Page 140 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Letting him in is like drinking from a poisoned cup while knowing damn well it’s going to kill you.

And the worst part?

I drink it all the same…

Kane carries me across the room, his mouth never leaving mine, and I grip his face with both hands, losing myself in his kiss. I think he’s going to take me to the couch against the wall until something cold touches my ass cheeks through my shorts.

I sever the kiss just long enough to realize…

He didn’t drop me on the couch.

H dropped me on top of the grand piano.

He set me down where the music rack normally goes, and I have no idea when he even removed the rack, but his lips finding mine immediately expel the questions from my mind.

He pulls back a few seconds later, heat blazing in his green eyes, and rests a final kiss on my lips before sitting down on the bench.

“Spread your legs, baby.” His request rumbles deep in his throat, and I must’ve left my sanity at the door because I do just that.

I stretch my arms out behind me, propping myself onto my palms as Kane stares me dead in the eyes, as though he’s waiting for me to ask him to stop at any moment.

His fiery gaze locks on mine as he traps his bottom lip between his teeth and inches closer.

I gasp when he reaches for the waistband of my shorts.

He waits a few more seconds, giving me a chance to oppose.

I never do.

Then he yanks my shorts down my legs in one go.

Seeing as I thought I was going to bed after this, I went commando under my shorts. I’m fully exposed to him now, save for my T-shirt, and a wave of self-consciousness washes over me from the moment he zeroes in on my pussy. I’m so painfully aware of how turned on I am, and now… he is, too

The next thing I know, he’s resting my legs up on each of his shoulders.

“Shirt off,” he commands.

I hesitate. I’m already spread-eagled on top of this fucking piano with my pussy bared to him. My shirt is the last piece of clothing shielding my body.

“Now, Hadley,” he grits out when I don’t oblige quickly enough.

My hands are shaking, but I grip the hem of my T-shirt and pull.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes as I toss my T-shirt, showing him all of me at once.

His jaw drops at the full picture, hungry eyes raking over my entire body.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he rasps and wraps his arms around my thighs, jerking me forward. “Closer,” he growls, his voice thick with impatience.

I oblige, scooting until my ass is dangling off the piano. His grip grows tighter around my thighs, his fingers digging into my flesh as he presses down to keep my legs firmly on his shoulders.

This is the same boy I used to share a shed with.

The boy who took my first kiss.

The very same boy who put all those tears in my eyes.

Turns out he’s also the one making me wet and the definition of my blind spot.

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