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“Even when you pulse beneath me, do not block me out.”
She was getting close.
“Can you do that, love?”
She nodded.
Good.
If she were able to speak, he would have needed to prolong this. As it was, Alessandra would not last much longer. And when he moved inside her, knowing what was to come, Kenton waited in anticipation for . . .
That.
The ever so slight dilation of her pupils that told him not to hold back. As she began to release against his fingers, Alessandra kept her word. She stared into his very soul, her soft moans the loveliest of sounds.
He couldn’t care less to be discovered, but Kenton knew she’d have felt a bit differently. So when her cries became louder, her mouth gaping open, he took the invitation and covered her lips with his own. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, Kenton pulled his hand away and pressed against her.
Frantic now, Alessandra grabbed the hair at the back of his head and pressed closer. Allowing it . . . nay . . . relishing in it, Kenton drank from her delicious nectar as she came back to him.
Next time, he would go with her.
But not now. Not tonight.
Kenton needed to be alone, to understand what had happened here.
“And now you see why our hasty exit was necessary,” he said, righting her jeans.
“How . . . why . . .” Alessandra expelled a long, deep breath. “Holy hell.”
“An oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.” He smiled, stepping back. “We should be going.”
“Right.”
He planned to offer his arm but found himself wrapping his fingers through hers instead. Her hand should not feel as if it so perfectly fit inside his own.
“I have an early meeting in the morning. Work,” he said, by way of explanation.
“For a job I know nothing about.”
They walked away from the docks toward the side path around the restaurant.
“I wouldn’t presume to bore you.”
“Kenton Morley.” She stopped, as did he. “I have a feeling, if nothing else, that you could never, ever bore me.”
He was about to tell her that she was right when she added, “Though you may well be the death of me.”
Her words felt like a stake to the heart. Something he’d been lucky to avoid thus far. If done with the right kind of wood, it could actually kill him.
A vision of Alessandra, lifeless and drained of blood, assaulted him. And for reasons he couldn’t yet fully explain, Kenton knew with new certainty that he had not, in fact, lied to Lawrence and his sister.
He could not kill her. And had never regretted the deaths that had come before her more so than in this moment. Which meant the one thing he’d lived for since his parents were murdered was suddenly, and irrevocably, forsaken.
