Page 118 of King of Praise
“You’re amazing.” The look he gives me contains equal parts pride and exasperation. I understand without words that we’ll be discussing my reckless charge later when we’re safe and alone.
The remaining distance to the exit passes in a blur of motion and sensory input. Fresh air replaces the warehouse dust. Vehicles wait with open doors and engines running.
Eli leads the way, weapon still drawn as he scans for potential threats, while Micah guides Sandra and me into the waiting SUV.
Only when the vehicle accelerates away from the warehouse, does Micah’s professional composure show momentary fracture. He pulls me onto his lap, arms encircling me with a desperate need I’ve never felt from him before. His hands tremble as they stroke my hair, my face, reassuring himself that I’m truly here, truly safe.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he murmurs against my temple, voice thick with emotion. “Charging Francesca like that. You could have been killed.”
I press my face into his neck, inhaling his scent beneath the blood and gunpowder. “I couldn’t let her hurt you.” I whisper the plain truth. “Not after everything.”
His arms tighten around me, his body solid and warm and gloriously alive against mine.
“We protect each other,” he says, the declaration carrying weight beyond its simple words. “That’s what this is. That’s what we are.”
Sandra curls into herself on the floor of the SUV, face hidden in her hands, body wracked with silent sobs. Her perfect world—built on delusion and denial—has shattered beyond repair today. Her son is dead. Her campaign for justice revealeda terrible mistake that nearly cost her life. The foundations of her existence have been swept away, leaving nothing but uncomfortable truth in their wake.
I should hate this woman who poisoned Lucas against his father, who enabled and encouraged his worst tendencies, who pursued me with such vindictive determination after his death. Yet looking at her now—broken, diminished, confronted with the consequences of her actions—I feel only exhausted pity.
Eli’s voice breaks through my thoughts, reporting to someone through the communications device—Zeke, presumably. “Teams one and three reporting clear. Extraction successful. Target one has been neutralized. Moving to secondary location now.”
I close my eyes, letting the tactical terminology wash over me without trying to decipher specifics. The important parts are clear enough—we’re safe, Francesca’s dead, and we’re heading somewhere secure. The rest can wait.
Micah’s lips find mine in a gentle kiss that contrasts sharply with the violence we just survived. I taste blood—his or mine, I cannot tell—along with desperation and relief and unspoken promises for a future we’ve fought so hard to preserve. His hands cup my face with infinite tenderness as he pulls back to look into my eyes.
“I love you,” he says with absolute conviction. “So fucking much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure no one ever hurts you again.”
The words settle in my chest like warm stones, heavy, yet comforting.
As the SUV carries us away from death toward an uncertain future, I curl against Micah’s chest and listen to his heartbeat—strong, steady, alive. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together as equals who have walked through fire and emerged transformed.
For the first time since Lucas’s death, I feel not just safe but free—liberated from fear that has shadowed every moment of my existence for years. The sensation unfurls within me like a delicate bloom, fragile yet persistent, carrying the promise of a future where happiness is a sustainable reality.
I’ve paid freedom’s price in blood and terror and loss. Now comes the harder part—learning to live in liberty’s unfamiliar light.
Chapter 32
Sanctuary Rebuilt
Micah
Naomi’s soft moans fill our hotel room as she rides me with agonizing slowness, her tight wet pussy gripping my cock with each deliberate roll of her hips.
My hands span her waist, guiding but not controlling her movements as she takes her pleasure. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
“You’re absolutely breathtaking when you’re like this.” I groan when she rolls her hips, grinding down on my cock.
My eyes land on the fading bruises from where Tommy’s knife still mars her pale skin. The sight of those marks ignites familiar rage, quickly tempered by the reality before me. Naomi is alive, safe, moving above me with growing confidence as she explores her own desires.
Two weeks since I nearly lost her. Two weeks of refusing to let her out of my sight. Not from fear—the threats have been eliminated. Francesca’s dead and her organization is in chaos.
No, I keep her close because I cannot get enough of her. Of this.
“So beautiful.” I slide one hand up to cup her breast. Her nipple pebbles against my palm, drawing another breathy soundfrom her throat. “Love watching you like this. Taking what you need.”
A flush spreads across her chest at my words, her rhythm faltering. Even after weeks together, praise still affects her—makes her sweet, tight pussy pulse around me, dripping with need.
I lean forward, replacing my hand with my mouth, sucking her nipple between my teeth with careful pressure. Her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me against her chest as she grinds down harder.
