Kai shrugs. “I’m interested to see which passage you choose.”
Swallowing my nerves down, I flip the Bible open and skim for the passages that used to resonate with me as a child. My fingers brush the delicate, thin pages of the Bible, and a strange heat rises in my chest. The smell of the old paper pulls me back to Sunday mornings as a child—knees pressed to hard wooden pews, stiff collars scratching at my neck. I hated the silence then,the way it made every fidget, every whispered thought feel like a sin.
But this isn’t Sunday school.
This is Kai, his gaze sharp and knowing, like he’s peeling back my layers with nothing but the weight of his attention.
I hate how small I feel under that look, how exposed.
“Well?” he asks, his voice smooth, too calm. My pulse jumps at the audacity of it—how he asks like this is nothing, like it’seasy. But it isn’t. It’s a dare, even if he doesn’t say it outright.
And I don’t want to give him what he wants.
Not yet, anyway.
“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” My voice is steady, but there’s a slight edge to it, a challenge I’m not entirely sure I meant to issue.
“I didn’t realize turning pages was so hard for you,” he says, the teasing tone light. “I suppose I should reconsider the other things I have planned for tonight.”
His gaze sharpens for just a second, brief but unmistakable. Like a blade glinting beneath velvet, a shadow of something harder, darker, presses to the surface before vanishing just as quickly.
How much is he holding back?The question curls inside me, electric and forbidden.
Instead of being obstinate, I bite down on the inside of my cheek. My thighs press together as I shift my weight, and the tension between us only coils tighter.
I know what he’s doing—he’s waiting for me to crack, to hand him my obedience on a silver platter. But submission is supposed to be mine to give, not his to take. The realization is a spark, igniting something reckless in me.
I flip through the pages, skimming passages about humility and obedience, the words pulling at old wounds I’d rather not prod tonight. My skin prickles as memories surface—handsclasped in prayer, sermons about surrendering to God’s will. I was always told tofollow, totrust, toserve.
But I’ve spent years unlearning those lessons, peeling off the expectations like a second skin. Both Julian and I have, and it hasn’t been easy at times.
For example, my mother’s disapproving expression when I told her Julian and I were moving to California, which might as well have been a different planet.
And now Kai wants me to kneel, to recite those same words that once made me feel so small?
I stop on a random passage and glance up at him, meeting his gaze head-on. He’s still watching me, quiet and composed, his hand resting against his mouth like he’s fighting back another smirk.
Something in me itches to break that composure, to see if he’s as calm as he pretends to be.
“Do you want me to mean it?” I ask, my voice low, teasing, testing. “Or are you happy with a performance?”
The question hangs between us, and for a moment, his expression shifts, it’s subtle, but enough to make my breath hitch.
It’s dangerous, pushing him like this. I know it. But the thrill of it hums in my veins, mingling with the slow ache of anticipation building in my core.
I want to give in. I want to feel the weight of his control, to let him pull me under and quiet the noise in my head. But first, I want him totake it. To remind me why I kneel in the first place.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice a dark purr.
I clear my throat and glance up at him. “All right, how about this one, my lord?” I let my finger trail down to Proverbs and find the verse that feels just outlandish enough. “‘Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman who shows no discretion,’” I read, keeping my tone perfectly matter-of-fact.
I look up to meet his eyes, waiting for his reaction.
I see his mouth twitch as he tries not to smile, clearly catching him off guard.
“Interesting choice,” he says finally, his voice careful but laced with amusement.
“Oh, you don’t like that one?” I ask, feigning innocence as I turn a few more pages with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m sure I can find something more appropriate for the occasion.”
