Only, what started in the hot tub and continued in bed kept going like an abandoned fire.
Slow, lazy, half-asleep sex.
Like our bodies instinctively knew what they wanted better than our heads, ignoring our brains when they were dizzy and tired.
“Hey, yourself,” I say.
Her voice is scratchy with sleep as she says, “So.”
“So.”
“Last night got a little heated.”
Fucking. Understatement.
A flashback of her little hand on my cock in the hot tub and then upstairs, later replaced with her mouth, zings through me like an arrow.
The way she wrapped her legs around me and held on for dear life.
The tiny sounds she made when she bit me, sinking her teeth into my shoulder, begging me to hurl my seed deep.
Never did I think I’d have my first hookup after the divorce unprotected.
Goddamn, Margot Blackthorn must’ve driven me insane. The only explanation.
Still, after we were sated, there was no way I could send her back to her room.
“Well, let’s hear it,” she whispers softly, still not looking at me. “How much do you regret last night?”
“Regret?”
“Scale of one to ten. Please don’t say eleven.” She holds up her crossed fingers with a pleading look.
Shit.
“How’s this?”
I roll her over until she’s under me.
Her blue eyes flare when she feels my cock.
Yes, I’m hard already, and she shifts against me.
Eager. Ready. Aching to be reclaimed.
I fucking love how obsessed she is, even if the shared addiction worries me.
“Kane—”
“Woman, stop. Let me give you your answer. Does this look like regret to you? Does this feel like I have the faintest second thought?” I kiss her deeply, pressing my hard-on against her belly.
She meets me halfway with a languid moan, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Oh. Oh, thank God!” she hisses against my mouth. “I was afraid you’d wake up and tell me we made a huge mistake. You know, just like the kiss.”
That would be the sensible thing, yes.
But my senses turn to ash when I feel her tongue flick over my bottom lip and the way her legs open to welcome me.
