“Fucking hell, Emmersyn.” Kane rolled off me and pressed the length of his body to my side, and still trembling from his own climax, he kissed me in languid, slow moves, slowing us both down until our bodies calmed.

“You’re perfection,” I whispered against his mouth.

He chuckled against mine. “Let me get you a cloth and clean you up. I wasn’t expecting that.”

I wasn’t expecting any of it, but boy, had he blown my mind.

And we hadn’t even had sex.

How in the world would I survive that?

Twenty-Four

Kane

I woke to Emmersyn’s hand at my stomach while I was on my back. She was on her side, facing me, and her hair was a halo of thick chocolate, covering her chest, draping over her shoulder. It was still dark outside, not a peek of sunshine coming through my blinds.

Last night, or rather this morning, had been incredible. Surprising, absolutely. I hadn’t expected her to show up in my room, dressed in seduction and wrapped in nerves that I’d turn her away. Only an idiot would do that, and as much as I was trying to be careful with her heart, the moment she promised she knew the score between us, I snapped.

She probably thought I didn’t have sex with her last night out of some gentleman need to take things slow, but she couldn’t be more wrong. There was no chivalry involved in my decision not to have her the way I wanted, but pure panic. I hadn’t had sex in over three years. No way was I embarrassing myself last night. Had I taken time to get myself off to make sure I’d last for her, made it good for her, nothing could have stopped me.

Now, it was morning, my morning erection created a tent in my sheets below my waist, urgent to escape the confines of my briefs I’d pulled back on.

Emmersyn hadn’t re-dressed in her nightgown when I told her I wanted her next to me, sleeping with me. No way was I sending her to the guest room after that glorious moment with her. Which made this morning easier, because with how hard I came last night, I was pretty certain this morning wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassing.

Her lips were parted as she slept, dark, thick lashes two moons on her upper cheeks. I reached out, smoothed a finger over her eyebrow to see how deep she slept and when she didn’t flinch, I rolled to my side, slid my hand beneath the sheet and found the curve of her hip.

She projected confidence in almost everything I’d seen her do, had a competitive streak on the golf course I imagined would stretch to other areas of her life. She had passion to want to help the less fortunate and she had absolutely no damn need to ever hide her body, any part of her, from me. Hell, if Lincoln ever felt like she didn’t have the shape of a goddess, it was just one more reason to hate the asshole.