🫢unHoly FUCK🫦(DEMO)

I never thought much of my life, at least not until it got picked up by the scruff and dragged down to Alebaster, way down South. Whole town barely scraped together 200 people, if that. Funny thing about the South: everything’s cheaper, even the huge houses. Whole street lined with big white porches, most of them empty or set up for rocking chairs and gossip. I only learned that after I Googled it in a rage, searching for reasons to hate the move even more.

With every tree that whipped past the car window, I rolled my eyes harder. Each minute closer to Alebaster felt like losing another friend, another piece of the life I actually wanted. Daddy landed some job he barely deserved—the local workforce was apparently a dumpster fire, so they threw money at Pa to lure us down, relocation bonus and all. Like it was supposed to help.

They had the gospel station blaring the whole drive, some choir caterwauling about joy and salvation. All I could do was sink lower in my seat, scowling at anything daring enough to cross my gaze. I didn't want salvation. I wanted my old life, my crew, my boyfriend. Everything I gave up for this sweaty nothing-town.

We pulled up to the house at last. I’ll admit, it looked like something out of a magazine—massive, white, long sweeping drive curling up through the trees. All the furniture from home was already there, dropped off by strangers. All that was left was to unpack and pretend we belonged.

Daddy barely stopped the car before the porch. Freshly painted steps, pine needles everywhere. I got out and tossed my eyes around like they could erase the whole scene—one big, lonely, green wet blanket. Moving here wasn’t my choice. Soon, though, I’d be free. A few months til I turned twenty, and you better believe I’d be long gone then. Freedom from Mother and Father—the king and queen of “old school.” Of running my life. I swore I’d never let them.

Mom always called me uncontrollable, and maybe she was right. Maybe I was just allergic to being boxed in, to having some voice in pearls and a muumuu tell me when and where and how. Maybe moving here would chill me out, but don’t count on it.

The house was chaos inside—boxes, couches facing the wrong way, dust catching in the light. But damn, those ceilings were so high you could lose a scream up there. I was almost impressed.

“They didn’t arrange the furniture?” Mom’s lips twisted.

“They’re movers, Janine. Not interior designers.” Daddy was already bored of her complaints, tossing keys on the hall table.

I didn’t wait. I started up the stairs to pick my room, figure out where they stuck all my boxes. I had things to do, things to unpack, and a hell of a lot of myself to reclaim.

An hour later, my clothes were in lumpy mounds on the floor. The vanity looked respectable—foundation stacked by my journal, lipstick at the ready. I was sticky with sweat; Daddy hadn’t bothered with the window unit AC yet. I yanked up the window, nipples spiking through my tank top, not caring. That’s when I saw him—out the back, through a tangle of skinny pines. A house tucked behind ours, looking abandoned, but there in the window—holy shit—a guy, towel slung dangerously low. Dark hair, pale skin. Muscles slacked like he didn’t care who saw. Then he let the towel fall.

My breath clawed right out of my chest. He was fucking magnificent—a slab of abs, cock heavy and hard, swinging as he turned. I was hypnotized, heat pouring low between my legs. He bent to the drawer and, Jesus, everything was on display. Ass, balls, the whole filthy package. Has nobody in this town heard of curtains?

He looked up, eyes catching mine in the mirror. My heart slammed and I ducked, crushed against the wall, panting.

God. Fuck.

A knock at my door. I scrambled, adjusting my tank, praying the red didn’t show on my cheeks. Last thing I needed was Mom figuring out the neighbor was a walking sin parade. I wanted that view for myself, unspoiled.

I cracked the door a finger-width. There she was, all proud smiles. “Show me your room.”

“Can you wait?” I snapped. “I'm about to get dressed.”

She sighed. “Fine. And put something appropriate on, Destiny. Last thing we need is the wrong kind of attention.”

“Mom!” The whine slipped out.

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. I need you to go to the grocery store to grab dinner. Look decent.”

I slammed the door, fuming. She was obsessed with dignity, modesty, whatever-the-hell. I stared down at my reflection—was it so wrong to want to be seen? Especially by him?

I yanked on a dress, slinky and butter-soft, short enough my thighs caught the light. No bra; I liked the way my nipples pressed mean against the fabric. To appease the parental overlords, I threw on an old cardigan. A little compromise, a little rebellion.

A new knock. Mom’s voice chirped: “The neighbors are here! Come down.”

“Neighbors?”

She beamed. “Pastor and his wife.”

I bit my tongue. Of course it was religious folk. Just my luck.

We filed down. Daddy was already shaking hands, all teeth and fake charm.

“This is my daughter, Destiny,” he announced like he was auctioning me to the highest bidder.

“Gorgeous girl!” The pastor’s wife cooed, grabbing me in a soft, powdery hug. “I’m Sara, this is my husband, Pastor Doug.”

“Our son’ll be along any minute,” Pastor Doug rumbled. “He just moved back in. Helping with his sick brother. Drags his feet.”

And then—“Hey.” That voice, low and electric. I swung around. There he was. Naked-from-the-window, but dressed. Stark white shirt, black slacks, smile like a wolf.

He didn’t look away. Neither did I. When he took my hand, his fingers were warm and slow, deliberate.

“I’m Leo.”

I stumbled over my name, cheeks burning. “De—Destiny.”

Mom leapt on the moment. “Why don’t you all join us for dinner tonight?”

Sara clapped her hands. “I’ll bring dessert!”

“Destiny is gonna go grab some things from the store after we figure out where it is. Spaghetti sounds good, right?” Mom was way too eager.

Sara piped up. “Leo can go with her! Walk you through town, show you the sights.”

Leo grinned, eyes on me like he already knew my secret. I shot him a look: don’t get ideas.

Mom intervened. “That’ll be good.”

Shortly after, mom wrote a shopping list that I snatched from her and then I swept back outside, passing Leo on the porch. He waited, hands on hips, the ghost of that towel scene dancing in his eyes. I stomped past him on the steps, shoulders squared.

He trailed, laughing low. I felt him watching, and I liked it. Maybe I’d give him a real show, see what a preacher’s kid could handle.

We hiked to his truck—big, red, mean as a bull. I slid in, cranking the AC. The second we hit the road, he flicked his gaze over.

“Like what you saw?” Not a question.

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I—I didn’t—”

He laughed, all teeth and razors. “Didn’t what? Gawk at my balls while I bent over? Did you count the hairs on my ass?”

“Jesus, Leo!” Gross, but my thighs squeezed together, slick already.

“I don’t mind the audience. Just wish I’d had a show myself. You’re window’s across from mine—maybe I want something in return. Fair’s fair.”

His stare raked my chest and back up. “How about a little flash now, blondie?”

“What—are you crazt?” I hugged that cardigan closer.

He snorted. “Don’t get righteous, Destiny. I saw your face. I know what you want.”

I sucked my teeth, looking out the window. “You’re a creep.”

“The best kind.” He drove quiet the rest of the way, but I could feel the heat between us thick as sweat.

The grocery store was tiny and smelled like old bananas. I loaded our cart with what Mom wanted—meats and sauces, drinks, cookies, veggies, breath mints just in case. Leo carried the heavy stuff, veins popping in his forearms, cocky grin never leaving his lips.

Back at the car, he loaded everything up. I kept stealing glances at him. At what I’d already seen—at what I wanted more of.

We passed our parents loitering under a tree on the sidewalk up the street from our house, Sara showing off the post office. Leo leaned over, voice pitching low.

“Thanks, Destiny,” Mom trilled from the cluster. “You guys drop off the stuff. I’ll be back to start supper!”

“Gonna make it creamy?” Leo’s drawl had filth soaked into it, but she missed it.

“It always is,” Mom said, excited.

Leo licked his lips. “Can’t wait to taste.”

Pastor Doug piped up: “Son’s got an appetite, just warning you.”

Dad smacked his back. “We like boys who eat. She’ll cook two pots.”

“Go before the food spoils” Mom said, waving us home.

Leo cranked the window up and took off. I glared.

“What the fuck was that?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Just love my sauce creamy, is all.”

I sucked in a breath. “You’re not right. Did the pastor forget to bless you or something?”

Leo smirked, eyes hard on the road. “He thinks I’m made of gold. College grad, all-star little brother. Trophy son. You?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m Destiny. I do whatever the hell I want.”

He grinned, slow and devilish. “You could have chosen to go by yourself if I bother you so much. But you didn’t.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to hear my mother’s mouth. Maybe I just wanted to grab groceries,” I snapped. But we both knew better.

He parked, and I leapt out, grabbing the bags on my own, slamming the front door shut with my sneaker, and dumped them on the kitchen counter. I didn’t want him in my space, didn’t want to want him. Then I heard footsteps creeping from behind. I spun; it was just Dad, grabbing a package of cookies and disappearing to the couch. Leo, it turned out, knew his place—for now.

Mom bustled in behind me, yanking my dress down. “You’ll scandalize us in that. Leo—the pastor’s son. Dresses so well. Such an angel.”

I nearly laughed. “Yeah right.”

“He’s in real estate, making money. Stand-up boy. You could learn something.”

“I’m not doing real estate.”

Mom kept at it, trying to help or control me—sometimes it was hard to tell.

That evening, I dreaded dinner. Church folk, double helpings of pity and nosiness. I knew eventually Mom would try to draw us into their congregation, and I'd have to sit smiling through it all.

Upstairs, I flopped on my bed. I kept picturing Leo’s look—his mouth, the way he said my name. All that badness behind the church pants and Sunday smile. Made me want to see what else he was hiding.

I prowled through my closet, wicked smile splitting my lips. Time for something bolder—something more me. I pulled a cute, orange summer dress, one that would make mom flip. I planned to shower, so I stripped. Naked, I strode to the window. And there he was, folding clothes in his room, back to the glass.

Without a word, I rapped on the pane. He turned. Saw me standing there, skin bare and unapologetic. He grinned, cocked a brow.

I cupped my tits, pinched a nipple, ran my hands down my body and let him watch a second longer.

Now we were even.