Page 61 of 1 Last Shot

I'm completely absorbed in her when she comes for me again.

She cries out into my kiss. I thought I'd be able to last through it, to pull another, and then another, from her body, but with that sound ringing in my ears, I have no hope of holding out. I come with a groan.

By the time we come down, we’re both shaking from the overwhelming sensations. Her legs and arms still wrapped tightly around me, I drop my face into her neck, already not wanting to pull out of her.

But then she lets out a happy hum and presses a kiss to my neck. When I lift my head so I can look down at her, she’s smiling.

For some reason, the moment I come down from my orgasm-high is the moment I see her, looking sated and happy.

And it hits me that this didn’t feel the way that sex usually feels. Not even close. We were too good, too in sync, too…perfectfor each other.

Sex has always ever been a physical release. That’s it.

This wasn’t that.

The thought is a stab of fear in my gut. I’m out of my element here and I don’t know how to handle it. I need out.

I push onto my hands and knees, quickly disposing of the condom and then reaching for my clothes.

"I have to get going," I say absentmindedly as I pull on my shirt.

Isabella doesn’t say anything, but when I’m fully dressed, and I finally lift my gaze to hers, I find an uncertain look on her face that has regret tugging at my chest.

Despite wanting to get out of here so I have enough space to breathe, I’m not blind to the fact that Isabella doesn’t deserve to be made to feel like I’m abandoning her. Definitely not that I just used her for sex.

I take a knee on the bed so I can lean down to her. “I have to feed Oscar, princess,” I say. Which isn’t a lie, but it’s also not the whole truth. “I would stay if I could. I wouldn’t just fuck you and run off.”

Isabella studies my expression for a moment. She knowsI’m lying. She canseemy inner freakout, but she doesn’t look even the least bit mad.

She just looks understanding, in the way that Isabella always does.

A warm, honest smile appears on her face, and then she nods. “Okay,” is all she says.

I press another kiss to those tempting lips, the touch like a brand.

"See you at yoga?" she asks when I finally pull away. But I'm already shaking my head.

"I'll see you before that,” I vow, already regretting wanting to leave. “I'll text you. Here, put your number in my phone." I reach into my back pocket where my phone is still stashed and hand it over to her.

She bites her lip, but it does nothing to get rid of the giddy look on her face. It only takes her half a second to type the number in and hand it back to me.

I should just leave at this point, but I can’t stop myself from leaning down and pressing another kiss to her lips. “Night, princess,” I murmur against her mouth.

Her smile stretches against mine. “Good night, Kane,” she whispers.

And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to push everyone away. I don’t want to keep Isabella out any longer. And even though this is inevitably going to end, if this is all the time I get with her, I want all of it.

20

ISABELLA

“Nice work today, Isabella, that arabesque on your left side is looking really strong.”

I give Mrs. Martin a grateful nod. “Thank you. It’s starting to feel good, too.”

When she turns to the next class of dancers, it occurs to me that I didn’t have my usual reaction to a dance compliment. Usually, a compliment would come with an overwhelming sense of relief–a confirmation that I’m actually good at this thing that I do. That I’m living up to my potential.

Right now, the only thing I feel is happy that I got a compliment.

---