“Meant to wait for you,” Morgan mumbled, cutting through my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Meant to wait for you to come first,” Morgan clarified. “Sorry.”
“You really don’t have anything to apologize for,” I said, forcing myself to take enough of my own weight to look him in the eyes. The pretty blue of them was lost in the dark, but I knew what they looked like, and the way Morgan was looking at me…
It’dchanged, but it was just as intense. The lust was gone, but the awe was still there, the wonder.
I kissed him, soft and gentle as he’d been with me. Morgan knew his own strength, and he was careful with it. Withme.
That shouldn’t have been any kind of surprise. I already knew how gentle Morgan’s hands were, feeling them on myself was just a little new.
“Did I win that round?” Morgan asked, and for a moment I had noideawhat he was talking about.
Then I remembered the game.
“I guess you did,” I said. “Which would make it your turn.”
Morgan snorted, reaching up and sweeping hair out of my face, his fingers skimming over my scalp and setting off happy tingles that pooled at the back of my neck.
“I like the tattoo,” Morgan said. “I don’t regret this,” he added. “And I’m really starting to warm up to Brad.”
I snorted. “You’d leave Brad’s body in the woods if you thought you could get away with it,” I said.
“Only because he hurt you,” Morgan confirmed. “I don’t like the idea of anyone hurting you.”
For a handful of seconds, I couldn’t think of a response to that. I didn’t think Morgan wouldreallymurder Brad over me—he was too gentle a man to do it—but the way he said he didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting me stuck in my chest.
“How has no one snatched you up?” I asked, amazed that even though I’d screwed around this long, I wasn’t too late.
Morgan shrugged. “Not much of a catch,” he said.
“Chris thinks you are,” I pointed out, remembering the conversation we’d had while we were buying groceries.
I couldn’t quite bring myself to say thatIthought he was, but I figured it was implied in the explosive sex we’d been having minutes ago.
“I’m not,” Morgan murmured.
The happy post-sex haze I’d fallen into cleared a little at his tone, but I wasn’t sure how to ask what was wrong. Or ifanythingwas wrong.
Instead, I reached out and traced the thin white scar on his forehead, trailing it up into his hairline.
“How’d that happen?” I asked, curling the touch around his ear.
“Clumsiness,” Morgan said. “I’ve always been… not the best coordinated.”
“Felt pretty coordinated to me just now,” I teased.
“I was scrambling up a bookshelf to grab one of my dad’s books, the ones I wasn’t supposed to read. Pulled the whole thing down on top of me.”
“Reading is dangerous,” I said sagely. “It’s why I never do it.”
“Also because you’re dyslexic,” Morgan said. “Should’ve figured that out sooner. Must be hard for you, huh?”
“A little,” I admitted. “Mom caught it when we found out about Aiden, so I had more time to get help. She was pretty relieved that Kieran just needed glasses.”
“Kieran needs glasses?” Morgan asked, clearly surprised.
