She was the first person he noticed when he entered the auditorium. There was nothing remarkable about the tight blue jeans or navy green top she was in, but there was everything about the body it clad.
Such perfect proportions, such sufficiency, such equilibrium! What a temple! She was fair, but not the induced kind; he’d learnt to spot cream-induced fairness by spotting darker knuckles and inconsistent ‘fairness pantones’. This one was legit. The neckline of her top was a little loose so he could notice a few petals of the rose tattooed at her back. No colours, just black contours. It was a beautiful tattoo.
The usher directed him to a seat four rows behind her. She shared his attention with the pulpit. The worship songs were moving her. She was in the spirit. When she jumped, she wobbled, and he swallowed, then looked up to heaven. Forgive. Read More The Steamy Church Romance.