Page 9 of November's Bad Boy: Kacen
I answer by wrapping my legs around him and pulling him closer. He groans as he pushes inside me, filling me. For a moment, we're both still, adjusting to the sensation, our foreheads pressed together.
"Move," I command, digging my nails into his shoulders.
He does, setting a rhythm that has me gasping. Each thrust builds the tension coiling inside me. I cling to him, trying to keep my emotions separate from the physical pleasure, but it's harder than I expected.
His lips find mine again, and the kiss is almost too tender for what this is supposed to be. I turn my face away, focusing on the ceiling, on the physical sensation rather than the way his eyes are trying to see into me.
"Look at me," he whispers, his pace slowing deliberately.
"Don't," I warn, but he cradles my face with one hand, turning me back to him.
"Please."
Something in his voice breaks through my defenses. I meet his gaze, and the intensity there steals my breath. He moves again, slower now, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine.
It's too much—too intimate, too real. I close my eyes again, but the damage is done. This isn't just sex anymore. Maybe it never was.
I feel my walls crumbling as he moves inside me, each thrust deliberate and deep. The tension builds, my body arching into his. His name falls from my lips like a prayer, and I hate how right it feels.
"Let go," he whispers against my ear. "I've got you."
And I do. The pleasure crashes over me in waves, stealing my breath and my pride. He follows seconds later, his body tensing above mine as he buries his face in my neck.
For a moment, we just breathe together, our hearts racing in tandem. His weight should feel suffocating, but instead, it anchors me to reality when I want nothing more than to float away from what I've just done.
"That was..." he starts.
"Don't," I cut him off, suddenly needing space.
"I should go," I whisper, but make no move to leave.
His arm tightens around my waist. "Stay. Just for a little while."
I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I find myself nodding, letting him pull the covers over us. The silence stretches between us, filled with unspoken questions.
"You still haven't told me why you're really back," I say finally.
“The short of it is my brother saved my life. Now he asked for my help, and it’s time I paid it back.”
Watching his face in the dim light, I try to read the truth there. "Saved your life how?"
“That’s a story for another time,” he says, running his thumb up and down over my stomach.
Even though I should get up and leave, I’m so comfortable that sleep takes me before I can move.
The morning light is too bright.
I blink against it, pulling the covers tighter around me even though I already know I’m alone in the bed. The other side is rumpled, but empty. My dress is folded neatly on the chair. My wings from the costume are leaning against the wall, drooping like they knew better too.
Closing my eyes, I try to pretend this didn’t happen.
But it did.
And I can’t take it back.
Sitting up slowly, my body is sore in ways that have nothing to do with sleep. My heart feels heavier than it should. I find the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and stare at the mirror until I recognize the woman looking back.
I whisper the words before I let myself believe them.
