Page 33 of Betrothed


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I wanted to wipe the memory of that piece of shit’s two-faced look, his fake placations and false kindness covering up the way he’d looked down on her. Treated her like she had no power because she’d made mistakes.

We all fucking made mistakes. Life was about learning from our mistakes.

Like I’d hopefully learn from this one in the morning.

She let out a soft moan and opened her mouth beautifully under mine. Her kiss mirrored everything else about her. Warm and sweet. Inviting, but not passive. She kissed me back with equal fervor, her tongue stroking along mine, drawing it into the depths of her mouth.

My cock pulsed angrily. Too many nights spent where I should’ve taken a cold shower—should’ve worked one or two out before going to bed. Instead, I buried myself—and my needs—in my work, thinking that if I buried them deep enough, I could ignore them.

But there was no ignoring a fucking land mine. And that was exactly how my body reacted to her kiss. It blew all my protests and restraints to high hell.

“Fuck, Kenzie.” I growled into her mouth.

“Don’t stop.” She curled her hands into my shirt and held me tight.

I turned, pinning her between me and the counter and then lifted her onto it.Not unlike that night in the kitchen at Blooms.

As soon as I stepped between her thighs, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I was a goner.

“One night,” I warned in a low voice. “Understand?”

I wanted consent, and I wanted to be clear. This was so fucking wrong on so many levels, but if I couldn’t stop it, I could make sure it didn’t happen again.

Yeah, we were living in the same orbit now, but that wasn’t permanent. In a few months, she’d leave Blooms and go back to the city—back to be with her son. And I’d still be here, working my days away to try and save the world.

I might not be a pretentious, narcissistic ass like Stan and flaunt my work in everyone’s face, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know how important it was. The women who came to Blooms needed all my attention. All my commitment. I’d never forgive myself if by focusing a little more on my own life, I put one of theirs at risk.

But for one night…

“One night.” She exhaled shakily. “Please.”

My lips slammed back down onto hers, kissing her wildly.

For one night, I’d break all the rules to treat this woman the way she deserved to be treated—to be worshipped.Because if today was any indication, the only worshipping Kenzie had ever experienced was at the feet of her egotistical ex.

With one hand, I held the back of her head, imprisoning her mouth with mine as my other hand snaked around her waist. Instinctively, she clutched me as I picked her up and carried her to my bedroom.

I hadn’t brought a woman here since I’d moved into the place. I tried not to think about that—not to make anything more of it—but I couldn’t help it.

At the foot of the bed, I turned and sank onto it, keeping Kenzie in my lap. Just like when we’d worked together, there was this kind of innate synchronicity that shouldn’t seem as special as it did. My hands went to the hem of the dress, lifting it as her arms rose.

Then went my shirt.

Her bra.

My shoes.

I flipped us, her back to the bed, and my hips resting between her thighs. My hungry gaze roamed over her lush body. Her blonde hair fanned out on the bed like spilled sunshine. Her pale skin shimmered like a slice of moonlight, her full breasts topped with bright red nipples that furled tightly. All the swells and valleys I’d fantasized about over the last weeks came to life beneath me, more beautifully than I could’ve imagined.

“You have perfect tits,” I growled, palming one breast while my mouth lowered to her other begging nipple.

“Zeke.” She gasped and bowed as I sucked on the taut peak, clutching my head to her chest like it was the air her lungs needed.

“I couldn’t help staring at them all day. Any day,” I admitted. “At the house. At the gym. At the park.”

I laved and sucked until she writhed on my bed like my own wanton nymph.The way she responded to my touch drove me wild. It was like her body had never known pleasure—or had known it too long ago to remember. I’d bet her shithead ex never cared about her pleasure. Never cared about anything except getting one off.Fuck him.

“Please…”

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