Page 55 of King of Praise
“Beautiful,” I whisper as I work, admiring how her skin pinks up under my touch. Each pass of the cloth becomes a caress.
Her breath catches when I move higher, carefully cleaning between her legs. She’s sensitive here, and I keep my touch feather-light, soothing rather than stimulating. Still, I can’t resist trailing my fingers along her soft skin afterward, a gentle claiming that makes her shiver.
“So perfect for me,” I praise, watching pleasure bloom across her features at the words. “Letting me take care of you like this.”
The trust she shows, lying here exposed and vulnerable, strikes deep in my chest. After everything she’s been through, the fact that she allows this intimate care means more than I can express.
The washcloth lands with a soft thud as I toss it aside, my attention fully focused on the woman in my bed. Naomi’s skin glows, a canvas of cream and freckles that begs to be worshipped. Unable to resist, I lower my head to her breasts, pressing feather-light kisses across the gentle slopes.
She sucks in a breath as my lips brush a particularly sensitive spot. My cock stirs again, but I keep my touches gentle, reverent. I want connection, to show her how precious she is to me.
“Come here, lovely.” I gather her in my arms. She comes willingly, curling against my chest with a contented sigh that makes my heart clench. Her smaller frame fits perfectly against mine, as if she was made to be held here.
The simple pleasure of having her like this—warm, safe, and satisfied in my embrace—fills my chest with an unfamiliar ache. For decades, I’ve kept myself apart from any real connection, convinced that isolation was safer than vulnerability. Now, with Naomi’s heartbeat steady against my skin, those walls seem like nothing but wasted years.
My fingers trace idle patterns along her spine, memorizing the delicate curve of each vertebra. She makes a soft sound of contentment, nuzzling closer as if trying to burrow beneath my skin. The gesture is so trusting and unguarded. I tighten my arms around her.
This is mine now—these quiet moments where she lets down every defense, where she trusts me to hold her, to keep her safe.
The thought of losing this, of ever having to let her go, is physically painful.
Now that I’ve found real intimacy with her, I know with bone-deep certainty that I never want to give it up.
Chapter 15
Cautious Freedom
Naomi
Frost patterns dance across the windshield of Micah’s truck, delicate crystalline structures catching the weak winter sunlight. The heater blasts warm air against my legs, a stark contrast to the chill emanating from the man beside me.
Micah’s displeasure with our current mission manifests in tense shoulders and a tightened jaw, his large hands gripping the steering wheel with unnecessary force.
Though he hasn’t explicitly forbidden me from meeting Olivia for shopping and lunch, his reluctance permeates the cab like a physical presence. I need this time though. Just like the support group meetings, time with my friends is vital for my mental health.
The only reason he agreed was because he could stay close and keep an eye on me. He doesn’t have to work, though he still won’t tell me why. I suspect it has something to do with the cut on his arm that he insists is “nothing.”
I watch the familiar landscape transform from the rural isolation of Hocking Hills to the bustling cityscape of Columbus. After weeks confined to the cabin, even this mundane journey feels like an adventure. Each roadside diner and gasstation represents a world I’ve been separated from, a life simultaneously distant and achingly familiar.
The gray Ohio winter sky stretches endlessly above us, heavy clouds promising snow later in the day. But even this dreary weather can’t dampen my spirits. Freedom, even temporary and conditional, tastes sweet after prolonged confinement. I feel almost giddy with anticipation, though I try to contain my excitement out of consideration for Micah’s obvious concern.
Nothing has happened in the weeks since Lucas’s death. Surely if the police were going to charge me, they would have done so by now. Detective Archer hasn’t tried to find me or insist on an interview. Even Sandra’s threats have gone unanswered. Maybe my isolation and protection are no longer needed.
My gaze drifts to Micah’s profile, studying the strong, worried lines of his face. Something tells me he won’t agree with that assessment.
The past weeks have transformed my perception of this man—from Lucas’s cold, distant father to something far more complex. In the intimate confines of the cabin, I’ve discovered layers to him that defy simple categorization. His gentleness when preparing meals. His quiet concentration while reading. The tenderness in his touch when he thinks I’m sleeping.
And then there’s the way he touches me when we’re both very much awake.
Heat rises to my cheeks at the memory of our shared passion. The transition from protector to lover happened so naturally, yet still carries an edge of taboo that both thrills and unsettles me.
As we approach the upscale shopping district where I’m meeting Olivia, I sense Micah’s internal struggle intensifying. His protective nature battles with his desire to respect my independence—a conflict that mirrors my own ambivalence about leaving our safe space.
Despite my excitement about seeing Olivia, anxiety curdles in my stomach. What if Sandra appears? What if this small taste of freedom leads to disaster?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It won’t. Everything is fine. I’m safe. Micah makes sure of that.
He parks in a secluded corner of the lot, positioning the truck for quick departure if necessary. His tactical mind never rests, always planning escape routes and contingencies. I turn to face him, taking in the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension evident in his clenched jaw.
