Page 43 of His Ruthless Vow

Kendra.

She's curled on her side, facing away from me, the sheet draped low across the dip of her waist. Her bare back is exposed—smooth brown skin that I can’t take my eyes off of. Her curls are splayed across my pillow, wilder now after sleep and what we did last night.

I study the curve of her shoulder, the elegant line of her spine. In sleep, she's lost that razor-sharp edge she carries like armor. Something constricts in my chest—something I don't want to examine.

Women don't sleep in my bed. They don't stay the night. That's a rule I've never broken until now.

But looking at her—the way her body has claimed half my mattress like it's her goddamn divine right—I'm struck by how natural she looks here. Like she belongs against my sheets, in my space.

I need to move. Get up. Reclaim whatever the fuck is happening to me.

Before I can extract myself from this dangerous moment, a blur of yellow fur crashes onto the bed with the subtlety of a freight train. Paige lands between us, tongue lolling out, tail slapping against the sheets with chaotic enthusiasm.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, reaching for the lab who's now trying to step on Kendra's hair in her excitement.

Kendra stirs, a low groan escaping her throat as she rolls over. Her eyes crack open, pupils constricting against the morning light before her sleepy glare fixes on me. Even half-conscious, she manages to look thoroughly unimpressed.

"Your dog is obnoxious," she mumbles, voice husky with sleep. She pushes herself up slightly, the sheet falling to her waist, revealing more of that skin I spent hours exploring last night. She doesn't reach to cover herself—Kendra isn't the type to suddenly find modesty in daylight.

Paige, the traitor, immediately abandons me to nose at Kendra's face. Instead of pushing her away, Kendra scratches behind the dog's ears with a reluctant half-smile.

Movement at the foot of the bed catches my attention. Penny is inching forward on her belly, her wary eyes fixed on Kendra. This is new. Penny doesn't approach strangers—hell, it took her weeks to stop hiding when I first got her. Yet here she is, cautiously making her way up the mattress until she settles at the edge near Kendra's feet.

Kendra notices too. Her eyes flick down to Penny, then back to me with a raised eyebrow. "At least one of them has sense," she says, but her hand reaches down to scratch gently behind Penny's ears. The shepherd's eyes close in pleasure, leaning into the touch without hesitation.

The sight does something to my insides—twists them into a shape I don't recognize. Penny trusting Kendra feels significant in a way I'm not prepared to analyze. This woman in my bed, charming my most selective dog, fitting into my most private space without effort.

Kendra sighs, settling back against the pillows, one hand still absently stroking Penny's head. She looks comfortable. At ease.

Like she's not planning on leaving.

And I don't want her to.

But then Kendra stretches, arching her back like a cat in the sunlight. She sits up fully, careless as the sheet slips down, exposing the curve of her breasts. Her skin glows in the morning light, all smooth cocoa warmth against the stark white of my bedding. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I have to look away before I give in to the urge to reach out and pull her back down beneath me.

"I should go," she murmurs, though her body tells a different story. She makes no effort to move, her fingers still absently tangling in Penny's fur. Her other hand smooths over the expensive sheets like she's memorizing the feel of them. Of my bed. Of this moment.

I lean against the headboard, crossing my arms over my chest, and watch her internal debate play out across her face. The corner of my mouth lifts in a knowing smirk.

"Then go," I say, my voice low and rough from sleep. Challenge runs through the words—we both know what she wants, what I want. But this is her move to make.

She scowls at me, those full lips pursing with irritation. But beneath the annoyance, I see it—the hesitation, the reluctance to leave the warm cocoon we've created. Her eyes, still soft with sleep, betray her. She wants to stay. She wants me to ask her to stay.

I don't.

For once, I let her make the choice. This isn't part of our deal. There are no terms to enforce, no debts to collect. Whatever she decides now is on her—free will in its purest form.

The silence stretches between us, filled only with Paige's panting and the rustle of sheets as Kendra finally slides out of bed. The grace in her movements draws my eye—the deliberate swing of her hips, the languid way she bends to collect her scattered clothes from the floor. She's moving slower than necessary, dragging out every second.

She steps into her dress, pulling it up over her curves without hurry. She doesn't turn away as she dresses, doesn't hide from my gaze. It's not modesty that drives her—it's power. She knows exactly what she's doing to me.

I remain still, a predator at rest, tracking her movements around my room as she gathers her things. Her heels dangly loosely from her fingertips. Her hair is a wild tangle of curls that she doesn't bother to tame. She looks thoroughly fucked and completely unconcerned about it.

The sight of her like this—marked by my hands, wearing the evidence of our night—stirs something possessive in my chest that I refuse to acknowledge.

She pauses at the bedroom door, her hand on the knob. For a moment, I think she'll leave without another word.

Then she glances back.

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