TWENTY-SIX #3
He doesn’t move first. Doesn’t budge a single inch. Infuriating man. Careful man.
Instead, I lift my hand and reach toward him, stopping just before my hand connects with his chest. Then I whisper, “You’re so fucking annoying.”
“I know,” he answers quickly.
“You follow me way too much,” I add.
“I know that, too.”
“And you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, voice dropping even lower.
I eye him closely before I finally answer. “Like you’re waiting for me to run away.”
“I am.”
My fingers curl in the air and I shake my head only once before I tell him, “I’m not running right now.”
Kaito’s breath changes then, a subtle sound I would have missed if I wasn’t so lasered in on everything around me, including the Alpha before me. It’s enough, though.
“Dakota,” he breathes, and there’s a warning in the way he says my name. Not a stop. Not a go. But a warning like I’m brushing my finger along the edge of a blade that’s been freshly sharpened.
I close that last inch between us, pressing my hand to his chest, making sure to keep away from his wounded side. His heartbeat hits my palm a second later, hard and steady and nowhere near as calm as his face would make me believe.
Good. I like that. Which is a terrible thing to think, but still. I’m glad for it.
With conviction, I tell him, “This is me choosing.”
Then I grip the front of his jacket, lower my bandana, and pull him down toward me.
This kiss isn’t like the first we shared. The first one was all rain and panic and heat and my body making decisions for me before my mind could even consider objecting. But this one is slower. Worse. Because I know exactly what it is I’m doing.
Kaito’s mouth meets mine carefully for half a breath, as if he’s offering me the room to change my mind despite the fact that I’m the one that put us here. It’s that care that almost ruins me completely.
Then my fingers tighten in his jacket, and he makes a low sound against my mouth. It’s not loud, but it’s certainly not controlled enough, and something hot unravels all through my body.
His hand lifts to my side, stops right before he touches me, and then settles lightly at my waist when I don’t pull away. He’s not gripping me, not holding me in place. It’s just contact, like a question mark in the shape of his hand.
I answer by stepping closer, and his body tenses. Pain, maybe. Want, definitely. Could even be both, and I kiss him harder.
Kaito’s restraint fractures by degrees, never enough to scare me, only enough to show me what it’s costing him.
His kiss turns deeper, hungrier. His hand spreads at my waist, thumb pressing once through the heavy fabric, and his other hand braces against the chain link instead of grabbing me.
Because apparently even while I’m being kissed senseless, the man is fully committed to being heart-crushingly considerate.
Rude.
So incredibly rude.
I slide my hand up his chest to his shoulder, careful despite myself. He notices, because of course he does. His mouth slows and so I nip his lower lip in warning. He exhales roughly but quietly before murmuring, “Careful.”
“I am being careful,” I assure him.
“You’re threatening me with your teeth.”
“I like to call it multitasking,” I mutter.
His forehead dips toward mine, almost touching. His breathing has turned uneven now, but mine is even worse. The air smells like him and me and blood and heat and only just about a hundred awful choices I don’t regret yet.
Yet.
That word always tries to ruin things, so I shove it away harshly. Then I kiss Kaito again before that word can grow fangs and sink them into me.
This time, Kaito lets himself answer. Really answer.
His mouth opens under mine, and the sound I make is small enough that I can deny it later but not small enough that he misses it.
His hand tightens once at my waist before immediately easing, like his body momentarily forgot the rules before his mind brought him back from the edge.
And I hate how much that matters to me. I hate how much it makes me want more.
My back hits the chain-link fence softly, not because he pushes me, but because I step back and he follows only as far as I pull him.
The fence rattles under his braced hand, his body standing close now, all heat and muscle and restraint.
So much restraint that I can feel it in the space he intentionally leaves between us.
Fingers twisting in his jacket, I inhale as his scent roughens. Mine spills through the failing blockers, sweet and sharp and impossible to lure back.
Kaito’s eyes open then, and he pulls back half an inch. I hate the loss instantly, so I breathe, “What?”
His gaze runs over my face before he answers. “You’re spiking.”
Embarrassment flares hotly through me, and I mutter, “Look at that, your nose is working perfectly fine.”
“Dakota.”
“I know,” I sigh.
“No.” His voice is quiet but firm, intensity bleeding from that single syllable. “Just because your scent is reacting, it doesn’t mean you owe that reaction anything.”
Those words hit their intended target, much harder than any words should, and my throat tightens once more. He’s still close enough that I could kiss him again, close enough that my body wants that very loudly and rudely and with very little respect for timing or my goddamn dignity.
But he’s not taking. He’s not using the scent as proof. He’s not leaning into the thing every single bad story in my head always warns me about.
“Wanting isn’t surrender,” he assures me, and my fingers loosen in his jacket as I stare at him.
The platform rattles with the wind, and somewhere below there are Zeds groaning like the world’s least romantic audience members known to man. I should make a joke. Something sharp, something terrible. Instead, I whisper, “It feels like it could be.”
Kaito’s face changes then, but not from pain. At least, not the pain in his side. “I know.”
Two words. That’s all. No pity, no trying to fix anything. Just the simple truth that has me releasing a breath of air that trembles at the edges, and I instantly hate it.
His hand stays at my waist, though. Light and steady, easy to leave. I don’t. Not straight away.
But then the office door opens behind us and we both go still.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ewan calls softly, sounding a little too pleased with himself for someone who is currently in stabbing distance. “I know I’m interrupting something either super tactical or something incredibly illegal-looking.”
My eyes close, and I whisper, “I’m actually going to kill him.”
Kaito’s mouth brushes near my temple, not quite a kiss, as he says, “Later.”
My stomach does a funny little somersault again, because of course it does. This is getting absolutely ridiculous.
I step back first, and Kaito lets me without hesitation or chasing. There’s no disappointment thrown over my shoulder like a wet rag. He just lets me move back, and the space between us returns. Only it’s not quite the same shape as it was before.
Straightening my jacket, I yank my bandana back up, even though I’d only tugged it down ever so slightly. Then I peer over at the Welshman, who is standing at the doorway wearing the expression of a man who has seen enough to be unbearable for at least a week.
“Everything clear?” I ask sharply.
His eyes sparkle as he looks back at me, right before the bastard asks, “Depends on what you’re referring to. Are we talking about the route? Or are we talking emotionally?”
My expression flattens, and I warn, “Choose survival, Ewan.”
“Route, then,” he says, though there’s an underlying sense of amusement in those two words. “Fletcher says we move in five. Pilot is currently making noises that resemble a haunted kettle and it’s freaking me out.”
“Oh. Great,” I mutter.
“Also, not to be that guy or anything,” he adds. “But the chain-link fence echoes. Thought you’d want to know for… future, I guess? I don’t know.”
I point a threatening finger at him and damn near growl, “You better run.”
He grins before disappearing back inside, and for one strange second, I almost smile. Then I remember Kaito is watching me. He’s not smug or satisfied, just watching like every version of me is actually worth waiting for.
And that’s worse.
So much worse.
“You should check your side,” I suggest.
“I will,” he promises.
“Now.”
His brow lifts and I glare at him. He peers down at his blood-darkened cloth, then he looks back at me. “Is this you offering medical advice?”
“With the appropriate level of hostility, yes,” I answer, giving him a sharp nod.
His mouth finally curves. It’s only small, but it’s real, and it hits harder than it has any right.
“I’ll check it,” he promises then.
I nod, sharp and awkward, then I move toward the door.
I don’t run. Not from the platform, not from him, not even when my hands tremble as I step back into the office.
I’m still angry, I’m still scared, and I’m definitely still overheated and under-blocked, entirely too aware of the taste of him as it lingers on my mouth.
But I’m not ashamed.
That feels dangerous, but maybe everything worth having does.
Behind me, Kaito follows at a careful distance. Close enough that if the world tries to reach its claws out for me, he’ll be there to stand in the way and stop it. But far enough that the option to leave still belongs to me.