Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I follow Caine into the elevator, my legs still shaky. The resulting adrenaline from his public display is still coursing through my whole body. I smooth down my hair with trembling hands, trying to regain some composure.
"Where are we going?" I ask, though my voice comes out breathier than intended. I am so freaking turned on, I can't walk straight.
He hits the button for the twentieth floor, then turns to me with that playful smile—the one that makes my stomach flip every single time. "Where do you think?"
The elevator doors slide shut, sealing us into this mirrored box, and suddenly we're completely alone. The silence stretches between us, heavy with two months of separation and longing. Our reflection stares back at me from every angle—flushed cheeks, wild hair, eyes dark with want.
God, the sight of it is such a turn-on, I'm raring to go right here, right now. I'm tempted to hit the STOP button.
Before I can even think of doing that, his hands frame my face as he backs me against the cool mirrored wall. His warm body presses against mine, and I melt instantly, becoming liquid under his touch.
The sight of us in the reflection—his broad shoulders caging me in, my hands fisting in his shirt—is so hot I nearly whimper.
"Jesus, Jenna." His mouth crashes down on mine again, and I'm insatiable, kissing him back with a desperation that surprises me. My hands roam his chest, reacquainting themselves with every hard plane and angle I've missed so desperately.
He breaks away just enough to speak, his lips brushing against my ear. "I've fucked you against a door, and in the backseat of my car."
The crude words from his mouth send heat straight through me. "I know," I breathe, my voice barely recognizable. "It was so fucking hot."
His eyes darken as he pulls back to look at me.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of having you in a good old-fashioned bed.
" His voice drops to that slow, hypnotic tone that never fails to undo me completely.
"You have no idea how I've wanted to take my time with you...
to taste every inch of your body, to drive you insane with want, to take it slow. "
My knees actually buckle at his words. The promise in his voice, the heat in his eyes—it's everything I've fantasized about during these endless weeks apart.
The elevator dings softly as we reach his floor, but he doesn't move away immediately. Instead, he leans down and captures my lips one more time, kissing me briefly before pulling back with a wicked smile.
"Come on," he whispers.
The bastard is driving me absolutely insane, and he knows it.
But God help me, I love every second of it.
I step into his hotel room behind him, and my breath catches. The space is absolutely stunning—all soft blues and creams, with elegant touches that scream luxury.
A massive king bed dominates the center of the room, flanked by a gorgeous tufted velvet headboard that looks like something from a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Atlantic City skyline, but I barely notice the view.
Caine turns to face me, and that playful, wicked look in his eyes makes my pulse race. I know that expression. He has plans for me—deliciously naughty plans that make my body hum with anticipation.
"Stand by the bed," he commands, his voice taking on that authoritative tone that never fails to make me weak in the knees.
There's something about the way he can shift from playful to dominant in an instant that always catches me off guard, leaving me breathless and aching for whatever he has planned.
I move where he's directed, my heart hammering as he takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. His green eyes are dark with desire as they rake over me.
"Undress for me."
The words send heat spiraling through my core. I'm shy—I always am in moments like this—but I'm so turned on I can barely think straight. My body feels warm and heavy, and I can already feel myself getting wet for him.
I slip off my ballerina pumps first, feeling a little uncertain under his intense gaze.
The way he's watching me, like he wants to devour me, makes my pussy throb with need. The way his gaze burns into me—dark and possessive, like he’s already imagining every inch of me beneath him—sends a jolt of heat straight between my thighs.
My breath hitches as his eyes trace the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, the way my fingers tremble just slightly as I undo the button of my jeans.
He doesn’t just look at me; he consumes me, like I’m something rare and precious, something he’s been starving for.
And that hunger in his stare? It’s intoxicating.
“God, the things I wanna do to you,” he says softly.
My pulse thrums between my legs, my panties already damp with need, my body aching for the moment he finally takes what he’s been eyeing so hungrily.
God, the way he watches me—like he’s memorizing the shape of me, like he’s already decided how he’s going to ruin me—makes me feel both exposed and powerful, and it’s maddening.
"Let your hair down."
I reach up and pull out the elastic, letting my red waves fall around my shoulders.
He bites his lip, and the simple gesture nearly undoes me.
Slowly, I pull my t-shirt over my head, revealing the pink lace bra I'd chosen this morning. His soft moan of appreciation makes me bold.
That low, throaty sound he makes—half groan, half reverence—vibrates through me like a live wire, igniting something primal deep in my belly. It’s not just desire in his voice; it’s worship, like I’m something sacred he’s been waiting his whole life to touch.
The way his lips part just slightly, his breath hitching as his gaze rakes over me, makes my skin flush with heat.
My fingers tremble—not from nerves, but from the sheer power of knowing I’m the one making him react like this. The air between us crackles, thick with anticipation, and suddenly, I don’t feel small or uncertain.
I feel alive. Like I could step into the fire of his hunger and let it burn me down to nothing. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin just a fraction.
If he wants a show, I’ll give him one. If he wants to watch me unravel, I’ll let him—but only on my terms. The realization curls through me, hot and heady, and my lips part in a slow, knowing smile as I reach behind me to unclasp my bra.
His eyes darken, his fingers twitching at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for me, and that restraint—that control—only makes me bolder. I want to break it. I want to be the one who makes Caine Hall lose his carefully constructed composure.
Just for a moment. Just for me.
I unbutton my jeans, then slowly drag the zipper down. His eyes follow every movement as I slide the denim over my hips and down my legs.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes.
Heat floods my face at his words.
He's still fully dressed in his tournament clothes, but somehow he's never looked sexier. I imagine what's underneath—the hard planes of his chest, his soft, warm skin.
He bites his bottom lip—the man has the most beautiful, full lips I’ve ever seen. “Touch yourself for me, baby.”
The request makes me dizzy with want, but I shake my head. I shoot him a playful smile—I can tease, too. "Only if you do it too."
I move closer, emboldened by the hunger in his eyes.
My fingers find his fly, and when I rub my hand over him, I close my eyes and savor the moment.
I dig into his silky boxers eagerly and wrap my hand around his hard-on, feeling his warm length and thickness beneath my fingers.
I close my eyes, memorizing the weight and heat of him, the way he pulses against my palm with each heartbeat.
His sharp intake of breath makes satisfaction curl through me—this powerful, controlled man trembling ever so slightly under my touch. I squeeze gently, running my thumb along the outline of his tip, feeling a dampness beginning to seep.
The knowledge that I affect him this deeply, that I can make the great Caine Hall respond so viscerally to my touch, sends a thrill of power through my veins. His cologne mingles with the scent of the room, creating an intoxicating combination that makes my head swim and my knees weak.
Still, I keep my eyes closed, focusing entirely on the sensation of him throbbing against my hand, letting the anticipation build between us like a gathering storm. I want him inside me so desperately, but I also want to draw this out, to tease him the way he's been teasing me.
We have all the time in the world.
I study his beautiful almond eyes, so lazy and dark with desire. He's never been more beautiful to me than in this moment.
"You're driving me wild," he says, breathless.
I smile. "I know."
He pulls me to him. His fingers graze the inside of my thigh, feather-light touches that make my breath hitch. The sensation sends sparks racing through my body, but I force myself to step back, even though every nerve ending screams for more contact.
His eyes never leave mine as I stand before him. My hand trembles as I slip it beneath the lace of my panties, touching myself while he watches. The combination of my own touch and his burning gaze makes my head spin. It feels so damn good. Every nerve in my body is on fire.
He mirrors my movements, his hand disappearing into his boxers, lids heavy as his gaze travels from my eyes down to my pussy. The sight of him touching himself while his eyes devour every movement I make is absolutely intoxicating.
His hand moves with deliberate slowness, matching the rhythm I've set, and the raw hunger in his gaze makes my skin burn. I've never felt so desired, so completely wanted. The way he watches me—like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—sends electricity coursing through my veins.
This moment, this connection between us, is the hottest thing I've ever experienced.
His jaw tightens, his breathing becomes ragged, and I can see him fighting for control. His breathing grows more labored with each passing second, and I watch as his free hand clenches into a tight fist at his side.
The muscles in his jaw work furiously, like he's grinding his teeth together to maintain some semblance of restraint. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide, and I can see the war raging behind them—the battle between his need to touch me and his determination to draw this moment out.
A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead despite the cool air in the room, and his chest rises and falls rapidly as he struggles to keep his breathing steady. I can practically feel the tension radiating from his body, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
And… he finally breaks.