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SEVEN

Bishop woke after the sun had set, disoriented and annoyed at himself, and unsure why.

Not for the sex. He’d never had sex as life-altering as what he’d shared with Kensley by the hot tub, and he had no words to describe it.

He’d loved every explosive second, even those moments post-orgasm when his muscles had been locked in place, not allowing him to do anything but grind into Kensley’s ass, desperate to keep his come inside his lover.

His most primal urges had imagined him shooting right into his omega’s womb, impregnating him with their child, binding them together for the rest of their lives.

The idea of wanting a family with Kensley, when omega pregnancies were already so rare and often scorned by society, had left Bishop irritated while he lounged in bed, staring up at the ceiling, aware of Kensley snoring lightly beside him.

Dreams of a normal life with a spouse and children had been something for nighttime, for his sleeping brain to deliver in short bursts, until reality woke him back up.

His lifestyle wasn’t fit for those things. It was why he only indulged in the occasional one-night-stand. Anyone he chose to love would constantly be in danger.

Like Kensley was in danger now, through no fault of Bishop’s.

King should have sent Kensley far away years ago, out of the country if possible, but King had wanted to be able to monitor his little brother.

To offer protection when necessary, and it became all too necessary on Saturday night.

Bishop wouldn’t change a single thing about these last few days with Kensley; he was also smart enough to recognize how fragile their current peace and safety were.

Bishop slowly eased up so he was sitting against the headboard, reluctant to wake Kensley yet.

His sweet, sexy omega was sprawled on his back in a way that took up almost half of the king-size bed, a sheet drawn up to mid-chest, one arm thrown across his eyes, even though the room was shadowy and mostly dark.

Moonlight spilled in from the massive windows, because Bishop hadn’t drawn the curtains before falling asleep.

He trusted the bullet-proof glass, but he did not trust Walsh. Not with Kensley’s life and safety. The only person Bishop trusted with Kens was himself.

Kensley mumbled and that outstretched arm flopped down to cover his belly almost protectively, without ever waking.

Bishop stared at his hand, imagining it resting over a much rounder belly, one holding their child.

That belly growing larger as the months passed, until his precious Kensley gave birth, and they finally held their son or daughter in their arms.

He could see it. He wanted it more than life itself.

But he couldn’t have it.

Could he?

His stomach gurgled, reminding him they still hadn’t eaten.

Eager to please his omega, Bishop slid out of bed, found a light silk robe, and quietly closed the curtains in the bedroom before seeking out the kitchen.

A package of strip steaks in the fridge begged to be cooked, so Bishop set about preparing a hearty meal to refuel them both.

Bishop had promised to make Kensley sit on his cock in the hot tub, and that was still happening in the near future.

Remembering the way Kensley had lost his mind tonight, being fucked over the hot tub cover, gave Bishop a half-boner the entire time he cooked.

The scent of the searing meat must have roused Kensley, because he shuffled into the kitchen wearing an identical robe, his hair damp from the shower.

He brought with him the delightful scent of coconut, possibly from the shampoo.

“I thought I smelled something amazing,” Kensley said. “I’m starving.”

“Me too. The fridge has all kinds of drink options, so help yourself to whatever you’re in the mood for.”

“Hmm.” Kensley inspected the fridge’s contents, and Bishop observed his profile.

The way his eyebrows lifted and his lips parted in surprise.

An entire shelf was stocked with canned beer and soda, and bottles of plain and flavored water, plus containers of juice and two bottles of wine.

And there should be more in the pantry to replenish whatever they drank.

Kensley surprised him by selecting a beer. “I’ve never had beer before.”

Bishop smiled and tested the doneness of the meat with his finger. “It’s not something everyone likes, especially if you aren’t into bitter notes.”

“Do you?”

“Definitely. It’s a simple way to take the edge off a stressful day without losing control.”

“Good. Then you can drink the rest if I hate it.” With a bright grin, Kensley popped the tab, sniffed at the opening, and then snorted hard. “Bubbles.”

Bishop laughed. “Don’t stick your nose in it, goofball. Just take a big swig.”

Kensley shrugged. “Bottom’s up.” He did as told, his throat working down three long gulps before lowering the can. He shuddered once, and then thrust the can at Bishop. “Okay, that’s not...no, thank you.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” Bishop downed the rest of the beer, which wasn’t much, and that impressed him a little. Kensley was not shy about trying new things. “Wine might be more to your taste.”

“I don’t think I want the alcohol, anyway.” He grabbed a can of what looked like root beer and cracked it. Drank some and smacked his lips. “Much better. I remember loving root beer so much when I was young. We never had it at the abbey.”

“I’m sorry,” Bishop said without thinking.

“For what?”

“For all the things you lost from your childhood when we sent you there.”

“You didn’t send me there. King did. And on some level, I do resent him for it. I haven’t fully forgiven him, but I wasn’t a prisoner. Not really. I simply wasn’t brave enough to leave on my own.”

Bishop disliked the upset frown on Kensley’s face, so he walked over and kissed it away.

Kensley tasted so sweet, an addictive mix of root beer and his own unique flavor.

He could stand there and kiss him for hours, but he didn’t want their steaks to burn, so he pulled back.

Rubbed his nose against Kensley’s. “Set the table while I finish up dinner.”

“Okay.”

Watching Kensley search for the plates and flatware was highly entertaining, and Bishop grinned through the rest of meal prep, finally presenting them each with a juicy, medium-rare steak, microwaved “baked” potato, and a frozen veggie medley he’d nuked and tossed with butter and a local spice blend.

Kensley gaped at his plate. “Wow, this is the best-looking meal I’ve been served in…I don’t know how long. A real steak is…yeah. Wow.”

“I’ll feed you steak every day if it makes you happy.

” He reached across the table to clasp Kensley’s hand.

“No loving god would want you to constantly deprive yourself of life’s pleasures to prove how pious and faithful you are.

That’s the church’s way of controlling you, so you don’t think for yourself or question the way they limit you. ”

“I know. I’m seeing it more plainly every hour I’m away from that place. I never wanted or believed in that life. Now that I’ve truly tasted freedom, I’d rather die than go back.”

Bishop squeezed his hand. “It won’t come to that. There are always other solutions.”

“I hope so.” Kensley returned the squeeze then picked up his utensils. “I cannot wait to eat this, oh my word.”

“Dig in, m—uh, enjoy.” Lame, but Bishop couldn’t quite make himself say “my love” in casual conversation. Sweetheart, in the heat of the moment, was one thing, but “my love” was practically a declaration, and it was way too soon to make it.

He watched Kensley cut into the center of his steak and peek at the interior. His skeptical frown was beyond adorable. “Is it supposed to be so pink?”

“Yes, this is the best temperature to eat a good steak,” Bishop replied. “Trust me, it’ll be tender and juicy. If steak is gray, you might as well eat the sole of your shoe.”

“Okay.” Kensley sliced off a bite and made a show of sliding it off the tines of the fork with his lips. Of chewing slowly, his gaze drifting off to the side as he tasted this new thing. Swallowed. “Okay, you’re right. Wow. You’re good with meat.”

Bishop laughed at the innuendo that Kensley didn’t seem to get. “Yes, I am.”

The meal was the best one Bishop could remember in years.

Not only the simple, yet delicious food, but also the company.

Watching Kensley eat real food, rather than what they’d cobbled together out of boxes and cans, invigorated Bishop with a new sense of wonder.

That there were still new and amazing things to experience in life, and he wasn’t finished finding them.

And he had the honor of giving Kensley all new experiences that had nothing to do with sex.

He couldn’t wait to take Kensley down to the beach tomorrow.

To swim and sunbathe and experience the ocean together.

If it was safe, he wanted to take the launch over to the open air market, so they could shop local booths for food and fun and maybe lunch someplace.

He wanted to treat this as much like a vacation as he could, until the real world threats against them inevitably reared their ugly heads and ruined the illusion.

Kensley deserved it all and more.

Bishop drank another beer with his meal, positive the one-and-a-half he’d imbibed on a full stomach wouldn’t affect his judgment.

Kensley volunteered to do the dishes and clean up.

Bishop used that as a good excuse to go outside and get the hot tub uncovered and heating up.

He selected a temperature that would be bearable with the evening’s warmth, and then tracked down a couple of large, fluffy towels.

It felt strange to wander the villa in just a robe, no firearm holstered behind his back, his cell phone at the ready in case of emergency.

He was here as a guard, after all, not on vacation.