Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Valentina
Never Play with Fire (Or Kaden Crawford)
I was married for several years—five, to be exact. Steve and I had sex. Plenty of it. A couple of times a week, like clockwork. And it was good. At least, that’s what I used to think . . . until Kaden.
Right now, I’m literally soaking wet. I need a new pair of underwear, stat. My pussy is practically begging for his mouth. If he eats me the way he just kissed me . . . well, I’m ready for him. Completely.
But no. I am not having sex with my client.
He’s my client.
Client.
That’s a six-letter word that means “no crossing the line where you want to be his good girl and get very, very dirty with him.” And oh, how I want to ask just how dirty we’re talking. But nope. I have a work ethic.
Sure, we kissed. But I’ll chalk that up as something to workshop—like a rehearsal for the real performance. Less tongue, more smoldering looks in public. Isn’t that a fair compromise? I mean, what’s a little sexual tension if it helps sell the act?
Right. Great plan. Totally professional. Now, if I can just keep my legs from giving out the next time he so much as looks at me, we’ll be fine.
Thankfully, my phone rings at that moment, dragging me out of the mental spiral. I fish it out of my pocket and glance at the screen. Noelle. Great. Just the person to bring a whole new level of chaos to my day.
I swipe to answer. “Hey?—”
“So, according to several social media outlets, you’re dating a hockey player?” she interrupts, no hello, no pleasantries, just her usual dive-straight-into-the-deep-end approach.
Usually, I love that my sister and I can be totally direct and confide in each other. Not today though. Today I’d rather have her give me a little time to find a good lie to cover this shit show.
“It’s a publicity thing,” I say quickly, already bracing for impact. “Your husband’s idea if you must know.”
Sorry for throwing you under the bus, Jacob, but if I’m going down, I’m not going down alone.
“Uh-huh.” Her tone drips with skepticism. “Because if you look at the pictures online, you’re staring at him like he’s chocolate frosting, and you’re about to lick the bowl clean.”
“No, I’m not,” I say defensively, too quickly.
“It’s me you’re talking to, Val,” she counters, her voice teasing but laced with the kind of knowing only a sister can have. “So, you’re lifting the man embargo, huh?”
“The man embargo stays in place forever,” I mutter, pacing as I press a hand to my forehead. “This isn’t real. It’s a job.”
“Sure, and I’m the Queen of England,” Noelle quips. “Come on, I saw the way he looked at you in those photos. Like he wanted to rip your clothes off and then eat the chocolate frosting off you.”
I groan. “Can you please stop bringing up frosting? I’m begging you.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “It’s an accurate metaphor. You look like you want to devour each other. When was the last time you had that kind of chemistry with anyone?”
I don’t respond right away, because she’s not entirely wrong. That kiss did something to me, and I hate that I can’t stop replaying it. “It doesn’t matter,” I finally say. “This is business. Strictly business.”
“Okay, but hear me out,” she says. “What if he’s rebound guy?”
“You’re so off. I just met him, and I’m already annoyed by him,” I insist, my voice a little too loud. “This whole thing is a nightmare. Kaden’s . . . well, he’s Kaden. Moody. Difficult. Impossible. And I’m supposed to make it look like we’re the perfect couple.”
He clears his throat, as if saying, hey, I’m here. But I totally ignore him. It’s not like I’ve made it pretty clear that he’s not my favorite person. He’s hot, yes, but that’s all. Okay, he kisses like . . . I don’t have anything to compare him with. His kisses are a level I’ve never encountered. Yet, I’m not using him as rebound guy or any guy.
“Well, at least you’re not alone,” Noelle says gently. “You’ve got me. And I can tell you from experience, people like Kaden—grumpy, closed off, all walls and no windows—they’re like that for a reason. He’s probably terrified of letting someone in. Most guys like that are.”
I sink onto the edge of the bed, her words sinking in more than I want to admit. “I think he just doesn’t care, which is a problem when you’re trying to tell people that he cares.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he cares too much and doesn’t know how to handle it.” Her tone is calm, soothing, like she’s reading my mind. “Either way, you’ve got this. You’re smarter and tougher than you give yourself credit for, Val. You’ll clean his image and more.”
I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected pep talk. “You really think that?”
“Of course I do,” she says with zero hesitation. “You’ve been through worse than this and come out stronger. Just remember, if it ever gets too messy, you can always walk away. No one’s going to fault you for protecting yourself.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, a warm reassurance settling over the nerves I didn’t even realize were still buzzing. “Thanks, Noelle. I needed that.”
“Anytime,” she replies brightly. “And hey, if things do get interesting with Mr. Chocolate Frosting, I want every single detail.”
“Noted,” I say with a laugh. “But don’t hold your breath.”
“I never do,” she says breezily. “Love you, Val. Call me if you need to rant—or gush.”
“Love you too,” I reply, ending the call.
I set my phone down, exhaling slowly. I glance up at Kaden who’s leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his ridiculously chiseled chest. The play of muscles in his naked torso is almost as distracting as the look on his face—somewhere between amusement and something a lot darker.
“You have a man embargo?” he asks, his voice low and edged with teasing, like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all day.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Divorced, remember? And why are you listening to other people’s conversations?”
“You’re in my room, remember?” he says, his smirk widening. “But I got an idea. Have you heard about getting back on the horse after you fall? You should ride a horse soon.”
“I’m fine like this,” I reply, lifting my chin defiantly. “Almost two years post-divorce and I’m perfectly fine.”
“You should be riding a horse,” he says provocatively, the suggestion dripping from his tone. His lips curl into a cocky grin as he adds, “I volunteer to help you get back in the saddle, baby.”
I gasp, his words sparking an entirely inappropriate visual in my head. And by inappropriate, I mean the kind of image that’s going to haunt me for days. My gaze drops without permission, landing on the unmistakable outline of his hard cock against his jeans that I touched just a few minutes ago. It’s not just prominent—it’s intimidating. Long, thick, and so mouthwatering I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like on my tongue.
For one insane second, I imagine dropping to my knees right here, pulling his jeans down and taking him in my mouth until he’s groaning my name. I’d let him grab my hair, guide my movements until I was completely at his mercy, tasting every inch of him until?—
I shake my head, snapping myself out of the fantasy before it spirals further. My cheeks burn, and I bite down on my bottom lip, refusing to let him see how much he’s getting to me.
“You okay there, Val?” he asks, his voice laced with mock concern. “You look a little . . . flustered.”
“I’m fine,” I snap, but the words come out way too fast to be convincing.
He pushes off the wall, sauntering toward me with the kind of confidence that should be illegal. “You sure about that? ’Cause I’ve got a few ideas about how to help you . . . relax.”
I stand abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest as he closes the distance between us. His grin grows wider, and I hate how much it makes my knees feel like jelly.
“Not happening,” I say firmly, though my voice wavers slightly. “You’re my client, remember?”
His eyes gleam with amusement as he steps even closer, until there’s barely an inch of space between us. “Yeah, and?”
“And that means no . . . metaphorical horses. Or saddles. Or anything remotely like what you’re suggesting.”
He leans down, his breath warm against my ear as he murmurs, “Too bad. I think you’d enjoy the ride.”
I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “No, I don’t think I would.”
He smirks, unbothered by my defiance. “Speaking of horses, maybe we should ride. I’ll show you the property before lunchtime.”
“Fine,” I reply with exaggerated patience. “That I can do. Riding horses—not your . . .” I trail off, instantly regretting even starting the sentence.
“My cock?” he offers smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “Go ahead, say it, baby. ‘I don’t want to ride your cock, Kaden.’”
“I’m not saying anything,” I snap, my cheeks burning as I avert my gaze.
“Fine,” he says, his smirk turning wicked. His hand brushes my arm lightly, and before I can pull away, he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. His voice is low, rough, and entirely too seductive as he murmurs, “But here’s what I want, baby.”
I shiver, my resolve already crumbling under the heat of his proximity.
“I want to eat your cunt,” he continues, his breath hot against my skin. “If it tastes anything like your mouth . . . fuck, I’ll never want to stop. I’ll spread you out on this bed, pin your thighs open, and bury my tongue so deep in you, you’ll forget your own fucking name. I’ll lap up every bit of you until you’re trembling, begging me to let you come. But I won’t stop. Not until I’ve had my fill, not until I’ve made you so wet, you’re dripping down my chin.”
My breath hitches, my knees wobbling as his words hit me with the force of a tidal wave. His lips graze my earlobe, and my pulse races as he adds, “You’d love it, Val. I’d make you love it.”
I gasp, barely holding myself upright as I fight the whirlwind of sensations threatening to take over. “You’re impossible,” I manage to choke out, stepping back before I completely lose myself.
“And yet,” he says, his grin infuriatingly smug as he straightens, “you’re still here.”
I hate how smug he looks, but even more than that, I hate how much my body reacts to him. It’s maddening. The worst part? He knows it.
He grabs his shirt from the back of a chair, sliding it on and tugging it into place with an ease that shouldn’t be so distracting. “Let’s head out, follow me.” He turns and heads for the door, leaving me standing there, breathless and more flustered than I’ve been in my entire life.