She moaned and whimpered and made little half scream sounds until she was hoarse, and then at the end of it all, she moaned his name. Not his real name.
“Cason,” she breathed, right into his ear.
He pulled out when he came. He couldn’t do that inside of her. Not because he didn’t trust her about the pill or trust it to work, but because it felt like the ultimate deception. He’d already filled her up with lies. He didn’t need to fill her up with anything else.
Instead he pulled out and came in hot, ropy jets all over her stomach and crotch and thighs. Coating her. Marking her.
When she opened her eyes and blinked up at him with a mix of awe and contentment, that sleepy, heavy lidded, sexed up look that a thoroughly pleasured woman has, he was done.
If she ran from him, she ran. If she never forgave him when he told her the truth, she’d never forgive him. There was nothing he could do now that he was in too deep. No effing pun intended, because that shit was not funny.
For the first time ever, he’d given a part of himself to another person. Left it with her. That small part of his soul that he was so sure he’d never let another person borrow, let alone have. He’d guarded it jealously, kept that shit on lockdown, and then, in one night, Noemi had swept in and he’d given it freely. She didn’t have to steal it. She didn’t have to break into his soul and rob it. It was like she’d always been there, nameless, silent, but waiting. Waiting for that moment when she’d finally reveal herself.
If that wasn’t the definition of in too deep, he wasn’t sure what was, because it was the deepest he’d ever been in. People said over their head. He was far, far above his head. Years above his head.
The stupid thing was, he’d planned on getting Noemi to agree on a loveless, sexless, paper marriage and a looming divorce. It only took twenty-four hours to wreck every single one of his plans. Twenty. Four. Hours.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It was less than that. More like sixteen. Sixteen hours to do what no one else had been able to achieve. Ever.
He was pretty dang sure that made her the most dangerous woman on the planet, with the power to pulverize the parts of him that she held so delicately and precariously in her beautiful little hands.
CHAPTER 12
Noemi
She wasn’t sure what the total O tally was. She’d lost track somewhere after the seven that Cason promised. They’d finally fallen into bed, exhausted, somewhere right around that time when the first grey rays of early morning crept through the blinds and stole into the room.
She should have been able to sleep. Not just because she hadn’t really had more than a few hours, but also because of the crazy post climactic bliss she was riding. Her body felt like goo and she melted into the mattress, but her mind wouldn’t turn off. Apparently, Cason had the same problem.
He tossed and turned and even though his breathing was deep and even, she knew he wasn’t asleep. Finally, after an hour of lying there with her back turned to Cason, she gave up on the pretense and rolled to face him. She wasn’t surprised that a few minutes later, his eyes opened.
“Can’t sleep either?”
He let out a massive sigh, flipped onto his back, and tucked his arms behind his head so that he could stare up at the ceiling. “I guess not. You?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Obviously not.”
Even though it was way too familiar, she rolled into him, settled her head against his warm chest and threw her arm over as much of him as she could actually hold, which wasn’t much. She’d never been with anyone who took up ninety-nine percent of the bed just by existing, not because they were sprawled out.
His chest was warm and sticky beneath her cheek. It would have grossed her out with anyone else, damp skin, her nose filled up with the spicy, musky, sexual scent of what they’d just been doing, but not with him. Cason was different. It was like his body scent was specially formulated just to make her feel all mushy and warm inside.
She closed her eyes and just savored being near him. She had no idea what she was doing there. Not really. This new version of herself was scary and alarming. It was a version that took chances and put herself out there, made herself vulnerable, even at what was one of the worst times in her life.
“You asked me if I was okay. I said I was, but that’s a lie. I’m probably not.”
She stiffened, not sure what she was supposed to say to that. Her head felt like a sexed up, overtired soup. Even if she was fully alert, she wasn’t sure how to take that statement. Instead of speaking, she ran her fingertip right by her face, twirling patterns gently over Cason’s right pec, above his heartbeat. She lifted her leg and threaded it over his, like by spreading herself out across him as a human blanket she could protect him from the pain threatening to bubble over.