Page 79 of End Game

In two erotic steps, he was at the side of the bed, bending forward until her back rested against the soft, cool duvet. Then he lifted his head, his eyes clashed with hers, burning with need.

“Last chance,” he whispered.

She reached between them, guided his smooth, blunt tip to her entrance. “No regrets.”

“Never.”

Then he was inside her, over her, with her.

She cradled his massive body in her arms. Her hands smoothing, gripping, clawing to the pinnacle. She shattered into a mosaic of a thousand stunning pieces.

Tightening her inner muscles, she kissed-licked her way from the hollow of his neck to the indent beneath his chin. Her name ripped from his throat on a final thrust before he jerked free.

They lay clasped together for a long minute, then he shifted onto his elbows, easing some of his weight. A knuckle traced the line of her jaw, the edge of her lower lip. A smile played at the corners of his mouth before he bent to kiss her forehead, her nose, her left eyelid, and finally her mouth.

“Do. Not. Move,” he ordered in a soft, sexy tone, before rolling away and striding into the bathroom.

She turned her head and watched the play of muscles moving beneath all that gorgeous flesh. The moment seemed almost ethereal. Real, but not. Imagined, but solid.

The sound of running water reached her, and she allowed her attention to wander around his bedroom. It was as austere as her quick glance upon entering had suggested.

Except for the wooden walking stick propped in one corner. The knotty, somewhat misshapen hiking tool appeared to be DIY. A young tree he’d cut down or a small branch from a large tree. The bark removed and the wood sanded down to prevent splinters.

For some reason, she hadn’t pegged Ash as one of the many weekend trailblazers. Locals, as well as folks from across the nation—the world—enjoyed the region’s vast trail systems, breathtaking waterfalls, and long-range, blue-hazed mountain views.

She’d traversed many of them herself, but none so rugged as to need an assistive stick.

Ash interrupted her musings, carrying a warmed washcloth he used to wipe her clean. It occurred to her then that neither one of them had considered protection.

Something that had never happened to her before. Not even during her fast and furious introduction to sex.

A bolt of fear speared through her as the multitude of consequences flooded her brain. Pregnancy wasn’t among them. She’d been on the pill since her teens.

But STIs?

Her lover kissed her mouth softly before dropping the wet cloth on the floor beside the bed. “Everything all right?”

Plumping the pillows behind her, she sat up, pulling the sheet over her damp, chilled torso. “We were careless.”

He motioned for her to scoot over, then climbed in beside her, drawing her into the center of his corded embrace. Resting a cheek against his chest, she closed her eyes briefly at the press of his lips against the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry, Kayla.” He kissed her hair again. “Logic has never been my friend, where you’re concerned.”

“Finally, something we share.” The tips of her fingers brushed over his chest. “I’m on the pill.”

“Then you have nothing else to fear from me.”

“Same.”

“Do you want children?”

She stilled. Did he just ask?—

“Not with me,” he rushed to clarify. “In general. Are kids part of the Krowne master plan?”

“You think I have one?”

Humor rimmed his voice. “I know you do.”

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