Playing With Her Priests: A MFM Menage Romance

By S.E. Law

My growly, alpha AF pastors broke the ultimate vow in order to be with me.

When Pastors Jordan and Jason stepped up to the pulpit, the breath caught in my throat. These were the new pastors at the Village Church? The men had perfect lips, tattoos swirling up their forearms, and cocky, knowing smiles that made my heart race. In fact, all the female congregants let out a collective sigh when Pastors Jason and Jordan got up to preach.

But Jason and Jordan are no average men of the cloth. The two handsome priests are godliness personified, yet with a taste for sin.

Because I’ve taken a Promise Vow. It’s a vow to keep myself sacred and pure for the touch of my future husband …

… but these priests are temptation personified.

Not only will they show me the Garden of Eden but they’ll put the apple in my mouth by doubling down every time we’re together. Jason and Jordan were taught in divinity school to be shepherds to their flock …

… but what happens when shepherds lose their way?

Reader beware: This book is *wildly inaccurate* and does not seek to represent the teachings of any particular church or denomination. But if you’ve ever dreamed about a hot preacher while drifting off into fantasy, then you’ll definitely adore Pastors Jason and Jordan. Let yourself engage in some hedonism for a fun-loving romp that breaks all the rules: real and make-believe.

As always, my books have a HEA with no cheating and no cliffhangers. This story is all about HER and no swords cross.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.E. Law Romance Author
• Release date: Nov 4, 2020

Book preview

cliffhangers.

1

Mira

Okay, everyone. The homework is on the syllabus. I also have office hours today, so please don’t hesitate to come to me with any questions.

Notebooks are shut, pens are capped, and materials are packed away into backpacks and purses. Class is over, and it’s time for everyone to leave. I’m still getting used to class ending without a bell but it feels like such a high school problem. No one else seems to be hesitant about exiting once the teacher dismisses us, but I guess I’m still conditioned to get out of my seat after a very particular ringing sound.

But now I am out of class, and whew! That one happened to feel extra-long today. It’s not that the teacher took any longer to teach, but I thought the hands on the clock were never going to get to their destination. It was just a survey course. Since I haven’t picked a major yet, Gen Eds are all I’m currently taking. I’m really hoping to pick an emphasis by the end of the semester because it feels like I don’t have much direction yet. My aunt told me not to worry about it too much because I’m young, but my scholarship won’t last forever, especially if I don’t do anything with this opportunity. 

At the very least I have an idea of what I want. Art has always been of interest to me because it fills me with light and inspiration. That sounds along the right lines, doesn’t it? As a result, I talked to an advisor informally, and she suggested I look into the Art History major. Hmm, maybe. It’s worth a thought.

But I can’t even think about the future because right now my tummy is rumbling. Maybe class felt long because it’s mid-afternoon and I am starving. Zero side of existential crisis, just hunger, pure and simple. And actually, it’s a couple of hours past noon. We are deep into the day at this point and my stomach literally cramps a bit from being empty.

My class schedule is a little weird, so I’ve been having pretty late lunches. It’s okay because a snack here and there keeps me sustained, but today I forgot my snack of berries and yogurt. As a result, my stomach is rumbling up a storm, and I feel ready to tear apart a sandwich like a wild animal.

I guess college is taking some adjusting to, since I’m used to my mom preparing meals for our family every day. It’s my first time on my own, away from my hometown in a new city, and everything feels jarring. Learning how the subways worked took me an entire week, and I almost ended up in the Bronx a few times.

But I think I’ve handled it well so far. At least, after that first incident when I got off at Pelham Parkway and looked around, utterly confused. The people were different, the buildings seemed smaller, and even the Starbucks looked strange. It was then that I realized I was in a different borough altogether, and I got straight back onto the train while shaking my head.

But that’s okay. This is what New York is about. I’m so excited to be here for college, and away from the small town I grew up in. Plus, the food is amazing. I love trying new cuisines and they have everything here, from Ethiopian to Kurdish food. Who even knew that there was such a thing as Kurdish food? But I love kubbeh and tashreeb because who doesn’t love veggies wrapped in hot, toasty naan bread? Definitely not me.

I want to rush off to get me some food right now, but I’m waiting for my friend Jessie. We try and eat together a couple times during the week, and I love spending time with her. She was the first friend I made when I got here and really the only real friend I’ve made so far. She’s a born and bred New Yorker which makes her an absolute godsend because with Jessie by my side, navigating the city became one hundred times easier. She taught me all the tips and tricks, like where to get a metro card and how to tell whether a bus is going uptown or downtown.

But now I’m really starving, and I don’t see Jessie’s typically excited self bounding down the hallway. I’m a little tempted to just go and get some food. I feel really bad ditching her like this, but I can’t get my stomach to calm down and it sounds like the Loch Ness monster somehow got trapped in there and is splashing about furiously. Jessie wouldn’t mind, right? She likes the Loch Ness monster, after all. Unlike me, my friend is a science person, and she adores reading sci fi and fantasy. She loves talking about things like Star Trek and King Arthur, although those subjects bore me, to be honest. I’m more into the hunky highlanders and warrior-like Vikings in my romance novels. Now those are a lot more exciting.

I decide to shoot her quick text.

Sry babe. Too hungry to wait. Meet you in the café!

She will most definitely understand. Jessie is really a great friend, and she gets my intense love of food because she’s also a curvy girl. I couldn’t have asked for someone better to get me through university.

I head to the cafeteria and get in line. I am so hungry. All the food laid out beneath the sneeze glass has my belly rumbling. I start piling it onto my tray, one dish after another. My eyes are probably bigger than my stomach, but that’s irrelevant. Right now, I just need sustenance bad.

I end by picking up two peanut butter and jellies right before paying. The sandwiches were just sitting there, looking so delicious, tempting me with their golden crusts and oozing red jam. Even with all the food already on my tray, the craving was so strong and so sudden that I had to grab them. A sandwich is really going to hit the spot. Just imagining the nutty taste combined with that fruity goodness had me salivating in line.

I finish putting away my wallet and find an empty table. Jessie still isn’t here, but I know she’ll stroll in soon. Her class lets out about ten or so minutes after mine, so she’ll see my text and head down. 

I may as well start eating, though. My stomach is making way too much noise for me to just keep staring at all this food, and it all looks so good.

I begin unwrapping one of my sandwiches when I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s probably Jessie, ready to give me a piece of her mind for not being able to wait just five minutes. Smiling, I turn my head 

Sorry, I didn’t–, I say, stopping when the person standing behind me isn’t my best friend. Instead, I come face-to-face with Cindy Parson, queen of the mean girls.

I don’t like to think of her as my mortal enemy because that kind of thinking feels quite ungodly to me. Part of what gets me through my days is the power of prayer, and I don’t want to ruin my efforts to be good by dwelling on bad thoughts. Hopefully though, my devotion will get me through these next few moments, which I can already tell are going to be challenging.

What are you sorry for, Mira? Cindy asks, condescendingly.

Nothing, I mumble. That wasn’t meant for you.

I’ve never understood why Cindy dislikes me so much, but ever since our first day of classes, she’s had it out for me. I honestly think the only thing I’ve ever said to her was hi. Maybe she felt like it was a sassy hi, and has hated my guts ever since.

Even more appalling, I always thought this clique-y bullying business was part of high school, and that I’d leave it all behind when I went on to college. At least, that’s what all the books I read said. People were finally going to be able to spread their wings and find their footing, and give up their need to taunt others. It’s all rooted in insecurity, said the books, and I believed it fervently. But so far, those books haven’t been accurate.

Whatever, it’s unimportant, Cindy says while waving her hand dismissively. However, I see you haven’t taken my advice. 

Judy, Trish and Pia, part of the mean girls’ clique, snicker behind her. They’re all carbon copies of one another, and Cindy is their leader. Perfect Cindy with her long, straight blonde hair, her make up always perfectly done, and that sickly sweet smile.

What advice? I ask hesitantly. I certainly don’t remember anything. She lets out a loud, theatrical sigh.

You know that bread makes you fat, right? They’re carbs and your body doesn’t process carbs well. But I guess you’re not really worried about that, are you? Too little, too late?

I, um…

"You’re literally just eating sugar and fat with all that peanut butter and jelly. The jelly is the sugar and the peanut butter is the fat. In fact, everything on your plate is just going to make you bigger. Like, you don’t need any more of that in your body. Come on, Mira. Aren’t you tired of being disgusting? You have to be. I would be if I looked like you." 

I have no idea what to say. What am I supposed to say? Whichever way I answer her question, it’s going to make me look like an idiot. And this faux concern she’s preaching is getting on my nerves. I don’t think I could form a coherent comeback even if I wanted to.

Aren’t you going to say anything? one of Cindy’s cronies titters.

I don’t know, I just like PB&Js, I guess, I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. That’s all I can think of in reply. But also, it is really that simple. I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so I got two. Why can’t they accept that and leave me alone? Would it be different if I preferred ham and cheese?

The girl crew scoffs and rolls their eyes. Their plates are a far cry from mine, consisting of nothing but small bits of salad and glasses of water. I’ve seen them around enough times to realize they don’t eat carbs, sugar, gluten, fat, and definitely not salad dressing. 

And while I don’t understand that, I respect their choice to put what they want in their bodies. But I don’t understand why they can’t extend the same courtesy to me.

Cindy looks at me with disgust in her eyes.

It’s called having self-control, Mira. Maybe you should get some. 

What is she talking about? Self-control what? I eat because I’m hungry, not because I don’t have any self-control. That’s a myth when it comes to weight gain. People think that curvy girls have no self-control and stuff themselves with donuts when they should be working out. But it’s not true. Everyone in my family is chubby, and I’m no exception. It’s genetic, but I guess Cindy doesn’t realize that.

Moreover, with each passing second, I’m more and more uncomfortable. The stress of this encounter is weighing down on my shoulders, and pushing the air out of my lungs, making me feel nauseous.

Before I can fashion a reply, a few football players swagger over. One of them, Jet McCall, is a big man on campus with a pristine white letter jacket and charcoal black hair. But he’s got a mean glint in his eyes, and he walks straight up to Cindy and whispers something in her ear. She giggles before looking back at me and making me squirm. What they say to my face is already horrible, so what they say in secret is probably worse. But then again, I’m so irrelevant that it might have nothing to do with me at all.

Well, it’s been nice helping the less fortunate, but now it’s time for me to get back to my much better life. Toodles, she wiggles her fingers goodbye. Don’t eat too much because it’s disgusting to see you stuff your face, Mira. And totally unnecessary, seeing that you already have plenty of extra padding.

Her little crew giggles and follows her to another side of the cafeteria, a pack of football guys trailing behind them like lapdogs. God. I hate my life and wish I could sink into the floor. Why am I being bullied, even at age eighteen? I’m too old for this, right?

The worst part is that Cindy is really beautiful. She’s got long, golden-blonde hair that swishes left and right while she walks, and clear, cerulean blue eyes that look so innocent. I’ve always wanted to look like her, but it’s impossible. With my curly brown hair, mud-color eyes, and curvy figure, I’m just cast from a different mold.

As I watch Cindy’s crew walk away, I notice that Jessie has come into the cafeteria. Her tray looks similar to mine. We both have similar appetites and have bonded over our relationship with food, but at least Jessie makes me feel like I’m not wholly defined by it. Plus, she’s also had struggles with her body image, the way many women do.

Jessie scurries over, head down, and takes the seat across from me.

Hey, she says.

Hey. 

We sit in silence for a little bit, neither one of us doing or saying anything. The look on her face tells me she probably heard every last word of what Cindy said. I squirm with shame, my cheeks flushing red. It feels like it’s getting harder and harder to deal with the mean words thrown at me. I thought ignoring it would work, but the words are burrowing deeper into my brain.

Cindy’s a real bitch, you know that? Jessie offers finally. I know what she’s trying to do, play off what just happened as nothing. And I nod because I know what she’s saying is true. Obviously, Cindy is a class A asshole. I mean anyone who goes around making fun of people is a total piece of crap. That doesn’t make what she said sting any less. 

Because it’s not fair. It’s not like I’m the only big girl at this school. There are a lot of different people here, and we’re also smack dab in the middle of New York City, with all kinds of folks out and about every day. But somehow, Cindy was able to pick up on my insecurities.  She zeroed in on me and started poking, making me squirm with pain.

After all, my weight has always been a problem for me. My mom put me on my first diet in the sixth grade. I was eleven. Eleven! Then my parents actually sent me to a fat camp one summer. It worked, sort-of. I lost fifteen pounds over three months, but I was so hungry the entire time. And when I got back, I put on twenty pounds within the space of six months. What a waste of money.

As you can see, nothing ever worked for me. I tried eating right, exercising, anything I could think of, but I am just destined to be on the bigger side of things.  I know my momma meant well, but my self-esteem really took a massive hit from those lose-weight-quick schemes, and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.

I really thought moving out here and starting out somewhere where no one knew me would be the what I needed to reinvent myself. New York is supposed to be the city of possibilities and new beginnings. But all my hometown anxiety followed me, and now, I feel like a fish out of water. 

Mira, are you okay? Jessie places a comforting hand on mine, as I try to put on a brave face.

Yeah, I’m just not very hungry anymore, I manage with a weak smile. I think I’m going to go for a walk or something. To clear my thoughts. I start to get up and Jessie follows suit.

Let me go with you.

No, please, I’d rather be alone. If that’s okay? Jessie is amazing and my best friend, but sometimes, I just need a little bit of space from the world so I can get my head back on right. My friend nods and sits back down with understanding in her eyes.

You have my number if you want to talk. I thank her and leave, taking my tray with me. On my way out, I dump all my food in the trash. I know there are children starving elsewhere in the world, but I don’t think I could eat it at this point. All I’d see is Cindy’s cruel face laughing at me.

I need to get away from all the people here. 

I go to the closest bathroom and lock myself in a stall. The tears I was holding back start to fall. Deep down I know she’s just lashing out for whatever reason, and it really has nothing to do with me, but that doesn’t stop my crying. It doesn’t make me any less self-conscious about the way I look. I feel like such an idiot sobbing in the bathroom. Who even does this? It’s like I’m in middle school all over again.

Yet, I feel like a loser. A complete and total loser in this cramped, smelly toilet stall with my shoulders heaving. Maybe I should just leave campus, although there’s nowhere around here that I really want to be. Plus, this is a small city and there’s always a chance of running into Cindy, and I know I won’t be able to keep it together in front of her if she decides to go off on me again.

Oh wait. There is one place I’ve found that always makes me feel better when I’m there. Not many bullies would think to look in my sacred spot, that’s for sure.

I wipe away my tears and resolve to seek this sanctuary while straightening my clothes. I can’t look like a complete and total mess on the subway. At the very least, I’ll keep my dignity under the crazy florescent lights. Thankfully, where I’m going, it’s not about appearances.

I take the long way out of the school to avoid running into too many people. I’m sure my eyes are red, so I keep my head down with my bangs hiding my face. The subway stop is close to the school, and once I’m underground, I swipe myself in. 

It looks like I have a little bit of luck because a train arrives less than a minute after I step on the platform, and it’s fairly empty so I can get a seat without having to worry about taking up too much space. It sounds inane, but I’m always worried about taking up too much space. I avoid commuting hours because I know the train will be packed, and I’m worried people will give me dirty looks for having such a wide circumference. When I travel on certain types of transportation, I buy two seats, so no one has to sit next to me and be worried about my fat spilling into their space.

How sad. What college girl should be having these thoughts? But it’s one of the indignities of being a curvy woman.

Fortunately, the train arrives at my destination within a few minutes, so I hop off, walking up the subway stairs. My sanctuary is about a ten-minute stroll away. It’s a nice amble, though, through one of the few neighborhoods in the city with a lot of trees lining the sidewalks. The sun shines through the leaves and the dapples on the ground make me smile in spite of myself. I feel better already.

I take my time, finding calm and solace being outside among some vegetation, even if it’s in the middle of the concrete jungle. It allows me to think. I ruminate on all kinds of things during that ten minute stroll, and finally end up outside the Village Church.

This is it. It’s a non-descript brick building that was converted from a coffee shop a few years ago. But inside, peace awaits me. After all, I’ve always turned to God for guidance, and today isn’t any different. I know he won’t let me down, and while he’s never explicitly answered me, my faith and devotion tell me that even through this hardship, he’ll be there with one hand on my shoulder.

I walk up the stairs and push open the door. It’s silent inside, and a bit gloomy and dark, which is okay. I take a deep inhale and then walk into the nave, breathing in that distinct church smell.

This is it. My safe place. My sanctuary. As I sink into one of the hard wooden pews, my heart slows its rapid pace and my breathing evens a bit. I will find myself, and God will heal my hurt, here in this sacred spot.

2

Jordan

Do you have any idea what sermon you’re going to give this Sunday? 

I look over at my fellow pastor and best friend and let out a long sigh. It’s not Jason’s fault that I’m frustrated. He hasn’t done anything except try to help. It’s really all on me.

After all, the end of the week is getting closer, and I have intense writer’s block. This week is my week to give a rousing, moving sermon, and I’m dropping the ball big time. Damnit.

Jason and I alternate when it comes to sermons. Usually, he sermonizes one week, and then I go the next. Or he might do two in a