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If that was what defeat felt like, I’d bow every time.

“On your back,” she demanded, her voice taking a bossy edge all of a sudden.

I was captivated, and more than willing.

Her knee nudged my thigh, and she shakily saddled me.

I was in awe. Forty could have killed me then, and my dreams in life would have been sufficiently filled. Well, the kind that made my mouth water and derailed my every waking thought.

She dragged herself over my length, and though her intent was clear, I still instinctively began to ask, “What are you–?”

My eyes nearly came out of my head, and I gripped her hips so fiercely I probably left bruises when she sank down. She sent me reeling. I didn’t have a conscious thought in my mind, everything except her hot, slick grip melted away.

She began to move and my world spun again, only settling when her hand came to rest like a necklace around me. The whipping and snapping of her hips dictated my every breath.

“That’s it. Just lay there like a good, little pillow princess and hush, while I use your body.” Her outrageous words carried no belittling tone, and yet something about them lit a little fuse inside me.

“Mhm. Just. Like. That.” She grunted each word and selfishly found her pleasure, her voice still carrying an edge of whininess to it when she huffed, “Good boy.”

My jaw dropped, my cock bricked without warning as the fuse finally ran out and I exploded in her with a deep, upward thrust.

Her nails bit into the edge of my jaw as she cupped my face from the underside and steered it left to right, while gloating, “I knew it.”

I was glowing outwardly and burning inwardly at the effect her words had on me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Choices

Kennedy

I awoke tangled in his arms. It was kind of nice.

“You’re awake,” he realized.

I made a throaty, uncommitted sound, “I could lay in your arms forever.”

The way he smiled, as he turned me to face him warmed my heart a little. It made me feel like things could finally be okay.

“Who says you can’t?”

My gaze shifted with my thoughts.

“Kenny, your life is your own. You don’t owe it to anybody to waste it away, especially when doing so has already resulted in those around you plotting your death.”

He said it gently, but the truth of the words stung a little. I knew he was right, but I also knew it wasn’t that simple.

Dad needed me. Paxton needed me. Wasn’t this proof of exactly that?

I was conflicted. The type of torn that you feel in your chest. I ached for that kind of connection, the type that squeezed every last minute they could under the stars with you.

“You really think you love me?” I asked, clearing my thoughts enough for me to focus on the conversation at hand.

He hesitated only a moment before admitting, “I know I do.”

“Then you know I can’t run. I can’t leave my family vulnerable. I couldn’t do it then, and I can’t now. If you love me, you’ll understand that.”

I knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. When he didn’t immediately respond, I feared I might have ruined whatever vibe we had shared. Not that vibing was the most important thing to me right now.