Perfect—like she said.

Kennedy’s pussy clenches around me with her own building pleasure. I circle my hips harder, faster, rubbing my pelvis against her clit. And then thought becomes impossible. With a high-pitched moan, she contracts so hard around me it’s almost painful. I push in deep with one final thrust, coming so hard that the blood rushing through my ears drowns out the sound of my groans.

Slowly, my ability to hear returns. Kennedy’s hands slide up my back, soft and almost . . . grateful. I lift my face from her neck and open my eyes. She blinks up at me.

I feel like I should say something, something meaningful and profound. But she’s screwed me stupid—robbed me of words. So I kiss her lips—softer now, reverently. And I feel her joy as she holds me close against her and doesn’t let go.

14

We don’t sleep.

We start to, but then light kisses turn deeper, gentle touches morph into greedy grasps, and despite the exhaustion that pulls at us both, we fuck all through the night.

Kennedy spends a lot of time on her stomach in the prelude to round two, because I’ve become obsessed with her ass. The round firm feel beneath my hands, the smooth, supple sensation as I trace the globes with my tongue, the gorgeous way it jiggles as I pound into her from behind. I dig my fingers into it, leaving a dusting of light bruises on the heart-shaped flesh. I scrape and nip it with my teeth, I kiss and worship it with my lips. If Kennedy’s ass were bronzed, I would prostrate myself before it and pray.

During our third trip around the bases, she rides me. She took a few equestrian lessons back in the day, and boy, were they worth their weight in gold. She gets herself off and I find the view of that position particularly delightful. The way her breasts bounce when she drives down onto my cock, the way her elegant back arches as her hips swivel, and the sublime, stunning look that sweeps over her face when my orgasm triggers hers, and she comes for the second time with my name on her lips. Gorgeous.

Kennedy doesn’t stock condoms, so after round three we’re all out. But that doesn’t stop us from going for it one last time. Though it takes a little persuasion at first, she straddles my face and I make her come with my tongue buried deep inside. Then she lies back, totally spent, as I slide my cock between her breasts and fuck them slowly. She garners just enough energy to lift her head and suck on the tip, and she moans when I come hard all over her.

I can’t recall much after that—but I’m fairly sure I collapsed on top of her, and we both passed the hell out.

• • •

I’m pulled from well-earned slumber by the feel of a wet, rough tongue lapping just behind my ear. It tickles, and there’s a smile on my face before I even open my eyes. I roll to my back, expecting to find warm brown eyes gazing adoringly at me—and see almond-shaped, midnight-black eyes staring back at me from a long-whiskered, fluffy white face.

Meow.

I feel another wet tongue on my leg, and glance down to see a brown-and-black calico practically making love to my knee. My throat feels dry and a little sore—probably from all the breathy groaning. I force down a swallow and look back at the snow-white fluff ball curled beside my head.

“You must be Edward.” I assume because of his pale coat, as opposed to the feline farther down—who’s probably Jacob, because his fur is more wolf colored.

And yes, I’m fucking horrified that I know that.

I scratch the cat’s head and sit up, rubbing my beard, looking for Kennedy.

And I see a note on the bedside table, propped against the lamp.

Had to go into the office. See you in court this afternoon.

A note? Is she fucking kidding? After last night—the kissing, the grinding, the plethora of goddamn orgasms—I get a note?

I don’t think so. Not. At. All.

• • •

I stomp through my front door and take a shower in record time. Harrison offers breakfast, looking at me the same way the Avengers regard Bruce Banner right before he goes full-out Hulk. I shove an omelet down my throat, grab my briefcase, and march out the door with my shirt only half buttoned and my tie hanging from my neck.

Ten minutes later I slam into Kennedy’s office—locking the door behind me and snapping the blinds down.

She smiles brightly from behind her desk, hands folded. “Hey.”

My scowl weighs on my face. “Do you not understand the concept of ground rules?”

Kennedy’s smile goes from bright to bewildered. “What?”

I stalk her slowly, purposefully. “You’re a Yale graduate, so you must understand the concept. The only conclusion I can come to is that you purposely broke those rules this morning.” I lean over her, and the pulse at her neck thrums faster. “And broken rules have consequences, little rebel.”

She fidgets nervously under my gaze, but there’s excitement in her eyes.

Anticipation.

Lust.

“I wasn’t running, Brent. I got an email. There’ve been developments in the Moriotti case and I had to come in early . . . to work . . .”

Her words trail off as she stares at the hard line of my mouth.

I nod. And slowly slide my tie from around my neck.

Then in one quick move, I hoist her out of her chair and plant her ass in the middle of her desk.

“Brent—”

She doesn’t say anything else. She can’t, because I slip my tie between her teeth and knot it behind her head. Not too tight, of course—just secure enough to keep it in place.

And muffle her sounds.