It's the best kind of exhausted. The best kind of sore. The wonderful kind of happy that doesn't let other thoughts enter a person's head. She had needed that, tonight.

"If that's your way of surrendering, Mackinnon, I'm a smidge disappointed." The catch of her nails against his hand is brief before she flashes a better smile. "One more. With a cherry on top."

Most men weren't up for a floor to shoulder or a titanic these days, least of all with a woman past the age of 25, which apparently meant 'infinite fragility.'