“Did you like seeing me on my knees?” I whisper. He tenses. Then without looking me in the eye, he responds. “You fucking know I did.” With my back still against the door, I let my body slide down to the floor. “Cadence, what are you doing?” His voice is strained, and I know it’s taking a lot to hold himself back. “What do you think I’m doing?” I answer playfully. “I’m praying.” My hands slide to his hips. The look on his face is a mixture of torture and desire. I stare up at him like I did on the bench out in the church, and I know it’s breaking his resolve.
