Deleted Scene: The Exception

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I get asked all the time which character of mine is my favorite. That’s hard, maybe even impossible, to answer. Still, at the top of the list will always be Cane Alexander.
He was the first character I wrote, the first one to barrel into my brain and take hold. Few characters have demanded my attention like Cane. There haven’t been many that have obsessed me quite as much either.
I was tooling around my files this past weekend and found a deleted scene from The Exception. It made me smile. I thought it might make you smile too.
If you haven’t read The Exception yet, no worries. This isn’t spoiler-y. If you’d like to read about my baddest bad boy, The Exception is live on Amazon, Audible, and is in Kindle Unlimited.

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“Watch this.” I pick up a soaked workout t-shirt and shorts, holding them up in the air, and drop them unceremoniously in the hamper. “Did you see that? That’s all there is to it, Cane.”

He watches me from the doorway, a soft, white towel wrapped around his waist, his skin still dotted with water from his post-workout shower. 

“That’s all, huh?” he grins mischievously. 

“That’s all,” I repeat. “This isn’t hard.”

“No, but this is.” One hand cupping his cock through the towel, he stalks towards me. 

I’m distracted from my tirade by the look in his eyes. His baby blues shine like a man seeing something he wants. 

Considering that it’s him in question, he’ll get it. And considering that it’s me he wants, he’ll definitely get it. 

His sweat is on my hands. With every movement, every flick of my wrist, I get a dose of the one scent in the world that turns me on more than any other. Virility. Strength. All male. 

In other words, Cane Alexander. My husband. 

Coupled with his toned body and the fact that he’s coming my way, I couldn’t give a damn about his messy habits. But there’s a point to be made, and I’m determined to try to make it. 

“Can you just pretend to register what I said?” I ask, forcing a swallow as he draws near. “Humor me.”

“Oh, I’ll humor you.”

My frustration is starting to wane, but I hold on to it as long as I can. It’s the weak link in our relationship—my inability to stay mad at him. He’s entirely too good-looking for either of our own goods. It’s my weakness, and he knows it … and exploits it. Regularly.

I know it’s coming. As soon as he touches me, I’ll be putty in his hands. My pulse skyrockets as anticipation of his next move settles in. The only indication I’m right is a telltale smirk curling the side of his full, kissable lips. 

The air in the bathroom becomes charged, growing so hot it’s hard to breathe. Steam streaks the mirror above the sink, making it impossible to see him as I turn my back and hold my breath. 


I gulp.


Breathing in, I listen for his steps.

Three—that’s as far as I make it before I feel his body against mine. My head falls to his chest as his hand splays at the base of my throat, holding me still. 

“A reaction? That’s what you’re looking for, Jada?” My skin ripples with the heat of his breath against the shell of my ear. His left hand yanks up the corner of his t-shirt I’m wearing to bed and digs into my hip, almost making me yelp.

“I always react to you,” he whispers, rolling his hips against my backside. His cock is long and hard as he presses it into me, reminding me of just how much he wants me. “Does this feel like a good enough reaction?”

“No,” I breathe. “I was hoping for something a little more … penetrating.”

I’m twirled in a half-circle and my hands slap against the marble countertop as I catch myself. His towel brushes against my skin as he yanks it from his body and throws it on the floor.

My shirt is bunched up at my waist. The warm air feels cool as it rushes across my skin just before he presses a gentle kiss to the small of my back. 

It’s a typical Cane thing to do.

He’s a mixture of all-out aggression and subtle sweetness, a concoction that has him fucking the daylights out of me one minute and then holding me in his arms until the sun comes up.

He runs the tip of his finger from my left side, across the top of my ass, until it reaches my right side. 

Every cell in my body riots, begging him to take me. It doesn’t help when I look at him over my shoulder. His eyes burn with a carnal need, an uncontained desire, for me. Just me. Only me. 

My legs shake as the throb between my legs grows out of control. “I need you. Now,” I tell him. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he forces a swallow. Yet he doesn’t give me what I want. Instead, he grabs the inside of my right thigh and nudges it until my stance is wider. Then, as if he has all the time in the world, his fingertips trail up the inside of my leg. 

I pull in a hasty breath. The air is thick and damp from Cane’s earlier shower. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to process anything other than the feeling of his palm pressing on my opening. 

One finger toys with the entrance, picking up some of the wetness and massaging it over my clit. 

“Ah,” I moan, my head falling back. Eyes closed, ass pressed out, I relish the feeling of being touched by the man that knows exactly how to wind me up. 

All too soon, his fingers are gone. Before I can object, they’re replaced with the head of his swollen cock. It parts me, hovering over my opening, teasing me with what’s to come. 

“You ready, baby?” he whispers against my ear with a salacious grin. 

There’s no time for a reply. 

It takes one motion for him to fill me completely. 

One second for me to begin to lose control. 

And one minute before I’m yelling his name as he pounds me from behind, making me forget all about dirty laundry.

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