Chapter 6
MORGANA
The door slams shut behind us, and Kane’s mouth is on mine before I can take another breath. This kiss is nothing like the one in the bar, this is pure hunger. His hands are in my hair, on my waist, pressing me back against the door.
I try to form a coherent thought, try to process what’s happening, but then his mouth moves to my neck, and rational thinking becomes impossible. His mouth is hot on my skin below my ear, and it makes me gasp and arch into him, my whole body coming alive.
“Kane,” I moan, my body lighting up with a blinding intensity as Kane’s hands move over my skin.
His hands find the hem of my dress, and before I can think about what’s happening, he’s pushing it up my thighs. The cool air hits my heated skin, and I shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the fire in his touch.
“I need you,” he says, and the desperation in his voice makes something clench low in my belly. “Right now. I can’t wait.”
“Then don’t,” I manage, surprising myself with how breathless I sound. “Don’t wait.”
His eyes go dark, feral, and then his hands are hooking into my panties, pulling them down in one swift motion. I step out of them, legs trembling, and he kicks them aside without breaking eye contact.
“Lift your leg,” he commands, voice pure gravel.
I do, hooking it over his hip, and I gasp when I feel how hard and thick he is. Part of my brain says I should slow down and think of this, but the lust and need coursing through my body silence that voice when I see the hot desire in Kane’s eyes.
He groans when he touches my throbbing core, and I shiver as his fingers tease at my clit. “Morgana…”
I can’t form words. I can only grip his shoulders as he positions himself. When he pushes inside, we both cry out.
“Move,” I gasp, nails digging into his shirt. “Please, Kane, I need…” My voice is replaced by a moan as he pulls back and thrusts deep into my core, pinning me against the door with each stroke. Each thrust hits something inside me and stars explode behind my eyes.
“That’s it,” he says, voice wrecked. “Let me hear you. Let me hear how good this feels.”
It feels better than incredible. As our bodies move together, pleasure spirals through me, building higher and higher until I’m shaking with it.
“I can’t,” I gasp, head falling back against the door. “It’s too much, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.” His free hand slides between us, finding my clit and teasing it as he thrusts faster and faster into me. “Come for me, baby.”
The command in his voice, combined with his touch, sends me over the edge. My whole body convulses as waves of pleasure crash over me. He follows immediately, groaning loudly as he buries his cock deep inside me.
We stand there for a moment, both shaking, foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath. My leg is still hooked over his hip, and I can feel the tremor in his muscles from holding us both up.
“Bed,” he says finally, and before I can protest or move, he’s lifting me.
“Kane, no. I’m too heavy. I’m too big to carry.”
He silences me with a kiss that steals what little breath I have left. When he pulls back, his eyes are fierce, certain.
“You’re perfectly sized,” he says fiercely. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.”
He carries me to the bed like I weigh nothing. When he lays me down, his eyes never leave mine.
The mattress dips under our weight, but he doesn’t give me time to adjust, to think, to do anything but feel. His mouth is on mine again, demanding, consuming, and I’m drowning in the sensation of him everywhere at once.
“I need to touch you,” he says against my lips, hands already working at the rest of my dress. “All of you. I should have done this years ago.”
“Kane, please,” I don’t even know what I’m begging for, only that I need more, need everything.
“I know,” he says, and there’s something almost feral in his voice. “We’re far from done.”
His mouth moves lower, over my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. Everywhere his lips touch, my body arches to meet him. When his tongue slides lower, I gasp, gripping the sheets. The world blurs into nothing but the sound of my heartbeat and my moans.
I wake slowly, disoriented. There’s a warm weight at my back, an arm draped possessively over my waist, breath stirring my hair.
For a moment, I can’t place where I am. Then I shift slightly and feel the delicious ache between my legs, the tender spots where Kane marked my neck, my breasts, my inner thighs.
Oh God.
Last night wasn’t a dream.
I slept with Kane. My best friend. Multiple times. Against the wall. In the shower. That thing with his tongue made me black out for a second.
My heart races. What did we do? What the hell did we do?
His arm tightens around me as he wakes, pulling me flush against him. I can feel every inch of his naked body pressed against mine, and despite the panic clawing at my throat, my body responds immediately.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
“Hi.” The word comes out strangled.
His body tenses behind me, and his breathing changes. We lie there frozen, neither of us moving, the silence stretching between us like a chasm.
This is it. This is where he pulls away. Where he says it was a mistake. Where fifteen years of friendship implodes because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
“Morgana...” he starts, and my stomach drops.
I turn in his arms because I have to see his face.
Have to know if he regrets it. His eyes meet mine, and for a second I see something flicker there.
Uncertainty? Concern? Regret? It’s gone before I can identify it, but that moment of hesitation is enough to puncture the moment of bliss and make my chest tight.
But then I catch sight of the clock on the nightstand.
“Shit!” I bolt upright, sheet clutched to my chest. “The wedding. There’s a family brunch in an hour. I need to shower. And do my hair. And figure out how to cover these.” I gesture vaguely at the marks on my neck, trying not to remember how good it felt when he put them there.
“Hey.” He sits up too, reaching for me, then seems to think better of it. His hand hovers between us for a moment before dropping. “It’s okay.”
I scramble out of bed, wrapping the sheet around me like armor. “I should… I need to go back to my room. Get ready.”
“Morgana, wait.”
“No, it’s fine. We have to get ready anyway, right? Big day. Victor and Belinda’s wedding.” I’m babbling now, gathering my dress from the floor, trying not to look at him. If I don’t stop moving and don’t stop talking, he can’t tell me it was a mistake.
I finally look at him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sheet pooled at his waist, looking like a Greek god who simultaneously made my dreams come true and filled me with a bone-deep terror that I’m about to lose my best friend.
There’s something in his expression I can’t read, but I’m too scared to think about it too much.
How do we go back to normal after last night?
The answer is terrifying: if he pulls back again, we don’t.
“The wedding,” I say again. “Let’s...let’s get through the wedding. Then we can...”
He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll stop by in an hour to pick you up.”
What the hell just happened?