Page 91 of The Dark Before Light

I do. He groans, two fingers catching his cum as it drips out. I know what’s next—I want it more than anything—but nothing can prepare me for the soft, reverent look on his face as he pushes his fingers carefully inside me. Like his cum belongs there. Like he does. Like he’s the only man who ever has and ever will.

His dark head lowers. He presses a kiss to my tender clit. Then he looks up with a crooked grin. “I’ll wash your hair if you wash mine.”

I want to cry, but I smile instead.

“Deal.”

Chapter 26

Talia

“Are you hungry?” calls Kieran.

Squeezing moisture from my hair with a towel, I walk into the bedroom to see him lounging against my headboard with his phone. His hair is wet, too, a messy halo around his face. Jeans and no shirt, bare feet crossed at the ankles.

I almost pinch myself.

“Sure.” I pause. “Do Sven and Dylan want to come in the house? We should feed them, too. Right?”

Kieran doesn’t look up. “Gabe relieved them a bit ago so they could go home. We came straight from the airport.”

My lungs squeeze. He came straight to me.

“Oh, okay. So should I invite Gabe inside?”

He finally looks up, revealing a hint of wariness around his eyes. I toss the towel into a nearby hamper and perch on the edge of the bed.

“What is it?” I ask.

He clears his throat, then laughs a little. “Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.” I frown, and he clarifies, “How you can see what’s going on in my head.”

“I can’t, though,” I say mutedly.

His eyes soften even as his expression grows grave. He tosses his phone to the sheets and pats the bed next to him. Despite a small trill of alarm in my body, I crawl to him and settle against his side. His arm hooks snugly around my waist. My leg falls naturally between his, my head coming to rest on his chest.

A sigh of contentment escapes me.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “How we fit?”

“Yes.” My fingers trail across his clavicle; he catches them and holds my hand over his heart.

When he doesn’t immediately speak, I glance up to see his shuttered expression. Stiffening, I say, “You’re making me nervous.”

“Not my intent.” He kisses my forehead. “Just organizing my thoughts. And trying not to think about taking off your clothes again.”

“Do I need to sit up?”

“I dare you to try.”

I hold back a smile. “Kieran.”

Darkness shifts in his eyes. “That’s the voice, isn’t it? The one that makes men beg?”

Denying the impulse to ask if it makes him want to beg, I ask instead, “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“No,” he says.

I close my eyes in relief, then open them when he releases my hand to cup my face. His thumb skates across my cheekbone.

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