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I wake, my body tingling from head to toe. I’m immediately aware of the warmth between my legs and the soft pressure against my core.

My eyes flutter open to find myself looking at a pair of deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes that are almost too pretty for a man. They belong to none other than Connor Milton, whose lips are currently pressed against my most intimate area.

“Good morning,” he says.

My words come out of me as a moan when his fingers thrust inside me. “Good morning.”

I rock my hips, chasing the building pleasure. He works me slowly but surely toward release, his fingers curling and uncurling. Knowing exactly how to touch me, make my body tremble and my mind swirl with pleasure. I gasp, clutching at the bedsheets, completely lost in the sensations he elicits from me.

I’m close, so close.

Connor seems pleased by my reaction, continuing to stroke me until I reach climax with a low whimper. I collapse onto the pillows afterward, spent and satisfied.

He kisses a path up my body and hugs me close. “I’m content to stay like this all day.”

I hum in agreement, basking in the afterglow and his warmth.

It feels so natural waking up like this—I mean, not exactly like this, but beside him with his arms around me, his scent enveloping me. Like we’ve been together forever instead of… what has it been? A few weeks? A month?

I don’t even know. Time seems to blur and stretch when I’m with him. One moment, we’re fighting. The next, we’re tearing each other’s clothes off in a frenzy of lust. And then there are quiet moments like this, where we just… are. Existing in the same space, breathing the same air.

Can I trust him? Trust this?

It feels dangerous to want someone so much, to give him that kind of power over me. But I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel.

Damn him for making me feel this way.

Damn him, and damn me too. Because I don’t want to let him go. No matter how much my head screams to be cautious, and my heart. My foolish, eager heart. It wants to leap. Wants to believe. Wants him.

He means something to me. More than I ever intended. More than is probably wise.

“Hey,” Connor says. “What’s going on?”

“Just enjoying the peace and quiet.”

He probably sees right through my flimsy excuse.

I shift so I’m straddling him, peering down into his face. “Will you tell me more about your family?”

He rests his hands on my hips, his touch warm and possessive. “What do you want to know?”

“Your father. You’ve mentioned having a good relationship with him.”

“My father raised Ezra and me on his own after my mother left us when I was seven,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember her well. Just little things, like the lullabies she used to sing or the way she smelled of lavender. One day, she was just gone.”

He pauses, and I stay silent until he’s ready to continue.

“My father never spoke ill of her. Never told us why she left. But I know it devastated him. He worked his ass off together with my uncle to give us opportunities and taught us everything we need for life. Those first few years were rough, with him juggling work and taking care of two little boys on his own.”

Connor’s eyes meet mine, his expression softening. “That’s where Margaret came in. She was my nanny, but became so much more. Taught me how to ride a bike, patched up my scrapes when I fell. She was the one who kissed my hurts when I was sick, baked cookies, and let me lick the spoon. Margaret was the closest thing I had to a mother.”

I reach for his hand, twining my fingers through his. His childhood sounds lonely but full of love, even with the absence of his mother. I think of my own loud, chaotic family and wonder if he envies the bustle or prefers the intimacy of a smaller unit.

“Your father and Margaret did right by you,” I say. “I’m glad you had them.”

He nods, some unspoken emotion darkening his eyes. I lean in and brush my lips over his, hoping to chase away whatever shadows lurk there.

“They did their best.” He shrugs. “I hope you get to meet them someday. I think you’d like each other.”

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