I tremble through the last waves of pleasure as he comes shortly after. My name is a groan on his lips. It’s a promise for more and a plea for this pleasure to never end.

He collapses on top of me, still inside me, and we stay like that, catching our breath as the world slowly comes back into focus around us.

“Jesus,” I breathe, tracing lazy circles on his back. “I think . . .”

“You’re not supposed to be able to think when I’m done with you. Or walk. Or—”

“You think you’re that good, do you?” I tease.

He nuzzles into my neck, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest. “Are you complaining, wife?”

“No. Definitely not.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Gizmo

Well, shit.

That most definitely wasn’t supposed to happen.

I stand beside the bed where Hendrix is breathing softly. Moonlight streams across her face. Her lips are parted and with each rise and fall of her chest, the sheet slips off a little more.

I’m conflicted.

I broke my promise to Nathaniel. If I should be good for something, at least it should be that, right?

But hell, if what just happened wasn’t worth every ounce of guilt, then I don’t know what was . . . because Jesus Christ. This woman is something else.

Delicate and determined.

Sexy yet uncertain.

A siren begging to be released.

There were glimpses of that, little snippets of her not wanting to care about making noise or getting lost in the sensations. And then it was like she’d realize she was and would then rein herself back in. Almost as if I don’t want her to have a good time or feel or come or anything of the sort.

The urge to reach out and brush her hair off her face surprises me, so I don’t.

But damn. Just damn.

I’m pretty sure she just issued a challenge to me that she doesn’t even realize she laid down.

To finish undoing whatever the fuck Paul did to her. Seems to me that he made her feel less than in all aspects of herself—her body, her sexuality, her confidence.

I’ve got enough shit on my own plate. A song to write. An album to put together with the guys. A tour to prep for—hopefully. And yet, something makes me want to add this to it.

Hendrix is doing a massive thing for me. Isn’t this the least I can do? Help her find her confidence before we “divorce” and part ways? Help erase her ex’s bullshit from her system?

I have three and a half to four months with her. More than enough time. Have some fun. Have a lot of sex. We would both leave better than when we started this.

I’d say that’s what a good relationship does but fuck if I even know what one is. Never had one. Never wanted to.