Page 37 of The Devil's Waltz

Xander is gone when I open my eyes the next morning. My stomach sinks when I reach for him and my fingers only find cold sheets.

He left?

I move to sit up and press my lips together at the dull ache between my legs. A pulsing reminder of what we did last night. It was intense and overwhelming and amazing, all at once. I don’t think I had expectations for that experience—if anything, they’d be that my anxiety would rear its ugly head. But I managed to keep it at bay, too consumed by Xander’s touch and the pleasure it brought that nothing else had the chance to infiltrate my thoughts.

He’d held me after we came down from the high of being together, nuzzling and kissing my neck as I drifted to sleep with a satiated smile on my lips.

So why isn’t he here this morning?

Did he leave as soon as I fell asleep?

Was it not good for him?

Does he regret it?

I blow out an agitated breath, shaking my head at myself. This isn’t me—I don’t want to be the person who spirals after having sex for the first time, over-analyzing every moment. I want more control over myself than that.

The bedroom door opens, and Xander slips inside, wearing yesterday’s clothes. He’s carrying a takeout tray with to-go cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

My brows lift, my pulse ticking faster as a mix of relief and excitement tangle together in my chest, making my stomach flutter.

“I was hoping to get back before you woke up,” he says in a hushed voice, approaching the bed. He sets the drinks and bag on the nightstand.

I stare at him for a moment that goes on too long before I find my voice and say, “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes with a faint grin, leaning down to kiss me softly. His lips brush mine, his fingers sliding along my jaw to tip my head back. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks after pulling back and perching on the side of the bed.

I nod, pulling absently at a loose thread on the duvet. “I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night. That was incredible.”

“I agree with that sentiment,” he says, reaching toward me and tucking my hair behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my cheek. “Are you hungry? I grabbed lattes and chocolate croissants from the café down the street.”

“Mmm,” I hum, “that sounds amazing.” I scoot over to make room for him, and we sit with our backs against the headboard. I tuck my legs under me and face him, taking the to-go cup he hands me. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He sets the paper bag between us. “How are you feeling after last night?”

I pause, the cup halfway to my lips. “A little sore, but good.” My gaze drops to my lap as I contemplate my next words. “I, um…When I woke up and you weren’t here, I thought you left sometime last night. Then I found myself questioning the whole thing,” I admit reluctantly. “I don’t want to assume anything and I can only speak to my experience, so…” I trail off, not sure what else to say.

Xander’s expression is thoughtful, and he grips my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “There is absolutely nothing about what happened last night, from my perspective, that you need to question.” His thumb glides back and forth across my skin, and I become hyper-focused on how it makes my stomach coil with a newly familiar tingling sensation. “I’m here,” he continues, “and I will be so long as you want me to be.”

My heart lurches, and I can’t stop the grin forming on my lips. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Xander shoots me a playful smirk. “Good. Now that we’ve established we’re on the same page, let’s eat.”

I dive into the bag and pull out a croissant, handing it to him before grabbing another for myself. Taking a giant bite, I moan at the sweet, chocolaty flavor, and my cheeks heat when I catch the hunger in Xander’s gaze. My mind immediately goes to last night, and while I’m not sure I’m physically prepared for another round so soon, parts of me definitely disagree.

He takes a bite of his croissant, keeping his eyes on me, and my pulse kicks up. “You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you?” he says in a low voice.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, forcing a nonchalant shrug.

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “Keep looking at me like that, and the ache between your thighs is going to be much more pronounced,mo shíorghrá.”

Holy shit.

His words steal the breath from my lungs, and all I can think about was how he took care of me, making sure I was okay with everything we were doing, going at my pace. As far as first times go, I have to think I was dealt a pretty damn good one.

“About last night…” I find myself saying.

He takes a drink of his latte then sets the cup on the nightstand. “Yes?”

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