Bless me, for I have sinned.I had impure thoughts-temptations of the flesh. I've harbored lust, and for the very last man I should be harboring it for. A man of God, no less. Except, this man is no angel. He's no saint. In fact, he might just be the Devil. Only Satan himself could set my very skin on fire, and send shivers and filthy want and carnal desires through my soul. No Godly man would look at me like he wants to devour me whole, or peel my innocence and inhibitions away piece. By. Piece. He says he's here in Canaan, Georgia to save our souls. A traveling preacher here to speak the gospel, and deliver us from evil. But a preacher shouldn't be built for sin, like he is. No shepherd should have lips that make his flock weak, or hands that make me ache, or a body that teaches mine the true meaning of original sin.Gabriel Marsden is a wolf in sheep's clothing, and he's leading me astray. He's leading me into temptation, and I can't - and I won't - say no.But you already know all this, don't you, preacher man? You already know every detail of this sordid story. I that man?That man is you.The Devil came down to Georgia. And God help me, I think I'm already lost.
Gabriel~
"And LO!The wrath of the lord was vicious and terrible upon the wicked sinners! Ye, tho thou ist humble before me, thy tithes will ascend you into the Kingdom of Heaven!"
The timing is fucking perfect, too. I pound my fist hard on the pulpit just as the taped organ music hits it's crescendo, blasting through the tinny speakers on the side of the Winnebago. For extra flourish, I splash a handful of the water mixed with glitter and bubble soap from the bowl next to me up into the air. The light catches it and it shimmers around me as it falls back to the ground, and the gathered crowd gasps and ooo's and aaah's.
They eat it the fuck up. Of course they do, and I knew they would, just like I know every crowd that gathers around my Winnebago or under my tent is going to cream their pants for my especially dramatic brand of fire and brimstone sermons.
"Ye! Banish the wicked from thy midsts and bestow thy gifts and tithes upon the steps of the temple!"
The trick is to suggest, not ask. You suggest that they empty their fucking pockets into the bucket at the foot of the pulpit. You suggest that the money in their pocket, or purse, or under their mattress back home is their one-way ticket to the land of salvation, endless summers, warm smiles, playing shuffleboard with the one and only Jesus Christ, or whatever the fuck it is people think is waiting on the other side.
Fuck it, if it's doing lines of blow off Mary Magdalene's tight little ass with Paul and Matthew, that's what I'm giving them. That's what I'm selling them, for the low, low price of whatever I can get them to cough up, and my shame. But, shit, that stock ran out years and miles ago.
"The mighty shall triumph over the wicked! For YE, I am the LORD! And I shall smite the heathen amongst you! Bring tithes upon my church, and my light shall guide you home! Can I GET a hallelujah!"
Ooooh there it is. Like music to my fucking ears. No, not the chorus of hallelujahs that gets called back at me, or the fervently screamed amens. I mean the sound of money hitting the bottom of that collections bucket. I grin and smile down from my perch behind the pulpit at the first customer-a frail old thing clutching a coin purse from the last century. But damn if that purse doesn't seem to have no bottom. She just keeps digging in deep and pulling out fistfuls of coins and wadded up bills and tossing them right in.
"Bless you, preacher!" She crows, beaming up at me as she turns the fucking thing upside and empties it into the bucket.
"No, dear," I smile broadly and piously. "Bless you."
After that, it's like a script playing out. Once the first one starts feeling charitable, the rest of them will follow. They always do, and they sure do here and now. No one wants to get outdone in front of Jesus. No one wants to get stuck with the last seat next to the bathrooms on the bus up to heaven.
One by one, and then in hordes, the gathered crowd brings me their hard-earned cash and dumps it in the donations bucket. If I still had a soul, I might feel a twinge of guilt over this. Luckily, I ditched that pesky fucker years ago.
"Behold! My kingdom opens unto you! For thou shalt cast aside the sinners and the heathens and trample them into the dust when you come forth to bring tithes upon my heavenly gates!"
Fuckin' none of this is from the Bible. I mean, not even fucking close. But you throw in some "ye's" and some "thou shalt's" and a whole bunch of shit about the wicked and the damned, and no one bats an eye. They don't care. Some of them might even know it, but none of them pay it any mind. My customers are the low and humble. They're the lost, desperately looking for answers and salvation. You might say I'm slinging bullshit, or call me a fraud, or a charlatan. I've been called a con man, grifter, huckster, rat-bastard, and far, far worse. But you know what? I own it. Sticks and stones will not break these bones, and words are just fucking words. Words are a sales pitch, and I'm the best fucking salesman any of these yokels has ever seen.
At least, I hope I am, because if I'm not, that's when I get run out of town on rail.
But you know what? So what if it's bullshit. So is TV. So is fucking Facebook. Everyone's selling bullshit and the promise of salvation, one way or another, and for whatever you consider salvation. Booze companies, pill makers, movie producers. They're all selling you their own brand of enlightenment and salvation from the endless shitstorm that is life. So what's wrong with selling folks the comfort of knowing there's a place for them court-side at Jesus's own shuffleboard playoffs?
The money keeps tinkling in, and I grin and look up at the big Georgia sky and the warm, muggy summer sun. I take a deep breath, and my smile widens. I've been up in the Dakotas, and eastern Montana, and a little bit of Wyoming for the last few months, and it's been fucking miserable. Cold nights, dreary days, and the people up north are a different brand of rube. They hang on to those wallets a little bit tighter than these folks.
But God bless southern hospitality, that's all I'll say about that.
I've left the north behind for the season, and Canaan, Georgia is my first stop on what my gut tells me is going to be very profitable little tour of bible country. In my industry, summer in the south is like shooting fish in a barrel. With a bazooka.
The organ music keeps blaring through the speakers, and the money just keeps dropping into the bucket. Oh, but I'm just getting started here. I haven't even begun to shake this town down. The music winds down, and I take a big breath. I beam at them, squaring my broad shoulders and raising my hands high in the air as I close my eyes tightly. Eat your fucking heart out, Billy Graham.
"Brothers! Sisters! Fellow children of our LORD!" I bellow. I even add a little twang to my voice to bring me down beneath the Mason-Dixon. This Carolina boy hasn't forgotten everything about where he came from, after all.
"Who amongst you needs to be cleansed before the Lord! Ye! For thou wast unclean, and my waters made you pure! Thou wast lost, and my gentle washing found you!"
I'm genuinely impressed by my ability to shit pure gold out of my mouth when I want to.
With a dramatic whirl, I turn and storm off the little stage next to the Winnebago and stride over to the big tarp-covered thing. I grab the edge, and with a flourish, I yank the tarp off, revealing the huge, hundred-gallon baptism tank. These fucking things run a mint. Luckily, this particular one was generously donated by a wealthy, uh, parishioner up in Colorado last year. The thing is a bitch to cart around in the trailer on the back of the Winnebago, but it's a fucking money printing machine.
The ooo's and ahhh's from the crowd bring a smile to my face. Day one, and this is already shaping up to be banner haul.
With another flourish, I yank off my flowing robe. I'm wearing a bathing suit and a white undershirt underneath, and I step up to the platform and then slowly descend the stairs into the water. I flex my muscles, roll my shoulders, and crick my neck, and the crowd begins to form into a line, money clenched in their eager fists. God, it's like clockwork, every time. Past them, I can see more cars pulling up to the parking lot next to the field I've set up shop in on the edge of town. More eager customers come bolting across the grass, waving their money.
I smile and help the first man in after he drops his money in the box. I mutter... well, something, but who cares, and then I dunk the guy in water. He comes up sputtering and grinning to the cheers of his friends.
"Bless you, Preacher Gabriel!" he gushes, clutching my hands.
"Bless you for your work!"
Audrey's life came crashing down when her rich parents died and the huge amount of money passed down to her and her siblings were stolen by money obsessed uncle. Her little sister was diagnosed with cancer and needed immediate treatment/ surgery which cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, an amount she couldn't afford. On her way back, she met a woman who proposed a deal, “Sleep with my husband and bear a child and I would give you 25 million dollars, I would double or triple it if it isn't fine by you” Wait, wasn't it just to give birth to a child?. It's not much of a deal after all. .
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Eliana was framed by her best friend and her fiance into sleeping with a boy toy in the club and getting impregnated by him. Five years after she had given birth to twins, she returned home and worked under the Moran Group, where she met the CEO-- Maurice. Maurice was a brilliant businessman who did his job well. But in order to stay under the radar, he lived a double life. One as Maurice, and one as Preston. Fate brought the two together again, roping them in on an exciting love story. It all became more complicated when Eliana faced Preston, the man she had slept with before, once again. Now that she was being pursued by two men, how could she ever choose? When would Eliana uncover the secret of Maurice's identity? When was Maurice going to know that he already had two children of his own? How would Eliana face this man when the truth came to light one day? Come and find out.
Life was a bed of roses for Debra, the daughter of Alpha. That was until she had a one-night stand with Caleb. She was sure he was her mate as determined by Moon Goddess. But this hateful man refused to accept her. Weeks passed before Debra discovered that she was pregnant. Her pregnancy brought shame to her and everyone she loved. Not only was she driven out, but her father was also hunted down by usurpers. Fortunately, she survived with the help of the mysterious Thorn Edge Pack. Five years passed and Debra didn't hear anything from Caleb. One day, their paths crossed again. They were both on the same mission—carrying out secret investigations in the dangerous Roz Town for the safety and posterity of their respective packs. Caleb was still cold toward her. But as time went on, he fell head over heels in love with her. He tried to make up for abandoning her, but Debra wasn't having any of it. She was hell-bent on hiding her daughter from him and also making a clean break. What did the future hold for the two as they journeyed in Roz Town? What kind of secrets would they find? Would Caleb win Debra's heart and get to know his lovely daughter? Find out!
They don't know I'm a girl. They all look at me and see a boy. A prince. Their kind purchase humans like me for their lustful desires. And, when they stormed into our kingdom to buy my sister, I intervened to protect her. I made them take me too. The plan was to escape with my sister whenever we found a chance. How was I to know our prison would be the most fortified place in their kingdom? I was supposed to be on the sidelines. The one they had no real use for. The one they never meant to buy. But then, the most important person in their savage land-their ruthless beast king-took an interest in the "pretty little prince." How do we survive in this brutal kingdom, where everyone hates our kind and shows us no mercy? And how does someone, with a secret like mine, become a lust slave? . AUTHOR'S NOTE. This is a dark romance-dark, mature content. Highly rated 18+ Expect triggers, expect hardcore. If you're a seasoned reader of this genre, looking for something different, prepared to go in blindly not knowing what to expect at every turn, but eager to know more anyway, then dive in! . From the author of the international bestselling book: "The Alpha King's Hated Slave."
The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."
When they were kids, Derek saved Norah's life. Years later, after Derek ended up in a vegetative state from a car crash, Norah married him without a second thought and even used her medical knowledge to heal him. For two years, Norah was devoted, seeking his affection and looking to settle her life-saving debt. But when Derek's first love returned, Norah, faced with divorce, didn't hesitate to sign. Despite being labeled as forsaken, few knew of her true talents. She was a race car driver, a famed designer, a genius hacker, and a renowned doctor. Regretting his decision, Derek begged for her forgiveness. Just then, a charming CEO intervened, embracing Norah and declaring, "Back off! She's my wife!" Taken aback, Norah blurted out, "What did you say?"