Chapter 20
The food smells like garlic and butter and my stomach growls.
Caden unpacks it while I pretend, I’m not watching him too closely, even though I totally am.
He’s wearing a black shirt, sleeves shoved up his forearms, collar loose.
Dark pants that hang just right. Tattoos peek from under one sleeve, just enough ink to make me curious, just enough to remember him mentioning them last week.
My reckless teenage rebellion , he’d said, like it was no big deal.
But right now? It feels like a very big deal.
He's holding the puppy like she belongs to him. Roxie’s settled by his feet. I swear to God, even my emotionally traumatized rescue dogs are falling for him.
I light the candles I bought for myself weeks ago and never used. Not once. Not even during my worst lonely night, when I ordered takeout and cried into a pint of cookie dough. But tonight, I light them. Because suddenly I want everything to feel a little softer. A little more intentional.
“Fancy,” he says, smiling as I set out plates This feels weirdly domestic.
“I had candles,” I say, trying to sound casual as I tug down the hem of my shirt. “Seemed like a waste to let them gather dust. ”
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me. Like I’m something worth watching.
And then we sit. We eat. Or try to.
Because I can barely taste the food over the tension between us. His knee brushes mine under the table once. Then again. Not an accident. Not anymore.
His gaze catches mine, slow and lingering, and something warm starts coiling in my belly. A dangerous little flutter. I look down at my plate, but it doesn’t help.
“Your dogs love me,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms loose on either side like he owns the space now. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “That means something, right?”
“Means they have no judgment.”
“You sure about that?” he says, voice lower now. “Because I think they know a good thing when they see it.”
I feel it then, that flicker of heat crawling up my neck, settling low in my stomach.
I stand, taking our plates before I say something like take me upstairs and ruin me . He follows me into the kitchen, brushing past just close enough that my breath catches.
And when I turn around, he’s there. Too close. The kind of close that makes it hard to think .
He walks until both his hands are on the counter, caging me in. “You didn’t ask to stay,” I murmur, leaning back against the counter.
“You didn’t tell me not to.”
Then his fingers graze my hip. Barely there. A whisper of touch. And I forget how to breathe again.
“You don’t make it easy,” I say, swallowing hard as he kisses the side of my head.
“Neither do you,” he says, and then he kisses me, for real.
Not soft this time. Not hesitant.
It’s hungry. Deep. Like he’s been holding back since the second I opened the door.
His hands find my waist, grip firm. I press into him like my body doesn’t care about timing or labels or the messy disaster of what we are.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tug him closer. He groans, low in his throat, and it shoots straight through me.
I should stop this. I should stop this.
But instead, I reach for the buttons on his shirt.
And when he pulls me up onto the counter, sweeping aside a bag of dog treats like it’s nothing, I wrap my legs around his hips like I’ve wanted to since the first phone call .
This isn’t smart. It isn’t slow. It isn’t clean.
But maybe it doesn’t have to be.
His mouth is hot on my throat, and I tilt my head back like I’ve forgotten I even have a spine.
My fingers slide under his open shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, running my fingers over the hard lines of his stomach.
Smooth skin, warm and taut, and; yep, tattoos.
My fingertips trace the curve of ink, and he shivers. Actually shivers.
“I didn’t think we were doing this,” I breathe, right before he kisses me again. And then I’m not thinking at all.
“We’re doing this,” he says into my mouth. “Unless you say stop.”
But I don’t. I won't.
The countertop is digging into the backs of my thighs, but I don’t care.
His hands are under my shirt now, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing the sides of my ribs in a way that makes my entire body hum.
It’s been so long since anyone touched me like this.
Wanted me like this. Not out of obligation or routine or some kind of marital pity, but like they see me.
Caden sees everything.
And right now, I want to be seen .
I grab his shirt and slide it off his shoulders, he lets out this growl of a laugh that sounds like it’s scraped from somewhere deep.
My tongue traces his lips, biting at the bottom one and he lets out a breath like that undoes him, like he didn’t expect me to take the lead. His hands slide my shirt over my head. I’m not wearing anything underneath; having escaped bra jail when Hannah left.
His breath catches, and for a second, he just looks at me. Like reverent, open-mouthed awe.
“You’re killing me,” he says, voice rough.
“Good,” I whisper, and then his mouth is on my skin.
He works his way down with maddening slowness, tongue flicking the edge of my breast, his hands holding me in place like I might fly apart otherwise. I press my heel into his back, arch into him, and moan when his teeth scrape lightly, just enough to sting.
It’s chaos now. Limbs and heat and clothing disappearing one reckless, delicious layer at a time.
Somehow, we stumble to the couch, yes, the one I swore I’d burn, and collapse in a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing.
Roxy lifts her head from the rug, watching us with zero judgment, while the puppy snores in a heap of blankets nearby.
The absurdity of it almost breaks the tension, until he slips on a condom and slides inside me.
And then everything stops .
The air thickens. The world sharpens.
It’s not just sex. I knew it wouldn’t be.
It’s need and history and something that feels terrifyingly like hope .
I grip his shoulders, wrap my legs tighter, meet every movement with a desperate rhythm of my own.
It’s fast, then slow. Deep. Not perfect.
Too much. Not enough. I lose track of where I end and he begins.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel hollow.
Or forgotten. Or like a placeholder in someone else’s life.
I feel wanted .
Seen.
He kisses my collarbone, his muscular body pressing me into the sofa as he thrusts, hard. Evey rub of his pubic bone against my clit sends a jolt of electricity through me.
When I come, it’s with a gasp so raw I surprise myself. He follows right after, holding onto me like I’m the last real thing in the world.
And when it’s over, neither of us moves. We’re slick and tangled and boneless, heartbeats racing against each other like a song on repeat.
“I’m glad I didn’t ask,” he murmurs again, voice sleep-heavy and amused, as he wraps the condom in a tissue from the table .
“Me too,” I say, lips against his neck.
We make it up the stairs like drunk people or thieves, clumsy, naked, trying not to trip over each other or the dogs trailing behind us like witnesses. I giggle. Actually giggle. That’s how far gone I am.
Caden throws a look over his shoulder. “They’re following us.”
“She’s a puppy,” I say, breathless. “And her mom. They live here.”
“We can’t let them watch!” he’s horrified.
I shoot him a mischievous look. “Then, run!”
That gets me a low, dangerous smile. A challenge. And then we’re inside the guest room, and he kicks the door shut behind him sealing us in.
The second the latch clicks, something shifts. That earlier reverence, gone. Now it’s heat and command and the kind of intensity that makes my knees wobble.
I don't even have time to breathe before he’s got me pressed to the door, hands above my head, mouth at my throat.
“Tell me to go slow,” he rasps.
I shake my head.
“Use words.”
“I don’t want slow.” My voice is shaky. Honest .
And that’s all he needs.
His grip tightens, not painful, but firm , like he's staking a claim. He kisses me hard, possessive, like he’s been holding back and now the dam’s cracked open. I kiss him back harder.
I’m spun around; my chest pressed to the cold surface of the door. His hands skim my spine, my hips. I feel like I might explode from anticipation alone.
“I’ve been thinking about this since the first time you said my name like you hated me.”
“You were being smug.” He totally was.
“You were picturing this.” Caden says, while reaching for the condom, he threw on the floor when we came in. “This is the last one.”
“You should have brought more.” He unwraps it with his teeth, “Wait! Are you safe?” I really, really shouldn’t do this. But, I really, really want to.
“I’m clean. You are the first woman I’ve been with… in a while.” Adorable.
“I’m on the pill, and I had a very thorough STD panel recently.” Mike and I never went without condoms, too afraid of accidentally getting knocked up and derailing our lives.
He says, “You sure? ”
I nod.
And then he’s inside me again, deeper this time, rougher. My hands splay against the wood, legs trembling, cheek pressed to the cool surface as he moves.
“You feel so fucking good.” He murmurs against my ear, stilling. And it’s true, I didn’t think it could better, but goddamn I can feel every inch of him.
I cry out, when he starts moving. My pussy practically spasms around him, wanting more. And he doesn’t disappoint, sinking inside me harder, deeper thrusts.
He wraps my hair around his wrist, turning my face to kiss me. He fucks me like he hates me while his kiss remains tender, sweet.
The sound of slapping skin and our mingled breaths are the only sound around us.
“You feel, fuck, so tight, so fucking good, ” he groans against my lips.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp. “Please.”
“Not planning to.”
His fingers grip my hip, then slip around to press between my thighs, deliberate, practiced.
I splinter around him, coming hard with a sob that feels like grief and hope and need all tangled together.
He follows with a rough groan, body shaking against mine, and we both collapse against the door like it’s holding us up.
Silence, except for our ragged breathing.
I turn around, still pressed to the door, and he leans his forehead to mine.
“That-” I start.
He kisses me again, softer this time. “Yeah.”
We slide down to the floor, tangled, skin still damp, both of us too wrecked to move.
“Next time,” I whisper, eyes closing, “we try the damn bed.”
He laughs, husky and low as I lean in to kiss him again.
Round three, here we come .