"I don't have a condom."
The realization hits me hard. He doesn't have a condom. My breath catches in my throat as the implications wash over me, and instead of disappointment, I feel an unexpected surge of raw desire. The thought of him bare inside me, nothing between us, skin against skin in the most intimate way possible—it makes me impossibly even more aroused.
My body responds immediately, a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my belly as I imagine how it would feel to have him completely, wholly mine without any barriers.
My pulse quickens as I meet his frustrated gaze. There's something so primal, so intimate about the idea that it makes my head spin with want.
"It's okay." My voice is barely a whisper. "I'm on birth control. I want you bare inside me."
The sound he makes is pure animal hunger. His hands grip my hips possessively as he pulls me against him, guiding me down slowly. The moment I begin to sink onto his length, we both release deep, guttural moans that seem to come from our very souls.
He fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. The sensation is overwhelming—he's so hard, so perfectly thick, and without any barrier between us, I can feel him like I never have before.
He feels so damn amazing.
His eyes flutter, closed in pure bliss. He feels it too.
We start slow, savoring every sensation after weeksapart. But need takes over, and soon we're moving frantically against each other. When he hits that perfect spot inside me, my whole core sinks deeper into him.
"Caine," I gasp his name as pleasure builds to an impossible peak.
He follows me over the edge, and waves of pleasure course through me as hefinallybrings me to climax.
We collapse together, breathless and sated, our bodies sweaty and hot.
I pull the soft hotel robe around myself as Caine calls room service. We're sweaty and spent. I watch him as he kindly speaks into the phone, still revelling in the beauty of him.
When the food arrives—grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread—I realize I'm absolutely starving.
"God, I'm famished," I say, tearing into the warm bread. "I was so nervous today, I could barely eat a thing."
He nods, cutting into his steak with deliberate precision. "Same here. I'm always like that during tournaments—can't eat, can't sleep properly. But today was worse."
"Because of the final?"
"Because I kept thinking about you." He shoots me a sweet smile. "My brain is full of you. I thought it might even mess up my game."
I smile. "It obviously didn't, champ."
"I can't believe you just showed up like that. When I saw you in those stands..."
My heart flutters at the memory of his face lighting up, the way he vaulted over that barrier like nothing else mattered.
"I almost didn't come." I take a sip of the wine he ordered. "I sat in my car at that parking lot for twenty minutes, debating whether to turn around."
"I'm so fucking glad you didn't." He sets down his fork, his expression growing serious. "Jenna, these past few weeks... giving you space when all I wanted was to call you, to see you—it was torture."
"I know. I kept picking up my phone to text you, then putting it down again."
"I must have started typing messages to you dozens of times." He runs his fingers through that perfectly tousled hair. "I deleted every single one."
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest tight. This powerful, controlled man—reduced to deleting unsent text messages like a lovesick teenager.
"I'm crazy about you," he goes on his voice dropping to that slow, honey-smooth tone that always undoes me. “You know I’m in love with you, Jenna. I think I've been in love with you since that first day I walked into the pool hall."
Damn.
The words rise from somewhere deep inside me, from that place I've kept locked away for so long. They hang on my tongue. I love him too—desperately, completely, with every fiber of my being—and for the first time since this all began, I'm not drowning in guilt or second-guessing myself.
