Page 177 of Something So Strong

“You just wait till I get you back to my room. You won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“Fuck that.”

One of my brows rises skeptically. “Has your brain not returned to your body yet?” I smirk, leaning to the side to help him off me.

“No!” He clenches around my softening cock. “I wanna keep you inside as long as I can.”

“You really are the filthy one, Jess.”

He dips his head to the side almost bashfully. “Guess that means you can’t say it about yourself anymore.”

Lifting him, I move us both so he’s lying against the bench seat, and slip free of his ass. With a sigh, I watch him grip around nothing, then pull me in for a gentle kiss.

“I booked a suite at Misty’s the night Saxon lost his mind.”

“Really?” I pull back to look at his face better.

“Yeah. I wanted that to be our first time. Away from everything. Just us.”

“Sorry, it didn’t work out.”

“Don’t be.” He smiles. “What we did was perfect.”

“Why do I feel like you wanna say something else?”

“Probably cause I do… Let’s go there now. Spend the whole weekend.”

“Jesse, that place is—”

The look he gives me has me swallowing back down the rest of the sentence.

“I swear to god, Kai, if you think about mentioning how much it costs knowing what I know you know. I’ll make you sleep out on the balcony.”

I smack my lips shut and zip them closed.

“And that goes for everything from now on. Yeah, I’ve got money, but what I spend, I earn myself, okay?”

“Okay.” I kiss him, sealing the promise even though I know it won’t be easy for me. “And, hey.” I grip his jaw and make him look at me this time. “How the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

His chuckle is as light and mischievous as the slap he gives my backside. “Oh, Baby. There’s plenty of time for stories.”

February (13 months later)

A white two bedroom terrace

Hampstead, LONDON

The antique rug that lines the entranceway will finally look its age if I keep pacing back and forth across it much longer.

I’ve been here for ten minutes waiting, stressing, scuffing the toes of my boots into the maroon woolen pile all because of something stupid we decided on a whim after five too many lagers that seemed like a bloody great idea at the time. But that’s the problem, drunken—and horny—decisions are rarely good. Except for the one made by Saxon that took me to Canada fifteen months ago. That gamble, I will readily confess, has paid serious dividends.

Hearing voices outside my heart jumps into my throat, but it’s another false alarm. Maybe the twentieth since I figured standing at the door like a fucking nonce was wise.

It’s hard not to love this place; Edwardian, white-washed brick, two bedrooms, and a cellar directly across from Hampstead Heath. But being this close to the tube station and the high street equals too much outside noise for an already jittery idiot.

Reaching for my inside coat pocket, I get my phone half slid out before the front door finally opens with a billowing gust of freezing air.

“Fuck me! I thought Canada was bad.” Kai shakes his head forward and uses his fingers to detangle his hair. All traces of blond and indigo are gone, his undercut sides are as perfectly short and faded as ever, and his natural chestnut brown has grown out on top—longer at the front than the back—highlighting an envious natural wave.

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