The new minister and his wife stood at the front of the sanctuary like they had been placed there by God Himself.
Andrew Hale was everything a residential minister should be—tall, soft-spoken, clean-cut, with a gentle smile that made the older women in the congregation press their hands to their chests. Beside him stood his wife.
Skyler.
Maddox felt his c**k thicken the moment his eyes landed on her.
She was twenty-five, maybe twenty-six, with long honey-brown hair pinned into a modest twist and a soft, full mouth that looked like it had been made for sin. Her dove-gray dress was high-necked and long-sleeved, the kind of clothing chosen to hide a woman’s body. It failed. The fabric clung to the heavy curve of her t**s and the soft flare of her hips in a way that made Maddox’s mouth wat
