A Forbidden Rumspringa (Gay Amish Romance Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

Lantz. There was sin threatening to bloom in Isaac’s soul, and he had to tamp it down. Had to extinguish that spark before it caught and blazed out of control.
    In the distance, a train whistle pierced the stillness. Although he could barely see anything beyond the trees, Isaac closed his eyes and imagined the endless line of cars barreling along the track, carrying unknown cargo to places far from Zebulon. Perhaps the train would tunnel through mountains and arrive at the ocean’s edge, passing towns and even cities on its journey.
    As he imagined being atop that carefree train, his body hummed as if he were, as though he could feel the power of the locomotive shuddering through him. Images of the thundering metal and distant lands merged with David Lantz’s blue eyes and single dimple. Isaac couldn’t fight the desperate, terrifying excitement building in him. He hiked his nightshirt to his waist.
    Pulling his foreskin back, Isaac roughly touched his cock, his lips pressed together to silence his moans. Even away from the house amid the trees in the dead of night, he had to be careful. No one could know his secret.
    The cool night air whispered across Isaac’s bare skin. He shivered, but his excitement grew at the wickedness of being half naked right out in the open, touching himself as he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t far from the outhouse, and if anyone else used it they’d undoubtedly discover him.
    But he couldn’t stop.
    His toes curled in the grass as he flexed his thighs and pumped his hips, bracing his upper back against the tree and arching into the tight grip of his hand. In his mind he was naked in the night air, flying on top of the train, the wind whipping his hair back from his forehead.
    David was there, his eyes blazing, seeing right into Isaac’s soul. Then it was David’s hand touching him, his breath hot on Isaac’s face as he leaned in so close, lips soft, and then fierce as he claimed him—
    The train’s whistle sounded again, closer this time, and Isaac’s cry echoed with it as he spilled over his hand, the bliss tearing through him and leaving him quivering and messy. He opened his eyes, jerking his head around to make sure he was still alone.
    Chest heaving, he yanked down his nightshirt and scurried back to the outhouse. He tore off a ream of scratchy toilet paper to clean himself as best he could with shaking hands.
    When he was back in bed with his brother’s snores, Isaac prayed for forgiveness and the dawn.

 

     
    The long wooden bench groaned as Isaac took his seat next to Mervin and tucked his black hat underneath. It was already warm with all the extra bodies inside the Hooleys’ home, and Isaac wished he could blink away the next three or four hours in an instant. At least there were more children than adults in Zebulon, and they didn’t take up as much room.
    He supposed it would be wrong to ask the Lord that the service would be on the shorter side today, and said a quick prayer of forgiveness for even thinking it.
    As everyone squeezed in, Isaac found himself wondering—not for the first time—why they couldn’t just build a church the way the English did. He knew the tradition of hosting church at members’ houses had been born from persecution of the earliest Amish in Europe, who had to hide their services. But in America they were free to worship however they pleased. To Isaac it seemed a tradition that served no purpose. Of course he kept that to himself.
    At least he’d had the good fortune to be born only weeks apart from his best friend. They always sat together at church, with all the men filing onto their benches in strict order of age from eldest to youngest. Mervin was fairly vibrating with excitement, but when Isaac lifted an eyebrow, Mervin gave a wink that meant later. His green eyes sparkled beneath his mop of reddish-blond hair.
    In the meantime he gave Isaac a playful shove with his thick shoulder. Mervin Miller was short and stocky, yet