Page 60 of Mine to Worship

“It’s pretty hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Angel, the air conditioning is on full blast and if it gets any colder, I am putting a jacket on you.”

“Kian.” I muffle a smile. I am one crazy woman if I find his protectiveness lovely.

“And now, angel, show me your technique.”

“You bend your knee, but to master it, it takes years and years.”

He grips my waist then flicks a strand of hair back, pressing his lips against my neck. His mouth and touch cause such a delicious distraction, focusing gets harder and harder.

“And then what?”

It’s not just the bowling ball but a ball of electricity sizzling between us. I push through the heady haze.

“You bend slightly.”

“Like how I fucking love to bend you?” he whispers. If he keeps this up, I will end up arrested for indecent exposure.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“This is what you have done since you appeared in my life.”

I want to take his words apart, but I have a point to make.

“And you swing the ball until you are sure it will fly, land, and have a middle trajectory,” I manage to continue.

I watch as the ball rolls before knocking down all the pins, and I clap and spin around.

“Impressive,” he says, bowing his head at me slightly.

“Your turn.”

A competitive strike flicks in his eyes and he grabs his ball.

“Big ball for a big guy, and when I say big…” I say, trying to make him lose focus.

He pierces me with a heated look while I tap my lower lip, pretending to ponder. “Hit the center, baby. You always hit the right buttons when you slide inside me.”

“Fuck, you’re good.”

The ball sways from his hand and I follow it. The ball takes a slight left, knocking every pin down but two.

“I’ll offer you a consolation prize if you’re good.” I giggle.

“Oh, angel, I am always good. Let me show you just how good.”

I swallow, his imperious stance and hunger consuming me.

When the game is over, we leave the bowling center, hand in hand.

Aubrey says, “Let’s split up for the next few hours. Guys, you go your way, we’ll go ours.”

Kian’s grip on my hand intensifies, but I kiss his cheek and tell him I’ll be fine. Frustration oozes from him and I squeeze his hands. “This constant worry will make me a widow.”

“Not happening anytime soon.” His eyes burrow into mine, going straight to my heart as if assuring me he means every word. I doubt one lifetime will be enough with him. What I feel demands an eternity of exploration.

“Yesterday was hard, but it was an isolated incident. And some things are out of our control,” I tell him, trying my best to convince both of us. We can’t let fear control our lives like that.

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