Page 226 of The Right Wrong Promise

My balls heave, a split second from erupting.

“Fucking come!”

And she does.

My girl comes so beautiful in a shuddering, desperate, breathless orgasm that splits the morning.

Her body clenches around mine, small waves fluttering as I come too, turning myself inside out, heart first.

I empty myself inside her like a man turned human flood.

“Kane,” she whispers my name with a reverent kiss.

“Margot,” I whisper back, sucking her bottom lip with my teeth.

As long as she’s here, as long as she’s alive, she’s my property.

And I’ll carve out hours every day just to remind her how glorious that can be.

For a nine-year-old,Dan has an ego bigger than the Moon when it comes to his games. Mostly because he beats me every time.

“Dad, you’re too slow! You gottamoveto keep up.” He loves to rub it in.

We’re playingBeat Saberwith his VR headset, smashing through colored boxes with our swords to techno music that must be meant to make hearts explode.

If you think it’s a game I’d be naturally good at, you’re wrong.

The kid leaves me in the dust with his quicker moves, beating me so decisively he makes it look effortless.

At the end, he rips off his headset, and I hold out my fist for a bump.

“Nice round, little man. If it were archery, you’d be in trouble.”

“No fair! You said I’m not old enough yet.” He grins up with his messy hair.

“We’ll see about next spring,” I promise, a sly grin spreading across my face. “IfI can finally beat you at this one time.”

“Dad, you suck! You know you won’t.” He paces the room in frustration. “You’re old and slow. Why don’t you see if you can beat Margot? She’s closer to your age.”

“Watch it.” I pull him into a headlock. “Life’s not fair and we’re not always up against our equals.”

Of course, whether I beat him or not, we’ll be taking up archery once he turns ten. That’s the age when I first picked up a bow.

I can’t wait to do it again with him and Sophie.

Judging by the relaxed look on his face, he knows it, too.

“You’re mydad,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m supposed to pick on you. Way of the world, like you always say.”

“Close enough, little punk.” I rub my knuckles against his head and release him.

We sit down on the sofa next to each other and grab our water bottles.

“So,” Dan says. “When are you gonna get Margot a ring? It’d be a shame if she goes back to Portland first.”

What?

It’s no secret the kids adore her, but the question beans me on the head like a rock.