Like I’m sexier than any woman he’s ever known.
“I’m close,” he warns, stilling me. “Fuck, where are you?”
Deliriously close.
Determined, too.
And I rock my hips—just a little more friction as his fingers reach up and work my clit.
My pussy grips him, needy and insane as our breath goes mad.
Oh, shit, shit, shit!
My head falls loosely as I press on his chest.
He moves like a human earthquake under my hands.
His hand on my hip guides me in slow, rocking, rolling motions, grinding myself on him.
No more, no more.
There’s no holding back when that wave crests and hits me like a tsunami on fire.
Coming!
I think I cry out.
Maybe I say his name, maybe I try, or maybe it’s just a sputtering string of expletives.
But I feel his fingers digging into my hip as he pushes into me one final time with a throat-ripping roar.
The wave takes us, thrashing and ravenous and deranged.
We come together like water slapping the rocky shore, and his hot come fills me, sending me to a new high.
We blow our sanity to confetti and go down in a whirlwind of color.
Later, I’m the first one to move, untangling myself and curling under his arm.
I’m lighter than air but my limbs weigh a ton.
Another contradiction.
And there’s zero talk of him going back to his room or either of us pretending we want to do anything besides sleep next to each other tonight and then wake up for another round of ecstasy with the sun.
Oh, this is bad.
So stupid and predictable.
Warning lights flash in my head.
Every sensible part of me protests giving myself to a man who has to ghost me, and I know it’s coming.
But Kane, he’s not Kelso.
Our heaven has a time limit for reasons beyond our own selfish desires, and it makes me more jealous. I want him, every bit of him, for as long as I can get it.
“You good?” he asks gently, tucking me firmly against him. I fit so well against the curve and crook of his body.
