Immediately, he reaches up and removes the fabric from my mouth. I pant and suck in air, which has more to do with the power of my orgasm than the gag he fashioned for me. His breaths are heavy and uneven, our skin is damp.

And even though I don’t think I can get any hotter than I already am, when he pulls away and puts one hand on each globe of my ass to watch me drip his seed, I do.

When he adds, “Just like that,” I press my forehead to the cool marble and let a quiet, breathy chuckle escape me.

“Jesus.”

With a firm slap, he huffs out a laugh, and it’s like I can still feel his eyes on the most intimate parts of me. I clearly have no shame because I make no move to stand. “Have I told you that you look perfect like this?”

I roll my forehead against the marble counter, still trying to get my bearings. “No. I think that’s a first for me.”

A satisfied noise rumbles from behind me, and I feel the soft slide of fabric covering my legs, followed by the gentle press of a kiss against my back. “Feeling better now?” Cade asks, pulling me up gently, hands never leaving my body as he turns me to face him.

“I’m feeling something alright.” I smile a little shyly at him. I mean, how can I not? The things that come out of this man’s mouth are downright shocking sometimes.

He eyes me skeptically, tracing my face with his gaze.

“I’m feeling better. Just . . . messy?” I glance down at myself. “I’ll just go clean up.” I reach out to swipe my discarded panties off the counter, but he grabs them first.

He gives me this evil smirk. A playful smirk? Maybe it’s a playful scowl? But it’s followed by, “No chance. You’re putting these on, and you’re going back out there like this.”

I shake my head at him, amused, as he drops to the ground and lifts my feet gently into the leg holes of the simple underwear. He presses a soft kiss to my stomach and then he’s up, moving around the kitchen, like this is all the most normal thing in the world. When I stop blushing enough to face him again, he’s poured me a glass of white wine and is waiting by the back door.

“Ready?” he asks with an outstretched hand and a lopsided smile on his face. A dimple I never even noticed has popped up. He looks boyish and beautiful. And like he might be mine after all.

“I’m going to walk out into a child’s birthday party with a big glass of wine and bright red cheeks?” I ask, just to clarify. Because it feels insane.