Page 56 of The Founder's Power

We move together, faster now but not rushed. Not frantic.

Focused on each other’s pleasure.

We’re writing a vow with every stroke.

Her legs tremble. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and when she comes, it’s not quiet. It’s shattering. Her whole body pulses around me, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in a broken moan of my name that undoes me.

I follow a heartbeat later, burying myself deep inside her as I come with a groan against her skin, every muscle taut, every nerve lit up with the weight of this connection.

My arms around her like she might slip away if I loosen my grip, but she doesn’t. She stays. Neither of us is going anywhere.

CHAPTER30

DAMIAN

The first thing I feel the next morning is her.

Her fingertips—light, teasing—wrapped around my cock beneath the sheets. I’m already hard, already pulsing against her palm. She knows exactly how to touch me, soft but certain, her thumb grazing just under the head as her lips brush the curve of my jaw.

I groan softly, eyes still closed.

Isabelle’s tucked against my side, bare and warm, her body pressed close, one leg draped over mine, hand stroking me with slow, wicked intention.

“Good morning,” she whispers, her voice still husky from sleep.

I open my eyes and look down at her. Her hair’s a mess, her eyes still sleepy, but the smile on her lips is wicked and tender all at once.

“You’re going to kill me,” I murmur.

She grins. “That’s not the part of you I’m trying to bring back to life.”

I laugh. No one has ever made me laugh as much as she does.

I cup her face and kiss her slowly, deeply, my other hand trailing down her spine, grounding us in the heat rising between us again.

There’s nothing rushed about it. Just warmth. Trust. Need that feels as emotional as it does physical.

She strokes me again, slower now, more deliberate, and I roll toward her, reaching between her legs, wanting to feel how ready she is for me.

And she is. She’s so damn wet.

I press my forehead to hers. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to waking up like this.”

She kisses the corner of my mouth. “Then don’t.”

I shift over her, guiding myself to her entrance, ready to slide into that heat again, when?—

Bzzz… bzzz… bzzz.

The sharp vibration of a phone cuts through the morning stillness.

We both freeze. It’s not my phone on the nightstand and not her phone either.

Which means it’s my old business phone.

Buried in a drawer I haven’t opened in weeks.

The sound is unmistakable and persistent.

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