11. Chapter Eleven #2
My heel hits something solid, the cold, unforgiving marble ledge along the floor-to-ceiling window, and my spine slams softly into the icy glass behind me.
The city stretches far below, glittering lights indifferent, uncaring.
I’m trapped, pinned between Kane and the cold glass, heart pounding so fiercely I can barely breathe.
My heart pounds violently in my chest, anger clashing brutally with the heat pooling low in my belly.
He closes in, forcing me tighter against the window, trapping me there without even touching me, like his presence alone is enough to hold me prisoner.
“And Haven House,” I continue, voice raw, breaking over the words. “How dare you follow me there. Watch me. Invade something private, something sacred. Something you had no right to hear.”
He’s an arm’s length away now, his gaze sharp, merciless, dissecting every trembling part of me until there’s nothing left to hide behind.
“You violated every boundary I had,” I whisper, chest heaving, breath ragged. “And then you vanished, left me hanging, waiting for your next strike.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
He Just stands there, impossibly still, impossibly close. His silence is louder than any words could be, maddening, deafening, cruel.
“You left me wondering,” I choke out, teeth clenched tight, shame burning hot in my chest.
Don’t fucking cry, Camille.
“Wondering if you destroyed another man’s life because of me. Wondering what other chaos you had planned. Wondering if you…if you were with Ivy…”
God. And there it is. The ugly truth ripped out, bleeding raw and bitter between us. Jealousy, hot and sickening, tangling in my chest, clawing up my throat until it burns like acid. The name hangs heavily in the silence, the echo of it shattering what little pride I have left.
I force myself to look at him, to meet those ruthless, unforgiving eyes and ask the question tearing me apart. “Were you?”
I’m frozen, vibrating under my skin, every breath snagging in my throat.
He cups my face with those big, brutal hands, calloused palms against my cheeks, thumbs brushing softly under my eyes like I’m some fragile, precious thing instead of the chaos he made.
He leans in until his breath is my breath, his heat a weight I want to be smothered with.
“Ivy doesn’t exist,” he rasps quietly, voice raw and stripped bare, like each word costs him something he’s not ready to lose. “No other woman fucking exists, Camille. There’s only you. You haunt every goddamn breath I take…every second, every thought.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Slow, God…so achingly slow.
Deep.
Possessive.
Perfect.
His mouth moves over mine like he’s imprinting himself on my lips, like he’s relearning a language he’s been forbidden to speak, tasting, feeding off all my fantasies, all my dark secrets of him.
His kiss isn’t gentle, it’s restrained, anchored by control that threatens to snap with every careful stroke of his tongue, every soft bite on my bottom lip.
He kisses me like he’s breaking something open, something forbidden, something desperate, and pouring himself inside.
His tongue slips past my lips with a groan that vibrates through my entire body, lighting my blood on fire.
He kisses me slowly, deliberately, exploring every corner of my mouth, savoring every quiet gasp, every needy whimper.
He tastes intoxicating, like whiskey sipped straight from the bottle, burning and addictive, impossible to quit.
Every stroke of his tongue, every careful scrape of teeth against my lip drags me further beneath him, until I’m drowning willingly in the wet heat of his breath, in the rough glide of his mouth.
There’s no rush, no roughness, only the unbearable ache of surrender as he takes his time tasting me, drowning me, making me forget everything but him.
And then his hands move, cupping my jaw, thumbs stroking gently over my skin as he deepens the kiss, presses closer, closer, until there’s nothing left between us but that damn towel and my crumbling pride.
My fists tighten desperately in the cotton at his hips, holding on for dear life as my defenses shatter completely. His kiss is a threat whispered softly. Etching his name into my body one breath at a time. Reminding me who I let inside me.
Who I still want inside me.
His lips move against mine like sin incarnate, slow, decadent, grinding my self-respect into dust. He bites gently at my bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue, coaxing a whimper from me I don’t even try to stop.
Because I need this.
I need him.
When he finally pulls back, I’m wrecked.
Gasping. Barely upright. My lips are swollen, wet, ruined from his mouth, my panties soaked through from a kiss that shouldn’t have gone anywhere near that deep.
He doesn’t move far. Just enough to look down at me, really look, like he’s proud of how undone I am.
“I’ve missed you too, Munequita,” he murmurs, low and guttural, the kind of sound that doesn’t just reach your ears, it sinks into your bones, steadies things you didn’t even realize were splintering.
But then he speaks again.
And this time his voice is coiled tight with threat and hunger, wrapping around my throat like a promise I’m not sure I’ll survive.
“But if you show up again wearing his ring, Camille…” He leans closer, mouth brushing mine, a featherlight caress with a razor-sharp edge, every syllable electric, “I’ll buy a billboard right outside his window, show him and the whole fucking city exactly how pretty you look when I’m buried deep inside you. ”
My pulse pounds so hard I can barely think straight.
And all I can think is… God help me, I want it.
“Take. It. Off.”
I don’t speak.
Don’t argue.
Don’t breathe.
I just stare up at him, breath coming in short, uneven bursts, heart pounding like it’s trying to tear through my ribs.
My thighs clench around nothing, aching, desperate.
My fingers tremble at my sides, useless against the pull of him.
Every molecule of air between us crackles, thick, charged, suffocating with heat and hunger.
I feel him everywhere.
His body heat. His scent. That possessive, violent stillness in the way he watches me like he’s seconds from tearing me apart if I don’t give him what he wants.
Take it off.
The command echoes in my head like a drumbeat.
I look down at the ring on my finger. Gleaming. Heavy. Cold.
Preston’s promise.
My cage.
And Kane, he’s watching it like it’s something vile. Like it’s contamination on something that belongs to him.
So I lift my hand.
Like undressing for him with nothing but fingers.
My skin burns as I slide the ring off. The diamond catches the light one last time before I drop it to the floor.
Clink.
It bounces once. Then settles.
And everything inside me breaks.
Something in Kane shifts.
His eyes darken, truly darken, like he was waiting for this exact moment to become something worse. Something better. Something unholy.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
My core clenches around nothing, so tight I almost moan from the praise alone.
But then… his hands are on me.
Fast. Brutal. Everywhere.
He lifts me off my feet like I weigh nothing, my back sliding roughly up the cold glass, stealing the air from my lungs, pinning me exactly where he wants me.
His hips shove between my thighs, forcing my legs wide open, the damp towel barely clinging to his waist, thin, useless fabric doing nothing to hide the thick, rigid length of him that presses hot and heavy against my stomach, branding his shape into my skin, into my soul.
And fuck, I want it.
Want him.
Every nerve in my body ignites, hot, throbbing, aching, soaked and desperate, clenching helplessly around empty space. I arch into him shamelessly, grinding myself against his cock, silently pleading, composure shattering, pride splintering beneath the unbearable weight of need.
His chest heaves against mine, skin slick, muscles tight and rippling beneath ink and sweat, every brutal inch of him coiled tight, dangerously restrained, like he’s seconds from snapping, from taking, from claiming.
His breath skims my cheek, controlled and searingly hot, every ragged exhale a silent promise to ruin me.
His fingers dig bruisingly into my hips, yanking me against him so hard I gasp, grinding the rigid length of his cock exactly where I’m desperate for friction, igniting sparks through my veins, white-hot, unbearable.
“Kane…” I gasp, breathless, voice breaking on his name.
“You have any idea what you just fucking did?” Kane rasps, voice scraped raw with barely-there restraint.
His lips drag torturously slow along my jaw, teeth grazing my earlobe.
“Dropping that ring at my feet? You just made your choice, Munequita,” he growls darkly, biting at my throat, marking me.
“You just handed yourself right back to me.”
“Yes,” I breathe, the word ripped from me before I can stop it, pride abandoned, shattered completely at his feet. Because he’s right, that ring was my last desperate lie, and I threw it away willingly, begging silently for him to reclaim me.
His mouth descends, hot and savage against my neck, sucking, biting, leaving bruises that scream his ownership.
My head falls back against the glass, exposing more of my throat, surrendering everything.
The heavy wool coat slides from my shoulders, pooling forgotten at my feet, cold air licking sharply at my bare skin, making my nipples tighten painfully beneath thin lace.
Kane’s mouth moves lower, hot breath washing over my collarbone, tongue tracing wet trails, teeth scraping deliciously. His gaze darkens to something obscene and hungry, devouring the sight of my breasts straining against barely-there red lace, desperate and shameless.