“Yeah,” he whispered and the gravelly note to that word made me ride his fingers harder.

“We…have to show. I…promised,” I forced out. “The charity needs the press.”

“Mm,” Preacher hummed.

I dropped my forehead to his and breathed, “God, Preacher.”

“Keep ridin’, baby,” he encouraged. “Oh, yeah,” he growled when I did.

I glided my hands down his shirt to his trousers.

“Want you,” I panted.

I heard a whirring noise that didn’t last long and Preach ordered, “Drive around awhile.”

“Yeah, Preacher,” the chauffer said.

The whirring noise came back just as I freed him from his pants.

His fingers went out of my panties, and he pushed his slacks over his hips while I claimed his hard cock.

Preacher tugged my panties aside, I positioned him, my eyes staring into his, and I bore down.

He clamped onto my ass with both hands and groaned, “Fuck.”

My forehead still to his, I took him, he let me, his fingers pulsing into my flesh with encouragement before he moved one hand around and found my clit with his thumb.

I gasped, took him harder, and he pushed me over the edge right before he jumped off with me.

I was sitting on his cock, my face in his neck, and Preacher was trailing his fingertips lightly on the skin of my ass and thighs when I came down.

Then suddenly, skating my gown up my back, his arms clamped around me.

“Ditch this shit,” he rumbled.

“Honey—”

I was about to remind him why we had to appear at this event when he interrupted me, sharing precisely what he wanted to ditch.

“Take you to a mountain somewhere. Somewhere they can’t get to us. Build you a house. Fill you with babies. Make our lives about nothin’ but you and me and our family.”

My man was tired of it.

It had become a grind.

Something he loved had become a grind.

And it was all about him, all on him.

The guys, they were great.

But none of them carried the weight like Preacher.

I had to get him to a place where he could breathe, remember how much he loved this, get him into a zone where he could just pick up his guitar and play because he wanted to.

Not because he had to.

But I had to wait to get him to that place.

Because the pressure was still on.

I tipped my head to press my lips on the underside of his jaw and whispered, “We’ll do that. Maybe after the tour.”

“I want you going with me.”

I lifted my head up and looked down at him.

“What?” I asked.

“I want you on the tour with us.”

He always wanted me on tour with him.

He always wanted me with him.

But this sounded different.

And although that concerned me, I had other concerns that took precedence.

“Preacher, I don’t have a job.”

“I do.”