Page 431 of Ruthless Court

Not the version of me that is useful or impressive or carefully curated. The bare, trembling, first-time version. And he stayed. He looked at me like I was something precious instead of something to conquer.

A soft, almost painful pressure builds behind my eyes.

I blink it away.

Kane stirs. His arm tightens once, then loosens as consciousness returns. He presses his mouth to the place where my shoulder meets my neck and breathes in.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

The question is quiet. Careful. The same way he asked it last night when he was still inside me.

I turn in his arms so we are face to face. His eyes are soft and a little wary, like he is prepared for me to retreat now that the dark is gone.

I touch his cheek.

“I’m more than okay.”

Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He studies my face for a long moment, thumb brushing under my eye.

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

A small smile pulls at my mouth. “I keep waiting for the regret. Or the awkwardness. Or the part where I start overanalyzing every second.”

“And?”

“It’s not coming.”

Kane’s expression shifts into something quieter. Almost reverent.

“Good.”

He leans in and kisses me—slow, closed-mouth, morning-soft. Nothing demanding. Just connection. When he pulls back he keeps his forehead against mine.

“Last night was…” He searches for the word. “Important. To me.”

“To me too.”

“I meant what I said. About falling in love with you.”

My throat tightens. “I know.”

“I still mean it this morning.”

I swallow. “I still mean it too.”

We lie there in the gray light filtering through the blackout curtains, not speaking for a while. His hand moves slowly up and down my spine. Mine rests over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath warm skin.

I feel claimed in the gentlest way possible.

Not owned.