Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"We only have two more sessions left," I remind him, steeling myself against the pull he has on me. My voice comes out steadier than I feel inside, where everything is chaos. "And there will be no touching. I've had enough of these games."
I cross my arms over my chest, creating a barrier between us, though what I really need is protection from myself and these dangerous feelings I can't seem to control.
He nods, accepting my terms without argument. "Fair enough."
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself wondering about his past with Reeves.
"What is the deal with you and Reeves? This is all about you two, isn't it?"
He stares at the floor, ashamed. "Yeah, this was just me trying to mess with the guy, trying to drive him insane. I know it’s petty… and it’s really not like me, but Reeves got under my skin a long time ago.”
"What?!" I ask, more confused than ever. "Why?! What did he do to you?"
He blows out a long breath, his chest rising and falling slowly beneath his expensive shirt, and I notice how his shoulders tense, as if physically bracing himself against painful memories.
His long fingers tap methodically against his thigh—once, twice, three times—a nervous habit I've begun to recognize when he's sorting through a difficult challenge at the table. The silence stretches just a beat too long, making the small space between us feel electric with unspoken history.
"Back then, he had the upper hand," he starts.
"His dad owned the place. He and Greg were Kings, both bigger than me…” His words trail off as he stares into the distance, remembering those days.
“Bigger, but not smarter,” he points out.
“Now, I have the upper hand… I own this place, well, this building anyway.
I've just been waiting for Reeves to fuck this up as I've expected him to… and he certainly didn't disappoint."
"So it wasn't a coincidence when you bought this building."
He smiles. "Nope. When I saw this place for sale, I jumped on it. My dad didn't think it was the greatest investment, but I had to have it."
"And you always get what you want, don't you?”
He shoots me one of his irresistible grins. "Of course."
"So what happened between you back then?"
His expression darkens as he goes back there. "He and Greg beat the shit out of me when I was sixteen. I ended up in the hospital for a week."
I'm shocked speechless. The story freezes me in place, my mind struggling to reconcile this revelation with everything I thought I knew.
That wasn't how Reeves told it at all—not even close. In his version, there had been some mutual shoving match, a teenage disagreement that got out of hand. Nothing about hospitalizing someone.
But looking at Caine now, at the subtle vulnerability in those stunning eyes that normally reveal nothing, I know without a doubt that he's telling the truth.
There's no performance here, no calculated move.
Just raw history laid bare between us in this dimly lit corner of the pool hall that suddenly feels too small, too intimate.
My husband—the man who cradles our son when he has nightmares, who brings me coffee in bed on Sunday mornings—was capable of something so vicious. The knowledge settles like ice in my stomach, heavy and uncomfortable.
“It was brutal," he goes on. "My dad got both of them arrested, but they were both juveniles, so they didn't get into too much trouble."
This is a side of Caine I've never seen before— so vulnerable. The controlled businessman disappears to reveal that he's only human, like I am. I feel for him, and I can't help myself when I inch closer and hug him.
He freezes in my arms, and I awkwardly back away. So much for not touching. This one was my bad.
"Why?" I ask, needing to understand. My stomach knots as I try to reconcile this with the version of my husband I know, the man who kisses Liam goodnight and holds me when I can't sleep.
"Because I was better than them," he says simply, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
His eyes flash with something between pride and old pain.
"Because I had a natural talent they could only dream of. And because I was always ten steps ahead at the table.” He delivers this without a hint of boasting—just stating facts in that slow, deliberate way of his that makes each word feel like a verdict.
I let out a small laugh, despite the gravity of the situation.
"Tell me about it," I say, thinking of Reeves’s infamous temper—the way his face flushes crimson when he's frustrated, how he slams the butt of his pool cue against the floor when he misses a shot.
"Emotional regulation isn't exactly Reeves’s strong suit.
One bad game and the whole hall knows it. "
Caine laughs softly, the sound sending a ripple of warmth through my chest. His eyes crinkle at the corners, making my breath catch for just a moment.
"Pool is like chess," he muses, tracing his long fingers along the edge of the table.
"It's a sport, but also a strategic game.
You need talent, discipline, and the ability to keep your cool under pressure.
The moment you let emotion dictate your shot—" He snaps his fingers.
“That's when you lose everything you've built. "
And for a moment, as we stand there sharing this strange, intimate connection, I allow myself to forget the stakes, to forget the danger of this game we've been playing.
The way his eyes hold mine makes everything else fade away—Reeves, the failing pool hall, even my responsibilities waiting at home. It's just us, surrounded by the soft click of billiard balls and the amber glow of the overhead lights.
I picture Caine, younger, smaller, at the mercy of Reeves and Greg—their fists, their rage. My stomach hardens with anger.
How could Reeves be so nonchalant about something so brutal? How could he lie to me, dismiss it as if it were nothing? And how could he use me as a bargaining chip in this sick game?
I'm tired of pushing away my feelings for Caine, tired of denying the pull I feel towards him. It's a dangerous dance, but I'm done resisting.
My heart pounds hard as I grab Caine by the shirt, a fistful of fabric in my hand, and pull him closer.
His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't resist.
"Follow me," I whisper, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
I drag him towards the storage room, the heavy door slamming shut behind us with a satisfying thud.
The room is dim, filled with the musky antiseptic scent of cleaning supplies and inventory. It’s dark, save for the faint glow of a night light plugged into the wall.
He doesn’t waste a single second.
My breath hitches as he presses me against the shelving. As soon as his body moulds into mine, I melt and completely surrender. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing.
As soon as our lips meet, my whole core warms and drowns into him.
His mouth is hot, his lips so soft. He tastes amazing, like mint.
I melt further into him, my body aching for more.
His hands roam my back, tracing the curve of my spine before sliding lower, cupping my ass and pulling me closer against him.
He's hard. He wants this as much as I do.
I'm on fire, every nerve ending alive and tingling.
His touch drives me wild, and I can't get enough.
I grind against him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my pussy.
He groans into my mouth, a sound that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
His hands find their way under my skirt, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties before slipping inside and stroking my ass.
"God, you're so soft," he breathes against my ear. "Your ass is perfection.”
His hand slides, and my pussy aches for his touch.
He doesn't leave me hanging. He slides a long finger down the front of my panties and finds my sweet spot. I melt into him, knowing this is so wrong, but it feels so fucking good.
I can't stop it. I can't push him away. I desperately want this. I don't let myself think of anything else. There is nothing else but this moment.
He rubs me softly, and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. His fingers are perfect, knowing exactly where to touch, how to stroke. I'm wet, so wet, and the sensation of his fingers sliding against me is almost too much to bear. I buckle against him as he rubs me harder, faster.
"That's it, baby," he whispers against my ear, breathless, his words heavy and ragged. "Come for me, baby. I want to hear you come hard in my hand."
I gasp, my head falling back as he keeps stroking me, as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. I brace myself against the flat steel shelving, holding on tight.
His hot mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his fingers work their magic.
I can't stop this. I don't want to. I'm a slave to the sensations coursing through my body, a captive to the pleasure he's giving me. His fingers move faster, his thumb circling my clit with a precision that leaves me breathless.
I'm so close, so close...
And then I'm falling, tumbling over the edge… and it's pure pleasure. My orgasm rips through me, and I cry out. He slams his free hand over my mouth.
"Quiet, my beautiful girl,” he whispers.
The final wave of ecstasy leaves me shaking and gasping for breath. His fingers slow, his touch gentling as he brings me back down to earth. I cling to him, my body limp and sated, my mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.
He called me his beautiful girl. I'm not, though, am I? I'm Reeves’s girl, but I suppose that in this moment, I belong to Caine.
Confusion washes over me as Caine leans into me and kisses my earlobe gently. "That was an amazing thing to see. You are so fucking beautiful, Jenna."
Suddenly, I feel sick, wrecked with guilt. With the unbearable, urgent ache gone and satiated, my head is functioning properly again, and I'm completely and utterly ashamed of myself.
Fuck, I should have ran into the storage room by myself, and called Clara, like I promised. She would have talked some sense into me.
Reality instantly comes back to me, and I panic. Greg could be right outside the door. Customers could be waiting for me. What the fuck am I doing?
"We have to go," I tell him, breathless. "We can't be in here."
He smiles. "You're not wrong."
"Uh… let me go out first.” My hands are shaking, and my knees are wobbly. I'm not even sure I can walk out straight.
He watches me as I slowly turn the handle and peek out. There's no one in sight. I quickly wave him out.
Reality swiftly seeps back in like a cold draft, reminding me that this—whatever this is between Caine and me—can never be more than this.
I'm skirting into dangerous territory — this is now a completely different kind of game, one that is intoxicating but much more dangerous. This has momentum now. I should never have done what I just did. Who knows what I just started.
I feel selfish. I panicked. I left him hanging. I wish I could have stroked him into oblivion and made him come too. I would have loved to see the sight of that beautiful face when he reached his climax. But that would have felt like an even bigger betrayal.
I suppose he can go off to his car and jerk-off. Just the thought of him leaning back and closing his beautiful eyes, thinking about me, stroking his hard cock arouses me so much.
Fuck. This shit has gotten way out of hand.
As we quietly say our goodbyes, he tugs at my heart still, and I find myself hating Reeves and Greg for what they did to him.
I watch him walk away, and as he exits the hall, he bumps into Greg, who scowls at him—he hates Caine as much as Reeves does.
I stand there, smug, waiting for Greg to come closer. And when he does, I don't hesitate to give him a piece of my mind. "Reeves’s guard dog is super late today," I quip. "What happened?"
He heads into the office and throws his backpack on the floor. He's not in the mood, and I really don't care. "My wheel popped right off," he tells me matter-of-factly.
"Well, I guess you should be thankful you're still alive," I offer with a scowl, a small part of me wishing him harm.
He pulls off his hat, hair dishevelled as usual. "Yeah, I got lucky… happened when I was turning. I'd slowed down, so no accident. No one got hurt."
Visions of him beating the shit out of a young Caine swirl around in my head. "Yep, wouldn't want to send anyone to the hospital, would you?"
He cocks a brow as he pulls off his jacket. "Of course not."
"Like you did when you were a stupid kid." A stupid kid who turned into a stupid adult, I can't help but think.
"What?!"
"Caine," I say. "I know all about it."
He blows out a breath. "Oh, what did that pompous ass tell you?"
"The truth."
He shakes his head, not adding a single word to the conversation, confirming Caine's version of the story.
"You and Reeves are assholes," I add for good measure.
He sighs a little too loudly. "You should stay out of what doesn't concern you, little girl."
"And you should go fuck yourself, little boy."
At those words, he spins around and heads right into the office—a much better option than what I suspect he really wants to do—punch me in the face.
I smile, but I'm certainly not looking forward to the rest of the day, stuck in here with this prick.