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The Preacher Man Excerpt

 

Gloria pulled out the deck of cards, shuffled them, and chose one. She lay it face up on the table and a slow smile spread across her lips. She pulled the embroidered shawl more closely around her shoulders as she stared down at the card lying on the table.

The world began to spin away, sucking her inside the vortex. A rush of pleasure rose within her as it always did when she made the passage to the Void. It was a place where anything could happen, and often did.

It existed between worlds, between dimensions–a place of wanting, of coveting. Of taking. Her bare feet encountered solid ground. Slowly, she opened her eyes. A soft glow from above filtered into the darkness. It was like being enclosed in the blackest night.

Her gaze encountered a solitary figure in the distance. She clasped the long shawl close and sauntered toward the other person she had summoned to the Void.

He was dressed in somber black, a stern expression on his face, clasping a book with both hands.

That remote look of him had been what had first drawn her to him. Sitting week after week in the third pew she'd studied him, wanted him. Wanted to reach past that wall of piousness to find the man inside. His gaze had come to rest on her more frequently through the long months. She knew he hated himself for his response to the young dark-eyed gypsy woman who sat watching him every week.	Tonight she decided he had been primed long enough and the waiting was over. Sampling him would be a pleasure. She never tasted piousness before and she relished the chance to sample him. Would he taste the same as other men?

"Hello, Preacher Man," she greeted him a low, silky voice.

He turned and pinned her with a vitriolic stare.

"You. How have you brought me here? Why?"

She allowed the shawl to drop to the ground. "Why do you think?"

"Harlot," he growled. "I want no part of your sinfulness."

She chuckled as she moved closer ...

 

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