Four Deacons Drove Out My Father, So I Brought Them to Their Knees novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Casserole

Isaiah arrives alone with a casserole and his hat in his hand, takes her terms without a question and, on her mother's kitchen table, gives her what she wanted before he leaves his hat behind.

He took his hat off on the porch.

He held it against his chest in one hand and the covered dish in the other.

The porch light made his silver temples look white.

"Miss Gervais," Isaiah said.

"You came alone."

"I told the others I would go first." He looked past me into the dark hall. "Someone ought to see what you meant."

"Come in, Deacon."

He wiped his shoes on the bare boards of the porch, and he followed me down the hall to the kitchen.

I had pulled the sheet off the table and the sheets off two chairs.

Everything else in the room was how my mother left it, down to the calendar on the wall, still turned to the month she died.

Isaiah set the dish on the table.

"Macaroni and cheese," he said. "Calvin said you would not have eaten."

"Calvin told you what I'd eaten?"

"We talk. The four of us. We have for thirty years."

He said it plainly, without apology.

That suited me fine.

"Then they'll hear this from you by morning," I said. "There are four of you, and I want all four."

His face did not change.

He stood with his hat in his hand and let that settle.

"I'm going to have each of you," I said. "One night each. Never the same man twice running. You're first."

"First," he said slowly.

"You signed it."

His jaw moved.

I waited for him to ask me why, or to say a prayer, or to put his hat back on and walk out.

He turned the hat once in his fingers and set it on the table beside the dish.

"I will not say a dead man's name in his daughter's kitchen," he said, "unless she tells me to."

"Don't," I said.

"All right."

"Not now and not in my bed."

"Then I won't," he said.

It was not the answer I had planned for.

I crossed the kitchen and put my hands flat on his chest, and I felt how big he was under the suit, and how steady.

"Take your jacket off," I said.

He did it slowly, and folded it over the back of a chair.

I took his face in both hands and kissed him.

He tasted of peppermint and coffee, and the gold tooth was smooth against my tongue.

For a moment he did not move.

Then a sound came out of his chest, low and rough, and his hands closed on my waist and he kissed me back.

It was a slow, deep kiss from a man who had not been in a hurry in years.

It went through my knees anyway.

He walked me backward until the table edge met the backs of my thighs.

His mouth left mine and went down my throat, slow, and I felt his teeth graze the cord of my neck.

I tipped my head back to give him room.

His hand found the zipper at my back and drew it down.

The black dress I had worn to church slid off one shoulder.

He kissed the bare skin there.

"You have your mother's collarbones," he said.

"Don't talk about my mother."

"Yes, ma'am."

His big hands cupped my breasts through my bra, and his thumbs found my nipples and rubbed until they ached.

I pulled him closer by his belt.

He was already hard against my hip.

"Up," Isaiah said.

He lifted me by the waist and sat me on the wood.

The black dress rode up my legs.

He looked at me, and I looked back.

"You are sure of this," he said.

"I'm sure of you on your knees," I said. "Not tonight. Tonight you can stand."

He made a sound that was almost a laugh.

His big hands pushed my dress up to my hips, and his thumbs hooked in my underwear and drew it down my legs.

He dropped it on the floor.

"Lie back," he said.

I lay back on my mother's table with my head beside his hat.

He put one hand on my stomach to keep me still, and he bent and put his mouth on me.

I cried out at the first stroke of his tongue.

He was slow, and he did not seem to be in any hurry to stop.

He licked me from the bottom to the top in one long drag.

Then he circled my clit with the flat of his tongue, over and over, until my hips lifted.

His hand pressed down on my belly.

"Stay," he said, against me.

"Isaiah."

"Stay."

I stayed.

He slid two thick fingers inside me and curled them, and my back came up off the wood.

He hummed, a low note that traveled through my whole body from the place his mouth was working.

I got my fingers into his short gray hair and held on.

"Right there," I said. "Right there, don't stop, don't you stop."

"I wasn't going to."

He sucked my clit between his lips and worked his fingers.

The pleasure climbed in me until I could not tell the table from the ceiling.

I came with a shout that bounced off every wall of that shut kitchen.

He kept licking me through it, gently, until I pushed at his head.

He did not stop.

He slowed, and then he took my clit between his lips again and moved his tongue in small, fast flicks.

His fingers found the place inside me that made my toes curl.

"Again," he said into my skin. "I want it again."

"I can't."

"You can."

I could.

The second one was deeper than the first, and it dragged a long, broken moan out of me.

My thighs clamped his ears and my heels dug into his back, and I stayed there, shaking, until he lifted his head.

He straightened up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

His eyes were dark, and the gold tooth flashed once.

"Is that what you wanted, Miss Gervais?" he said.

"Not all of it."

I slid off the table on legs that shook and put my hand on his belt.

He caught his breath.

"You don't have to," he said.

"Shut up, Deacon."

I opened his belt and his trousers and took his cock out in my hand.

He was thick and hot and hard already, with a curve to him, and he jerked in my fist.

I stroked him slowly from root to head, and he planted both hands on the table on either side of me.

"Naomi," he said, and caught himself. "Miss Gervais."

"Say it again," I said.

"Miss Gervais."

"Louder."

I tightened my grip and twisted, and his head dropped and his whole big body shook.

He came hard over my fingers with a groan that came up from his boots.

I held him until he was done.

Then I wiped my hand on a dish towel, calmly, because I wanted him to watch me do it.

He tucked himself away and buttoned up.

He put his jacket on and patted its pockets and looked at me for a long moment.

"Calvin will want to know if you're warm enough," he said. "That house has no heat in it."

"Tell him I'll manage."

"Good night, Miss Gervais."

He went down the hall, and I heard the screen door and the truck.

His taillights went down Texas Street, and I stood in my mother's kitchen with my legs still trembling.

His gray hat sat on the table next to the macaroni.

It was the first thing in that house that had a place.

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