Page 41 of Mine to Worship

“We both wanted this. You were not the only one desperate enough.”

Tears line his eyes as he studies me for a moment. His mouth slams on mine, feeding me pieces of his broken heart. I forget everything else.

“Six months,” I say, through him kissing me.

“What?” he asks when we come up for air.

“I’ll sign them when the baby is six months old.”

It will never be enough to quench the need, love, and desire for him. If we need time, maybe time will help us get rid of our insecurities. It’s not a deadline, I refuse.

“Thank you,” his voice lowers into gratitude that melts me.

Back on the road, my eyelids drop. I wake up when he parks, the chalet spreading in front of us. Warmth settles in my chest. This is home.

Nothing has changed. We just went from loving each other to pretending to love each other.

“I missed this place,” I say, lifting my eyes to the serene sky where a lonely eagle glides.

Nostalgia crosses Kian’s face and he places his chin on my shoulder. His hands curl around my stomach.

“We were happy here.”

“We could be again,” I whisper and he grins, eyes shining with determination.

He empties the car and brings our things inside the living room.

“I’ll go take a shower.” There is nothing I want more than to scrub away the sour stench of vomit.

At the top of the stairs, I glance in his direction. He’s hunched over the couch, a book in his hands. He’ll be an amazing father.

After I take a quick shower, I dry my hair with a towel, the other wrapped around my body. When I enter the bedroom, he is leaning against the door frame, his eyes taking me in, his thumb running along his bottom lip. His look reminds me of a need similar to the one consuming me.

Goosebumps spread on my skin at the pure heat in his eyes, and I say through a gulp, “Are you done reading?”

“I am,” he says, voice raspy with seduction. If he continues gazing at me with that raw desire, my towel will burn to ash.

“Found something new?”

He pushes himself off and erases the distance between us in three precise strides. “Yes, well, now I know all the terminology of procreating.”

“I am sure you knew all the ways of doing it, too,” I tease and the corners of his lips turn up into a playful tilt.

“I got you pregnant, didn’t I?”

That connection sizzles between us, his husky voice melting me and those dimples appear.

He takes a seat at the edge of the bed and spreads his legs. I settle between them, and his fingers brush along the towel, swirling against the knot. Seconds tick down the fuse of seduction. Desire ripples on my skin.

I want him to take me, I want him to make me forget everything else but us.

Kian drags me to his lap and my hands flatten on his chest. His lips trail from the corners of my mouth, down my neck, leaving me a lust-filled mess. But it’s more, desire is the undercurrent, but what’s the driving, continuous force between us is intimacy––the thud of our hearts, a crescendo of colliding hearts, the coming home when our bodies mold together, the craving of our souls to feel the other in every humanly way possible.

It’s want, yes, but above all else, it’s claiming each other, a body and heart meshed together.

His fingers undo the knot, and the fluffy towel slides down my skin.

“What do you want?” he asks, his lips pressing down between the valley of my breasts.

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