Ash moaned, a gritty, low sound, and he pulsed inside her. The distinct heat of his release sent her orgasm even higher, pushing some strange primal button in her psyche. He’d marked her, and she liked it.

She rode the last waves of her orgasm, unashamed of the racket she was making, and then sagged in his hold. Her knees wobbled beneath her. “Ash.”

“Shh,” he said against her ear. “I’ve got you, KC. I won’t let you fall.”

She took a breath, softening in his hold, trusting he would take care of her.

With quiet movements, Ash eased out of her, guided her onto the bench, and turned off the water. He returned with fluffy towels to dry them both, and then he lifted her into his arms.

He carried her to her bed and got them both under the thick comforter. She immediately curled in to him, and he wrapped his arm around her like he used to when they were teenagers. Only this time they were naked. Lovers. Not just friends anymore. Lying in the crook of his arm somehow felt completely familiar and altogether new.

“You okay?” he asked after a quiet minute. “Warm enough?”

“I’m perfect.” She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw.

“Perfect, huh?” He let out a put-upon sigh. “The ego on you, Breslin.”

She laughed softly. “I have to keep up with yours, right?”

He traced his fingers absently along her arm. “You can try.”

“Well, you’re already ahead,” she said, peering up at him. “You can put a feather in your cap. You just gave me a first time, and I know you did a better job with that for me than I did for you.”

He glanced at her, eyes curious. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her head and nestled into his chest. “I’ve never had a guy go without a condom.”

His heartbeat thumped against her ear. “Ever?”

“Nope.”

“Not even Graham?”

She closed her eyes. “Not even him.”

Ash was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered if he’d dozed off, but then he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Thank you for that trust.”

Exhaustion was pulling at her, her energy sapped. She slipped her arm over his waist. “I always trusted you, Ash.”

His body tensed a little beneath her. But if he said anything in return, she didn’t hear it. She was already drifting off.

Twenty

Ash sat behind the counter of the store, busily working on his laptop, the sound of the clicking keys like a balm to his writer soul. Over the last couple of weeks, the words had started to come back to him. First, it had been a trickle, just a few whispers of a story idea. But then late one night, lying next to Kincaid in bed and listening to her dream, two characters had walked onto the stage in his brain and had started talking, insistently.

He’d hesitated, the idea not fitting with his other novels and having nothing to do with the proposal he’d sent to his publisher about a thriller set in Mexico, but when the characters wouldn’t leave him alone, he’d snuck out of bed and begun writing to get them out of his head. But after a few more sessions like that, the exercise to clear his head became an actual story he was excited about writing. Now he figured what the hell—genre be damned. He had nothing to lose at this point anyway. So far, he’d finished six chapters of the book, and his heart was racing with the thrill of creation again.