Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kaden
Always Be Prepared For The Next Move or You’ll be Royally Fucked
After three weeks, this new plan is going so much better. Well, maybe better for my image. For me? Let’s just say Valentina has been running me ragged, like today.
My supposed day off, and she used every single second of it—all of it.
We started at her house, reviewing the week’s schedule over coffee she insisted wasn’t “just regular coffee” but something fancy from her overpriced machine. Then it was off to the children’s hospital, where I signed autographs, posed for pictures, and let one particularly bold kid draw a mustache on my face with a marker.
The way her eyes lit up at the hospital when she introduced me to the kids? That made it impossible to say no to anything she planned. The way she laughed at the café when the barista practically announced to the entire city that I’m boring? That laugh had me agreeing to the next thing before I even knew what it was.
And then, at the hockey match, when she leaned close and whispered something about how cute the goalie was, her breath warm against my ear? Yeah, that was the moment I realized I’m in way deeper than I planned.
So, yes, the plan is working—at least for her amusement. For me, it’s a toss-up between a successful PR strategy and whatever the hell you call this growing ache in my chest every time she smiles at me.
I glance over at her now, sitting across from me in the car, her face glowing from the dim light of her phone. She’s scrolling through her notes, her brows furrowed in that way that tells me she’s already planning my next “relatable man of the people” stunt.
“Are we done for today?” I ask, my voice half a groan.
She looks up, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “For now. But don’t get too comfortable. I have more plans for you.”
Of course, she does. And, of course, I’ll go along with it. Because as exhausting as it is, I can’t seem to get enough of her.
And that might be the real PR problem.
Of course, she does. And, of course, I’ll go along with it. Because as exhausting as it is, I can’t seem to get enough of her.
And that might be the real PR problem.
It’s been three weeks since she agreed to take me back on—three weeks of navigating this strange mix of work and whatever the hell is happening behind closed doors. And after this morning—the way she begged me, trusted me, and let me take care of her, giving herself to me completely—I can’t get her out of my head.
This is not the time to lose my focus. Yet, every time she smiles at me or makes one of her smart-ass remarks, it’s like the rest of the world falls away.
I scrub a hand down my face as I step out of the shower, throw on a pair of pajama pants, and head to the kitchen. What I need is a quiet night in. A reset. Okay, I need Valentina naked. No more spanking and eating pussy. I need to bury myself inside her pretty cunt, stretch her with my cock, fill her all.
This isn’t helping. I need to eat, sleep and forget about how much I crave her.
Opening the fridge, I find a couple of ready-made salads. I grimace at the cheerful mix of greens and reds. I know it’s good for me, but what I really want is a fucking burger. With no other options, I dump one of the salads into a large bowl, grab some dressing, and head to the living room.
I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV. And—of course—it’s porn.
Fucking Lucian. I swear, every time my brother stops by, he somehow manages to leave the TV on some ridiculous porn channel.
I stare at the screen for a second longer than I should, my salad forgotten. And just as I’m about to get up to find the remote—or, hell, just pull out my cock—the doorbell rings.
I freeze, staring at the door like it’s about to attack me. I’m not expecting anyone.
Dragging myself off the couch, I shuffle to the door and open it. I’m not in the mood for guests—until I see her.
Valentina is leaning casually against the doorframe, holding a pizza box in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other. The smell of melted cheese and greasy perfection wafts into my face like a goddamn miracle.
“I figured you’d be in here brooding,” she says with a grin, lifting the pizza slightly as if it’s her peace offering. “We can’t have that.”
It takes me longer than it should to respond. “Come in,” I say, stepping back to let her in.
She breezes past me into the living room like she owns the place. “I promise I won’t try to cook tonight,” she jokes, glancing over her shoulder with a wink.
I laugh despite myself, grabbing the pizza from her as we settle into the living room. She plops down on the couch, and I follow, the tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying melting away with her presence.
“You know what happens if you aren’t careful,” I tease, smirking at her. “This time, I might not let you use my cock to calm down.”
Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting just enough for me to see the effect my words have on her. God, she’s beautiful—and kinky. I’m starting to think we’re only scratching the surface of the ways I could satisfy her.
But then her gaze drifts to the TV, and she shakes her head, her expression equal parts exasperated and amused.
“Are you watching porn?”
“For the state of my house I’m pretty sure my brother was here earlier.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm, eyes flicking to the screen.
This woman might just be the death of me. But for now, I’ll focus on the pizza—and the fact that she’s here.
“Why don’t we find something good to watch?” I suggest, grabbing the remote and flipping through options.
Valentina snuggles into the couch with a slice of pizza in hand. We settle on a string of ‘90s movies, gorging ourselves on garlic bread and pepperoni as laughter fills the room.
“John Wick is by far the best Keanu Reeves franchise,” I argue, popping another bite of pizza into my mouth.
She turns to me, scandalized, like I just insulted her entire family lineage. “Um, excuse me, have you not seen The Matrix? Revolutionary. Iconic.”
“It’s overhyped,” I shoot back, raising my hands dramatically.
“Blasphemy,” she cries, grabbing a throw pillow and smacking me across the chest with it.
We’re both laughing like idiots, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach ache and tears spring to your eyes. And as I watch her, her smile lighting up her face, her eyes crinkling at the corners, something shifts in me.
She’s beautiful. And not just in the obvious way—though, let’s be honest, she’s gorgeous. But there’s something about the way she lights up a room, the way she makes me forget all the crap piling up in my life.
Before I can stop myself, I grab her arm and pull her across the couch.
She lets out a surprised yelp as I tug her into my lap, my lips crashing down onto hers. For a moment, she freezes, probably still processing what just happened, but then she melts into me, her arms wrapping around my neck as if they belong there.
The kiss is electric. It’s not rushed or frantic—it’s deliberate, like we’re both savoring every second. My hands roam down her back, finding their way into her hair, tugging gently so I can deepen the kiss.
She tilts her head, giving me better access, and I take it, pouring everything I can’t say into the way I move my lips against hers.
Suddenly, she shifts, and before I can steady us, we both tumble off the couch. I twist mid-fall, taking the brunt of the landing. I’ve been hit harder on the ice, but I’ll admit it’s not my most graceful moment.
Valentina huffs out a breath and bursts into laughter, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. “We’re a mess,” she giggles, her voice muffled against my skin.
I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. “Speak for yourself. I’m flawless.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, her grin fading into something softer, more intimate. Her fingers trace the edge of my jaw, and I’m helpless to do anything but kiss her again.
This time, it’s slower. Her lips part for me, and I take my time exploring her mouth, savoring the way she tastes like pizza and something uniquely her.
She shifts again, straddling my hips, and I groan when her weight settles on me. My hands find the hem of her shirt, sliding underneath to rest against the warm skin of her back.
“Can I?” I murmur, breaking the kiss long enough to meet her gaze.
She nods, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with want.
I pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside, sucking in a breath at the sight of her. She’s wearing a lace bra, the kind that’s more about teasing than covering, and it’s doing a hell of a job.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my hands moving to cup her breasts, my thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.
She arches into my touch, her head falling back as a soft moan escapes her lips.
I lean forward, my mouth finding her neck, then her collarbone, before finally wrapping around one of her nipples. I suck gently at first, then harder, my teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp.
“Kaden,” she moans, her hips starting to move against me.
Hearing my name like that—breathy, desperate—almost undoes me. My cock is rock hard, straining against the fabric of my pants, and every roll of her hips is driving me closer to the edge.
I pull back just enough to look at her, her hair a wild mess, her lips swollen from our kisses. “Valentina,” I murmur, my voice thick with need, “I want to be inside you so fucking bad.”
“I want you too,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my chest.
She leans down to kiss me again, her movements growing bolder as she grinds against me. I want to take her right here, on the floor, but I also don’t want to rush this. Not with her.
“Let’s move this to the bed,” I rasp, already planning how I’ll worship every inch of her.
But for now, I let her take her time. She’s driving me crazy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I grab her pants, and she takes the hint, lifting her hips and pushing them off in one swift motion. Then her hands are on my waistband, shoving my sleep pants down, leaving absolutely nothing between us. Nothing.
The realization must hit her at the same time it hits me.
“Kaden, go get a condom,” she says, her breathless voice snapping me out of my trance.
I freeze, the gravity of my stupidity sinking in. The last box of condoms I owned had been sitting in my drawer for so long they expired. I threw them out, and since I never bring women to my place, I haven’t replaced them.
“I don’t have any,” I admit, my teeth clenching with frustration.
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, you don’t have any? How can you not have condoms?”
“I forgot to buy more.” Even to my own ears, it sounds like the weakest excuse ever uttered.
“I like you a lot,” she says, sitting up slightly and pulling away from me, “but we’re not at the no-protection level yet.”
“Of course, I know that,” I nod, my mind racing as I glance at the clock.
“Go get some?” she asks, a hopeful tone creeping into her voice.
It’s late, but there’s a twenty-four hour store a couple of blocks away. It’ll be fast.
“Stay ready for me,” I say, scooping her up and setting her gently on the couch. Her hair is a tousled halo, her body a picture of temptation. “I’ll be right back.”
I yank my pants and shirt back on, shove my feet into sneakers, and sprint out the door, shouting over my shoulder, “Don’t go anywhere.”
The two blocks to the store feel like a marathon. My mind chants a single word with each pounding step: condoms, condoms, condoms.
When I burst into the store, the clerk behind the counter looks startled—probably thinking I’m about to rob the place.
“Sorry, man, in a rush,” I say, trying for a disarming smirk as I jog up to the counter.
He doesn’t relax until I point at the shelf behind him. “Pack of condoms, please.”
The guy grins knowingly. “Got a hot one waiting on you, huh?”
“The hottest,” I reply, shaking my head and laughing despite myself.
“You want the three-pack or the twelve?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Twelve.”
The clerk chuckles as he grabs the box. “Way to get it, my man.”
I bounce on my feet, waiting for him to ring it up. “Twenty twenty-seven,” he says.
I reach for my back pocket . . . and my stomach drops. I’m not wearing jeans. I don’t have a back pocket. I don’t have my wallet.
“No.” I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
“Damn, man. You didn’t.”
I close my eyes, willing myself not to lose it. Desperation takes over, and I glance around the store until my gaze lands on a magazine rack. I grab the first one with my face on it and slap it on the counter.
“Look, this is me,” I say, pointing at the cover. I hate using my fame, but this is an emergency. “I’m good for it. Let me take the condoms now, and I’ll come back with the money. I swear.”
The clerk raises his hands to stop me mid-ramble. “Relax, dude. I’m the owner. How about a trade?”
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“Ice level tickets for a Saturday game to take my kids, a selfie and an autograph,” he says, grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell the clerk before darting out the door, the box of condoms clutched in my hand like it’s the Holy Grail.
The sprint back to my house feels faster than the trip to the store. My heart pounds—not from exertion, but from the thought of Valentina waiting for me. The image of her on my couch, her bare skin flushed, is all I can see as I jog up the steps and fumble with my keys.
I push the door open, a triumphant grin on my face. “I’m back, baby.”
The living room is empty.
No Valentina sprawled on the couch. No teasing smile. Just silence.
Instead, my brother Killion is standing there, holding a slice of cold pizza and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Hope you weren’t expecting me to swoon,” he says, biting into the slice with exaggerated drama.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I snap, slamming the door behind me. The condoms in my hand feel glaringly obvious, so I shove them into my pocket.
Killion raises an eyebrow, clearly clocking my move. “You tell me, lover boy. Came by to borrow your hockey bag, but I find pizza boxes everywhere, the TV still on, and Valentina storming out like her ass was on fire.”
My heart sinks. “She left?”
“Oh yeah,” Killion says, leaning against the back of the couch, his smirk growing. “And judging by the look on her face, you really outdid yourself this time. What did you do? Forget her birthday? Tell her you don’t like rom-coms? Or, oh wait—go running out of here for condoms like a horny teenager?”
“Fuck off, Killion,” I mutter.
“Seriously, man,” he continues, ignoring my glare. “She looked pissed. You might want to check your phone, see if she left a scorched-earth text on her way out.”
I grab my phone from the counter, hoping against hope that there’s some explanation waiting for me. But the screen is blank. No messages. No missed calls.
“She didn’t say anything?” I ask, turning back to him.
“Not a word. Just grabbed her bag and left. You want my advice?”
“No,” I snap.
Killion chuckles, taking another bite of pizza. “I’d get your shit together if I were you. That girl’s got fire, and if you don’t keep up, you’re gonna get burned.”
I glare at him, but his words hit harder than I want to admit. Without another word, I grab the pizza box from the coffee table and head to the kitchen, Killion’s laughter trailing behind me.
Valentina’s gone. What the fuck did I do wrong?