Page 43 of His Custody

The first time a woman asked him shyly, pink-cheeked and eyes cast down, if he could hold her down while they had sex, his head had imploded and he almost came in his pants. He hadn’t felt that giddy about sex since before he’d actually had it, and this time, it wasn’t a disappointment. He’d come harder than he ever had and he’d loved the way her eyes got glossy and far away, how her fingers clenched into fists above where he pushed her wrists into the mattress. Her tiny noises of pleasure she’d never made before, like she’d lost herself, splintered open and light shone through the cracks.

That had been it. They hadn’t taken it much further—bathrobe sashes tied around her wrists and fastened to a spindle of her headboard, light spanking, his hand fisted in her hair when she went down on him. That had been his first taste; it was like discovering a cuisine you’d never known existed and that was it. He never wanted to eat anything else again. It tasted too fucking good.

When he wanted to go further and she didn’t, he’d waffled. Should he stay with her or go looking for someone who wanted what he wanted? In the end he’d left. It hadn’t seemed fair to keep her from someone who would be satisfied with her desires, who wouldn’t always be wishing he could push her further, hit her harder, control her more.

He hoped Keyne would be luckier, that the first person she was with would be more compatible, that they’d delight each other. He didn’t want her to be one of those girls who thought they didn’t like sex because they’d never had good sex. The more he thought about it, the gladder he was she’d chased away that stupid fuck.

And the more he thought about it, the more jealous he got of whoever was going to be Keyne’s first. Whoever it was wouldn’t be worthy. They might hurt her. Scare her. She wasn’t delicate, but god was she vulnerable under all that toughness. But no one would know, because she hid it away, locked up tight, only let it show when she was at home with him. And if she got upset... He thought of those early days when nothing would calm her except being held. She’d call his name and he was the only one she wanted, no one else would do.

To hear her say his name...Oh, hell no, Andersson. Fuck no. His relationship with Keyne was already a thousand kinds of inappropriate. He was not going to make it a thousand and one. More like a thousand to the nth power if he fucked her.

He squeezed her shoulder. “Time to get ready for bed?”

She nodded and pushed up, her hair squished on one side from laying on him, the bodice of her dress low. “I’m going to take a shower. I need to get this stuff out of my hair so it doesn’t sound like I’m sleeping on Rice Krispies.”

She slid off the bed and he watched her walk across the room. She reached behind her but she couldn’t quite reach the zipper, tried it the other way before blowing out a frustrated sigh. Ada had helped her get dressed, and clearly Keyne had needed the help. “Jasper, could you...?”

“Of course.”

He laid a hand on the side of her ribcage, the fabric fine under his fingers, her breath pushing the delicate bones into his fingers. He eased the zipper down her back and when it was well within reach, he stepped back. Keyne took over and pulled it the rest of the way down and then stepped out of the heap of green silk and tulle at her feet. Christ.

She wasn’t wearing a bra and her panties were... God, why did she own things like that? A collection of straps that seemed to be held on by sheer willpower. He’d hold on for dear life to those slight curves, too.

“I—” His voice nearly cracked and he cleared his throat. “I’m going to go to bed.”

She peered over her shoulder, turning so he could see the curve of the underside of her breast. Jesus. “Okay.”

He had to get out of there.

When he got to his room, he took a shower, too. A cold one. Freezing. And despite that and running numbers and to-dos in his head, all he could think of was holding himself over Keyne, easing his cock inside her, petting her hair and soothing her, stroking her cheek beneath his thumb. He’d study her as he entered her, watch every change of expression, every flinch, feel any gasp or sigh. He would be patient, gentle, and if she told him to stop, he’d stop. He would make it good for her, make her feel good and even if it weren’t perfect, it would be good. She’d be cared for, safe, loved.

He loved her.

And not in the platonic way he had since she’d been born. It was far more consuming than that. He’d been fighting the thought for a long time but it crashed into him, undeniable. He loved her, wanted every bit of her. Her tears, her laughter, her pleasure, her stubborn fits of pique. He could taste it, what it would be like to have her. It tasted like satisfaction, like peace, like everything he’d ever wanted.

Keyne O’Connell was built for him. Not from birth, no. But now, with the way her pieces had been put back together after everything that happened, maybe they were meant to be together.

He shut off the water and ducked out, drying his hair before he pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. He climbed into bed and left Keyne’s light on, wondering if she would come. The nights she didn’t, he had a hard time falling asleep, tossing and turning, wondering if she was okay, if she was struggling to let go like he was. But he needn’t have worried. The door clicked open half an hour later and he held up the covers so she could slide in beside him. She nestled in close and he wrapped his arm around her, inhaling the clean smell of her.

Chapter Seventeen

June

In the morning he woke, hard as usual, and was about to sneak out of bed.

“Jasper?”

He froze, his hard-on pressed into her back, and flushed. She never woke up before he did. Ever. He closed his eyes tight, willed his dick to go soft, unthreatening, but it wouldn’t. Not while it was against her.

“Yeah?” If he could sound less like he was in pain, that’d be great.

“Do you ever...”

Curiosity poked at his brain.Do you ever wonder what it would be like to roll me over and kiss me? Do you ever think about me naked? Do you ever wish you could fuck me?Yes, yes, and yes, and he wished to hell he didn’t. Or maybe it was a “do you ever” of theDo you ever think about our dead families, or is that just mevariety. He didn’t care to talk about either one. Not knowing what to hope for, he coaxed her. “Do I ever what?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” He rubbed her arm, hoping maybe she didn’t notice how hard he was.

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