girllllll wya , please don’t go mia on us🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader
A/N: Babes I’m back with a lot of drafts soooo😝
Warnings: Dry humping/grinding ig🤭
You’re still rolling lip gloss over your mouth when your phone buzzes again.
Sammie: Come outside, baby.
You suck in a breath, give yourself one last look in the mirror. Tight baby tee that hugs your chest just right, black shorts hugging your hips, hair piled up in a lazy bun. You tell yourself it’s casual, but you know exactly what you’re doing.
When you step out, the night air kisses your skin, cool on your bare legs. There Sammie is leaned against his car with his phone in hand, chain catching the porch light. He smirks the second he sees you.
“Damn.” He walks around and opens the passenger door from his side, hand brushing your waist as you slide in. “You really gon’ wear that out here with me? Knowing I’m tryna behave?”
You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Sammie, it’s literally a T-Shirt and shorts. Be serious.”
“Mmhm. Them thighs ain’t serious. Them thighs a whole joke I’ma have to tell twice.”
You swat at his shoulder. “Boy, if you don’t get in this car…”
He shuts your door, still chuckling, then slides behind the wheel. As he backs out the driveway, your house growing smaller in the mirror, you give him a little side eye.
“You know it’s real bold of you to pull up to my people’s house like this. In the middle of the night. Somebody could’ve been on the porch with a belt or a shotgun.”
Sammie hums like he’s thinking it over, but his hand just slides over to rest on your thigh. Warm. Heavy. Thumb brushing slow circles into your skin.
“And if they was? I’d’a said I’m takin’ you to get some air. Church Girl needs fresh air, don’t she?” He shoots you a look that has your stomach doing somersaults. “Plus… I think they like me already.”
You try to look unimpressed, crossing your legs forcing his hand a little higher. “You’re lucky they don’t know you like I do.”
He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Oh yeah? How you know me then, huh?”
“I know you’re a handful,” you mutter, staring out the window to hide your grin. “A full-time job.”
You smack his arm and he just laughs, hand squeezing your thigh in a way that makes your breath catch.
When the car finally rolls to a stop, you look out and your jaw drops. The moon’s sitting over the water, painting the beach silver. There’s a blanket laid out on the sand with a little cooler and a brown paper bag, like something out of a cheesy romance flick.
You blink at him, mouth falling open. “Sammie…”
He leans over to unbuckle your seatbelt, then drops a quick kiss on your forehead. “Come on, hard head. Got somethin’ for you.”
When you step out and walk toward the blanket, you see what’s inside the bag some peach cobbler, chocolate bars, two little cans of mango juice. There’s even sketch paper and colored pencils scattered like he’d been drawing while organising.
“Is this a picnic?” you whisper, suddenly shy. “For me?”
He’s already spreading himself out on the blanket, looking up at you with that lazy grin. “Who else, Church Girl? Sit down. Before I gotta pull you down here.”
You plop beside him, trying to hide how hard you’re smiling. But Sammie notices everything.
He leans close, breath warm on your ear. “I like when you act tough. Knowin’ good and well you soft for me.”
Your cheeks burn. “Sammie, shut up.”
You swat at him again and he catches your wrist, presses a kiss to your knuckles. “You so pretty. You know that?”
You’re too flustered to look at him, so you fidget with the pencils. “Stop. You just sayin’ that ‘cause I got shorts on.”
“Nah.” His voice drops low. “I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true. You look good in everything. Bet you look even better without it.”
Your head snaps around and he just winks.
“Draw me somethin’,” he murmurs after a moment, nodding to the sketch pad. “Anything. So I can keep it. Tell people that’s my girl’s art.”
Your mouth falls open. “I am not your girl!”
Sammie just smirks, eyes dark and teasing. “Yet.”
You spend the next hour like that him picking at the cobbler, you half doodling flowers and hearts. Every time your hand strays too close, he grabs it and kisses your fingers like he can’t help himself. And every single time, you tell him he’s ridiculous, even while you’re leaning in for more.
Finally he just lays back on the blanket, tugging you down so your head’s on his chest. You can feel his heart, steady under your ear and he strokes your arm in lazy patterns.
“Thanks for comin’ out with me,” he says, voice husky, almost sleepy. “I just wanted to… I dunno. Be with you somewhere quiet.”
You smile into his shirt. “You’re a lot sweeter than you pretend to be.”
His laugh rumbles under your cheek. Then his hand tilts your chin up and he kisses you slow, deep, like he’s savoring every bit of you.
And when you finally pull back, breathless, Sammie just stares down at you with that soft little smirk.
“Next time,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip, “I’m pickin’ you up earlier. ‘Cause this ain’t enough time for us.”
And you can’t even pretend to be hard no more. Not when your whole heart’s laid out right there on his chest.
It’s Sammie’s idea to put on some music some old school slow jam that drips honey and heartache so he tugs you up and pulls you into a dance right there on the sand. His hands are all on your waist, yours looped lazy around his neck, the two of you swaying under the moon like there’s no one else in the world.
“You really got me out here slow dancin’,” you whisper against his shoulder.
But then, just as you’re starting to really melt into him, the sky cracks open and fat drops start to fall. Sammie curses, laughing as he pulls his flannel up over both your heads. You squeal and tug his hand, running toward the car with the rain chasing you.
By the time you’re inside, your shoulders are wet, hair frizzing up at the edges. Sammie shakes the water from his curls and starts the engine. The heater kicks on with a sigh.
But you don’t want to go. Not yet.
So you reach over, put your hand on his and turn the key back. The car dies into silence.
Sammie’s eyebrows shoot up. “What’s up with you?”
You look at him, heart beating stupid fast, and whisper, “I don’t wanna go home now.”
Sammie tilts his head, mouth curling at the corner. “Yeah? So what you wanna do then, Church Girl?”
You don’t answer. Just crawl right over the console into his lap. His big hands catch your hips automatically, steadying you like its instinct.
He huffs a little laugh, his breath warm against your neck. “Oh? Church Girl got bold now.”
“Shut up.” You swat at his shoulder but you’re already grinning, already leaning in to kiss him.
And when your lips meet, it’s like every thought you had about being good and measured flies right out the fogged up windows. You grind against him slow, feeling him grow hard under you, and he groans into your mouth.
“Damn, baby,” he mutters, hands sliding from your waist to cup your ass, squeezing. “Been wantin’ you like this.”
Your breath hitches when his hands slip under your tee, rough palms warm against your skin. He thumbs over your ribs, then your breasts, groaning when he feels how soft you are.
“You always gotta touch everything,” you tease against his mouth, breathless.
“‘Course I do.” He nips at your bottom lip, hands roaming greedy and wide. “Look at you. How I’ma keep my hands off?”
When you rock your hips again, he tips his head back with a low curse. His hands slip up to cradle your face, pulling you down into another messy, heated kiss. You’re so lost in it you don’t even notice how the rain’s still falling, pattering gentle against the roof, how the whole world’s gone quiet except for you two.
And Sammie, always with his mouth on yours, always with those hands exploring like he’s trying to memorize you, pulls back just enough to murmur, voice wrecked:
“You gon’ be the death of me, Church Girl.”
You smile, cheeks hot, lips swollen and whisper right back, “Guess I’ll have to pray for you then.”
He laughs, low and dark and pulls you back in like he couldn’t even stop if he tried.
His laugh rumbles against your chest, hands gripping your waist tighter, pulling you flush against him.
“Yeah? Pray harder, baby. Might need a whole deliverance service if you keep movin’ like that.”
You roll your eyes even as your thighs tighten around him. “You so dumb.”
“And you so fine.” He kisses you again, deeper this time, tongue slick and slow, tasting you like he’s starving. His hands roam from your face back down to your ass, thumbs digging in, pulling you against the hard press of him. “Mmm. Been thinkin’ about this since you slid in my car with them lil shorts on.”
“You only came to see me so you could feel up on me,” you tease, breath shaky.
“That’s not true you know even though I’m not complaining,” he says, grinning, eyes dark. “But I really wanted to see you smile. You light me up, Church Girl. Don’t even know.”
You hate how your heart stutters at that, how your belly flips like you’re sixteen and clueless. So you hide it, press your lips back to his, grind down slow and deliberate. He groans, hips lifting into yours.
“Fuck, Y/N… keep doin’ that.”
“You got no patience,” you whisper against his jaw, nibbling there just to feel him shiver.
“I got patience. Just not when it comes to you.”
His hands slip under your tee again, thumbs brushing over your nipples through your bra, sending a shock straight to your core. You gasp, forehead dropping to his.
His eyes flutter shut like it’s a prayer. He mouths at your throat, sucking gentle marks there, mumbling between kisses, “Could stay like this forever. You in my lap, actin’ all innocent when I know you not.”
You laugh, half breathless, half scandalized. “I am innocent.”
“Liar.” He bites your earlobe, then soothes it with his tongue, hands sliding up your back under your shirt. “You know what you do to me.”
And for a while, that’s all it is hands wandering, mouths chasing, his hips rocking slow under yours like he can’t help it. The car windows fog up completely, rain still tapping a steady rhythm outside.
Finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, curls damp at the edges from sweat. “You gon’ sleep over one of these nights.”
You snort, brushing your nose against his. “Who said that?”
“I did. And you ain’t disagreein’.”
You roll your eyes, try to push off his chest, but he just locks his arms around you tighter, grinning all smug. “Look at you. Blushing. My lil Church Girl really out here grindin’ on me in the middle of nowhere.”
“Stop callin’ me that,” you mumble, cheeks hot.
“Nah,” he says, leaning up to kiss you again. “It’s mine. Just like you.”
And right there in that warm car, with the rain still falling and Sammie’s hands still exploring every inch of you, you let yourself believe it. Just for tonight.
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