Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Valentina
What to do if You Can’t Avoid Crossing the Line
I wake up slowly, the sunlight streaming through the large windows casting soft patterns across the room. Blinking a few times, I take in my surroundings—high ceilings, dark wood accents, and a bed that feels far too luxurious to belong to me. Then realization hits.
I’m in Kaden’s guest room.
The sheets smell faintly like him—a mix of clean soap and something inherently masculine, like cedarwood and temptation. Glancing down, I cringe when I see what I’m wearing: his black T-shirt and a pair of his boxers. They’re soft, comfortable even, but the idea of walking around his house practically draped in him is unnerving.
“Where’s my vibrator when I need it?” I mutter under my breath, tugging at the hem of the shirt.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll take care of myself when I get home. Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I push the covers off and sit up.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it, scrolling through the notifications. My stomach twists as I see my face plastered across every gossip site imaginable. There it is—our kiss. Or, as the media has labeled it, our passionate public display of affection.
I cringe. My hair’s a mess, my face flushed, and there’s no denying the way I look at him like he’s the last chocolate bar in the world. Fucking perfect. Just what I always wanted—to trend as the disheveled woman who can’t keep her lips off Kaden Crawford.
Scrolling further, I see the worst text of all—from Steve.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Kissing athletes now? Good thing I left you when I did.
I roll my eyes, my blood simmering. Steve, my ex-husband, hasn’t cared about me in years. Suddenly, I’m trending, and he’s got opinions? Pathetic.
“Why does he even give a fuck?” I mutter as I shove my phone onto the nightstand and stand up, my stomach growling loudly.
I head downstairs, following the faint sounds of movement and the smell of coffee. The stairs creak softly beneath my bare feet as I reach the kitchen.
And there he is.
Kaden stands by the counter, shirtless, his skin glistening with sweat. His dark hair is damp and tousled like he’s just come from a workout. His broad shoulders and sculpted chest are on full display, and I suddenly understand why people obsess over hockey players.
He glances over his shoulder, catching me mid-stare. His brow quirks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Morning.”
I blink, forcing myself to focus. “Morning. You, uh . . . already worked out?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning back to pour himself a cup of coffee. The muscles in his back shift as he moves, and I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to keep my thoughts from spiraling.
“Coffee?” he asks, holding up a mug.
“Yes, please,” I say quickly, hoping caffeine will save me from this awkward tension.
He hands me the mug, his fingers brushing mine briefly. The contact sends a little jolt through me, and I step back, clearing my throat.
“You’re up early,” he comments.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I lie.
“Well,” he says, his smirk widening, “at least you look comfortable in my clothes.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I take a hasty sip of coffee, nearly scalding my tongue in the process. “They were the only option.”
“Good,” he replies, his tone dropping just slightly, enough to make my stomach flip. “You should get used to them. You look better in them than I do.”
I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he said it or the fact that my traitorous brain immediately conjures images of me wearing nothing but his shirt while he . . . Nope. Not going there.
“Thanks,” I mumble, focusing on the coffee like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.
“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a teasing edge that makes my pulse quicken.
I know I should say something, anything, to break the tension, but all I can think is how his house suddenly feels too small. Too intimate. Too . . . him.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t smirk like I expect. Instead, he steps closer, his eyes locking onto mine, the space between us charged with something electric and undeniable.
“Kaden . . .” I whisper, clutching the fabric of the shirt against me like it’s some kind of shield, even though it feels more like a threadbare excuse to stay close to him.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my jaw, tilting my face upward until our eyes meet fully. His dark gaze burns, and there’s no mistaking the hunger in it.
“You look like you belong here,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, almost like a growl. “Has anyone told you that you’ve got the kind of mouth that makes a man want to forget himself?”
“I—” My words die in my throat as his other hand grazes my hip, pulling me closer.
“We shouldn’t,” I manage, but it comes out breathless, more like a suggestion than an actual protest.
“We shouldn’t,” he echoes, his lips hovering just above mine. “But you’re making it very fucking hard to care.”
Before I can respond, his head dips, and his mouth brushes over my collarbone, his breath warm and teasing against my skin.
“Kaden . . .”
“Shh, baby, let this happen,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his hands move to the hem of the shirt I’m wearing. He pauses, his dark eyes flicking to mine, silently asking for permission.
My breath hitches, and I give the smallest nod.
In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside. His gaze roams over me, his hunger unmistakable, and then his mouth is on me.
His lips close over my nipple, hot and insistent, his tongue swirling in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through me. A gasp escapes me as his hand cups my other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure, his thumb grazing over the sensitive peak.
“You’re my client,” I breathe, even as my fingers tangle in his damp hair, holding him to me.
“Not right now,” he replies, his voice muffled as he switches to my other breast, dragging his tongue across my skin.
“Kaden . . .” My protest is weak, almost a moan.
“You’re going to be a good girl and let me eat my breakfast, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his words vibrating against my skin. “You made me hungry, Valentina. Now I want to eat you—all of you.”
His mouth closes over my nipple again, this time harder, and the sensation shoots straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body.
A choked sound escapes me as his hand slides lower, gripping my hip and pulling me against him. “Kaden,” I gasp, my head falling back as his mouth works its magic, my body trembling under his touch.
“You feel even better than I imagined,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a possessive edge that makes my breath hitch.
I’m losing myself, my thoughts unraveling as he claims me with every touch, and I know—God, I know—I’m in way over my head.
Before I can form a coherent thought, Kaden’s strong hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly. A gasp escapes me as he settles me on the cool marble counter, his body slotting perfectly between my thighs.
“Kaden . . .” I manage, but my voice is shaky, breathless.
“My name sounds so fucking good on your lips,” he murmurs against my skin, his tongue flicking over my nipple. The roughness of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my head falls back, hitting the cabinet softly.
His hands trail lower, gripping the waistband of the boxers I’m wearing—his boxers. He pauses, glancing up at me, his dark eyes heavy with desire.
“Off,” he says, his voice rough, filled with heat.
I nod, barely able to breathe as he slides them down my legs, leaving me fully exposed, every inch of me at his mercy.
His hands roam over my sides, fingers tracing the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, as if committing every inch to memory.
“You drive me fucking crazy, Valentina,” he growls, his lips dragging across my chest, up to the sensitive hollow of my throat.
Before I can respond, he steps back just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts. His dark gaze never leaves mine as he pushes them down, letting them fall to the floor.
I should look away. I should tell him to stop. But I can’t.
My eyes betray me, raking over him, taking in every detail. He’s hard, thick, and completely unapologetic, standing there like he owns every inch of my attention—and damn it, he does.
“Now we’re both bare,” he murmurs.
“Kaden . . .” My voice is a whisper, a plea, and a warning all at once.
“You’re mine, Valentina,” he says, his tone low and rough, full of something dark and possessive. “You just don’t know it yet.”
His mouth crashes into mine, and I lose the last shred of resistance I was holding onto.