” she asked.

Lavon looked over quickly, his expression quizzical. “Aren’t you listening to me, Passion? I can’t do this with you.” He rose to leave.

She rose with him. “I know you can’t, and as much as I want to make love with you, I know I can’t either. But it’s been so long since I’ve been held by a man, slept next to a man. It’s a lot to ask, but could you maybe just do that? Spend the night and let me fix you breakfast in the morning?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Passion,” Lavon said. “I’m not sure I could keep myself…away from you.”

“Then maybe for a little while, until I fall asleep?” Passion knew she was begging, but she didn’t care. Her longing for male closeness was stronger than her pride.

Lavon looked at the beautiful woman standing before him, size 40-DD breasts barely concealed by a knit top and satiny teddy, wide hips filling out print lounge pants. He watched as Passion nervously moistened her lush mouth with her tongue and smoothed back her black, shoulder-length hair. Lavon hadn’t had sex all week. He was horny, his manhood ached for release. Release stood in front of him, begging him to spend the night.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.

Just a little more
, she thought as she reached for Lavon’s hand to show him the way.