The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient #2)(56)

Like this and this and this.

Her hips rose sharply off the floor, pressing as close to him as possible, high, higher, higher. Head thrown back. Too much, too good, so good. A trembling moan. Strong convulsions, over and over and over.

And you?

All I need is you.

Her name, her name, her name, her name.

Pure stillness.

In her mind and in her heart.

Warm. Content. Safe in his arms. Him safe in hers. She hugged him tighter. He was bigger and stronger, but she would protect him with everything she had.





CHAPTER NINETEEN



Khai woke up from the deepest sleep of his life and blinked his bedroom into focus. When he saw how bright it was, he glanced at the clock: 10:23 A.M. Really? He never slept in this late. He tried to sit upright, but a warm weight kept him down. He lifted hands to the mass and encountered long silky hair and soft skin.

Esme.

Memories flooded his mind. Kissing her. Touching her. Being touched by her. Being inside her. Watching her come apart.

As he lay there staring at the popcorn ceiling, he recognized he should be losing his shit—his Sunday schedule was destroyed, and there was a woman in his bed, sleeping on him like a sloth in a tree. But her weight was calming, he’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have blue balls. He felt … good.

He analyzed the odd sense of well-being, not trusting it. Was it due to the oxytocin and endorphins released during intercourse? Was he addicted to sex now … or was it worse than that? Was he addicted to Esme? Should he get rid of her before it was too late?

The thought of losing her made his stomach drop and his body stiffen in rejection, and he brushed the hair away from her cheek and kissed the top of her head, needing to reassure himself she was still here.

Well, that explained everything.

Khai Diep, CPA, Esme addict.

He was surprisingly okay with it. It was hard to be upset when he had her in his arms. But the day would come when she had to go, and he didn’t know what it would take to readjust to life without her. For now, however, he didn’t have to think about it. The summer was only half over.

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up instantly, grateful for the distraction. An email from Quan’s friend about the list of Phils. Before he could open it, Esme stirred.

“Oh, I’m on top of you,” she said. “Did I sleep here all night?”

“I think so.”

“Sorry.” She eased off him. He was about to voice a protest but got preoccupied with her hair. It looked like she’d brushed it backward, applied hairspray while upside down, or both. She swiped at the extra-volumized strands and self-consciously tucked the only tame tendril behind her ear. “Do you hurt anywhere? From me sleeping on you?”

She patted her hands over his chest like she was searching for something—he didn’t know what, signs of internal bleeding or broken bones maybe—and he covered her hands with his. If she touched him much more, they’d be having morning breath sex, and he wasn’t sure how that worked.

“I’m fine. You’re the perfect size for me,” he said.

She grinned. “You think I’m pretty and the perfect size.”

That was obvious, so he changed the subject. “I just got a narrowed-down list from Quan’s friend.” He sat up and accessed the email. “Looks like he narrowed it down to … nine. There are full names, attendance information, phone numbers, and the pictures from their old student IDs. Want to see?”

“Yes, I want to.” She grabbed the phone and immediately snuggled up next to him, pulling the blankets over her breasts—a crying shame. Oblivious to his disappointment, she flashed him an excited look before scanning the photographs. When she got to number eight, she grabbed Khai’s far arm and wrapped it around her middle so he was hugging her, and he smiled.

He liked this, the snuggling, her smiles, the fact that she helped him be there for her. He hadn’t known she needed to be hugged, and it was immensely freeing that instead of getting angry with him or sad, she communicated and showed him what to do.

“That’s him,” she whispered. “Number eight.”

Khai considered the photograph skeptically. The man had green eyes, but everyone looked more or less the same to him. How had she settled on this one? “Judging by his 650 area code, he’s local.”

She covered her mouth. “Is it too early to call now?”

“It’s not early. It’s after ten.”

Her eyes widened, and she glanced out the window like she was just noticing the time of day. “We were up late, huh?”

“We were.” As memories of last night flitted through his head, he let his eyes trail over her profile, her fine jaw, and the graceful line of her neck. He cleared his throat and touched his fingertips to the little purple blemishes on her skin. “I, um, may have left marks on you.”

Shit, were they permanent? He’d hadn’t made them on purpose, though he had to admit he found the sight highly satisfying. Apparently, he was like a dog and felt the need to mark his territory—not with pee, though.

She pressed a hand to her neck and grinned as her cheeks bloomed with color. “They go away.”

He nodded, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

After scrutinizing the other photographs again, she returned to number eight. Her finger hovered over the phone number as she took a deep breath, and then she pressed it and hit the speaker button. She chewed on her bottom lip as the phone rang once, twice, three times.