As if sensing her frustration, he pressed up on his arms, still inside her. “Rub yourself,” he panted. “Like you do when you’re alone.”

Her eyes widened. Do that, in front of him?

“Please, Alice. I want you to find your peak before I do.” He thrust once, hard. He threw his head back and gasped. “And I won’t last much longer.”

Her hand drifted between their bodies and he came onto his knees, his hands spreading her thighs wide. When she touched her clitoris, he sawed in and out of her body, wild dark eyes locked on her fingers. She circled the tight bud and blissful streaks of electricity raced through her, like a switch had been flipped. They both began moving faster, Kit offering praise as she continued to work herself, telling her how beautiful, how arousing, he found her, until the world exploded, her orgasm rushing up from her toes to lift her up and scatter her to the heavens. She pulsed and panted, her head thrown back and eyes closed as it went on and on.

Kit jerked out of her, his body pulling away, and he fisted his shaft, faster this time, his shoulders hunched in apparent pain . . . and then his fingers tightened on her thigh as pulses of white heat erupted from the tip of his penis. The spend landed on her stomach, his face twisted in gratified agony, yet still beautiful. He shouted at the ceiling, a deep rumble of satisfaction that she’d never forget.

When he finished, he slumped and gave her the most adorably contented smile. He looked young and happy, without the cynicism that sometimes haunted his expression. I love this man.

She knew it deep in her bones. There would never be another like him in her life, not even her future husband. Kit was everything she wanted and needed . . . except the willingness to meet her at the altar. Sadness swamped her chest, a thousand pinpricks of everything she’d never have again. Her friends had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened and she would pay the price until she drew her last breath.

And yet.

She would not beg. He had made his position clear, and her life marched onward. For years she had shoved down her own happiness, her own desires, and she could easily do so again. It would not break her.

Know your worth.

Indeed, she did—partially thanks to this man, ironically. He’d helped her to discover her strength, her resiliency, and she would use both to walk away from him for the last time tonight. A strand of thorns wrapped around her heart, penetrating and poking, slashing her insides, but she needed to marry a man who wanted her. Who loved her. Or had the potential for love, anyway.

Pining for Kit was not an option. No matter how badly it hurt.