Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
KAYLA
D ane’s left me alone in my bedroom, but his scent of cedar and cinnamon fills me, and I wish I’d asked him to stay.
The dream still lingers in my mind, vivid and tantalizing, where my lips touched theirs—Dane’s, Liam’s, Ryker’s. It felt so real, the heat of their mouths, the press of their strong bodies.
A shiver runs through me as I remember the weight of Dane’s gaze as he handed me the breakfast tray. When his fingers brushed against my bare leg, it was a simple accident, nothing like the sickening touches from my stepdad—no flinching, no clenching stomach. Instead, there was this odd flutter inside me.
I’m perched on the bed, knees hugged to my chest, arms locked around them. God, I’m pathetic. But that touch... it wasn’t just skin on skin. Nuh-uh. There was that moment when I grabbed Dane’s hand to steady the tray, his skin against mine. Boom. Fireworks. His warmth seeped into me, alive and electric, zinging up my arm and settling low in my gut.
How the hell can something so tiny flip my world upside down? It’s absurd. Ridiculous. Terrifying.
I should be wary, guarded—I know that much—but with Dane, it’s different. The way he looks at me doesn’t set off alarms; it sets off fireworks, and I can’t decide if I want to run toward them or bolt in the opposite direction.
My gaze drifts to the door. I could walk out right now, march down those stupidly grand stairs, and... what? Face Dane? Face all three of them?
The thought hits me like a sucker punch, leaving me breathless with both a thrill and dread. I flop back, sprawling across the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s intricate moldings. This place is a freaking mausoleum of silence, but my brain? It’s a mosh pit of chaos.
My nails dig into my palms as I wrestle with indecision.
“You’re not some scared little girl anymore, Kayla.” Who am I kidding? I’m terrified—of these feelings, of what they might do to me if I let them loose.
The mattress dips underneath me as I squirm, restless. Dane’s scent clings to the sheets and smells divine. It wraps around me like an embrace I didn’t know I wanted, and it’s intoxicating—more than any drink I’ve ever knocked back in a desperate attempt to forget.
I bite my lip hard to stamp out the rebellious urge that crawls up my skin. Yet, my hand dips under the flimsy lace of my nightgown, fingers skimming my skin, ghosting along the path his touch might’ve traced if I hadn’t stopped him.
The what-ifs gnaw at me. What if I’d thrown caution to the wind and kissed him? Would his lips taste like he smells, all earthy comfort and dangerous promises?
A ragged breath escapes me as my other hand wanders south, sneaking past the elastic of my underwear. My fingers slide over my clit, tingles spreading through me as I touch myself.
My thoughts spiral into a Dane-shaped vortex, his image burned into my thoughts. I’m imagining the warmth of him touching me. My heart’s a jackhammer, threatening to burst through my ribs.
His scent seems to spike somehow, mingling with a wave of heat washing over me and settling in my belly. It’s intoxicating and has me stifling a whimper as I stroke myself, my fingers dipping in and out.
Tension coils tighter, winding up inside me until I’m afraid it’ll snap, but I don’t stop—can’t stop. A ragged gasp tears out of me, raw and needy. I picture him here, his hands on me, bringing me to the edge.
Then… holy crap!
A climax rips through me, fierce as hell. I bury my face in the sheets, biting down to muffle the sounds clawing their way out of my throat. My whole body’s on fire. My back arches off the mattress, and I gasp for air between moans that rattle my throat. Pleasure crashes over me in waves.
It’s too much. Not enough. I want to run from it. Chase it. Make it stop. Make it last forever.
“Dane.” His name bursts out on a broken whisper. It tastes bittersweet on my tongue, like the last bite of chocolate you’re trying to savor. For a second, I let myself imagine his arms around me, steadying me as I fall apart, but he’s not here. I’m alone in the tangled sheets.
Gasping between ragged breaths, my body trembling in aftershocks, I’m left with a raw need that claws at me. A frustrated groan escapes me; I’ve never felt so incomplete. With shaky hands, I push the thought aside and stumble to the bathroom, desperate for a distraction.
The shower’s knob feels cool against my hand, but even as the water temperature drops, it’s not enough. Steam envelops me, but instead of soothing, it only reminds me of Liam. His strong silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower door, water sluicing down over muscles and skin.
“Shit.” I press my palms against the cool tile, trying to erase the image of his bare chest, the way droplets clung to him like they couldn’t bear to fall away. The memory sends another rush of heat through me, scalding from the inside out. I twist the knob further until it can’t turn anymore, but it’s useless. My skin is hot, too hot, and no amount of cold water seems to reach the fever burning beneath.
As though teasing me, my mind conjures up the sight of Liam’s hands running through his hair, slicking back the locks. My own hand moves reflexively, mirroring the action, dragging through my wet hair. I trail my hand down my body, imagining it’s him doing it to me, but it’s not enough.
Stupid. It’s like trying to light a fire with wet matches. There’s a warmth for a second, but then it just feels… flat. Because it’s not him or Dane or Ryker; it’s just me craving more.
Frustration knots my stomach in a tight ball. No amount of me messing around with myself is gonna fix this. It’s like someone punched a hole in my chest, and the emptiness is just…suffocating.
“Fuck this.” My voice echoes off the walls, tinged with an edge of desperation. I kill the water, cutting off the stream, but even wrapped in the chill of the air, my skin still simmers, reminding me that the shower was nothing more than a temporary reprieve.
I need to get out of here. I need... What? I don’t even know anymore. All I know is the burning deep in my core and spreading to my pussy won’t stop—not without something I’m not sure I’m ready to give into yet.
Stepping out of the shower, droplets racing down my skin, I grab a towel, rough against my oversensitive skin, and pat myself dry. It’s a useless effort; the moisture seems to rise from within, a sheen that won’t be tamed. There’s an urgency thrumming through my veins, pushing me toward... I push away the thought.
I can’t be going into heat. Maybe I’m getting sick or something.
Clothes. I need clothes, but when I pick up a soft cotton tee, it feels like sandpaper on my fingertips. The leggings might as well be chains. Everything’s too tight, too confining. My breath hitches as I drop them, my nakedness less vulnerable than the thought of being trapped in fabric.
“Kayla? You okay in there?” Ryker’s voice is a low rumble through the door, wrapping around me. His scent lingers in the air—leather and something darker, something wild. It does things to me, things that make my heart race and my body ache for his touch.
“Fine,” I lie without missing a beat, even as my voice betrays a tremor I can’t control.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” he counters. There’s a shadow of concern in his words but also something else—something predatory. He knows. Of course, he does.
“Go away, Ryker.” It’s meant to sound defiant, but desperation edges every syllable. I wrap the towel around me tighter, a flimsy barrier against my body wanting to rub myself all over him.
“Kayla, let me in.”
I’m unraveling fast, and Ryker—damn him—might be the only one who knows how to stitch me back together.
The lock clicks, and I barely get the towel hitched around me to keep it from falling when Ryker’s frame fills the doorway. There’s no mistaking that hard edge to his eyes, the way his gaze rakes over me like he’s peeling back layers and sees right through me. He inhales sharply, and I see his nostrils flare, scenting the air.
“Your Heat,” he states, his voice rough like gravel. “It’s coming on.”
“Ridiculous.” I clutch the towel tighter to me. My skin prickles with heat that isn’t from the shower but has everything to do with the Alpha in front of me and primal need.
Liquid heat pools low in my belly, and my knees nearly buckle. I stumble and he reaches out, steadying me by my arm. The contact sends shockwaves through my system, jolting me with the urge to cling harder. I’m torn between pushing away from the heat of his body and wanting to rub myself against him to relieve the relentless ache that’s building inside me.
I gasp.
“Easy,” Ryker soothes, or maybe it’s a growl—I can’t tell anymore—and he doesn’t let go of my arm.
My body betrays me, leaning into his chest, and a purr tickles in my throat.
“I’m fine. I don’t need your help,” I manage to say, even as my voice wavers with the force of the heat clawing at my insides.
“Kayla.” Ryker’s tone is firm, his gaze locking onto mine with an unyielding intensity that sends delicious shivers through me. “I’ll do whatever you want, but you need to understand—your heat will only get worse if you don’t find release.”
“I already tried that,” I sigh, frustration making my words sharp as broken glass. “It didn’t work.” The confession burns on my tongue, the admission of my failed attempt at self-pleasure adding to the humiliation of my situation.
Ryker’s lips twist into a grin, one that’s all predator, and my heart does a little flip. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what I’m going through and has every intention of taking the reins—if I let him.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, voice low and with an undercurrent of something dangerous and alluring. “It’s different when someone else, an Alpha, gives you a hand… or more.”
Breath catches in my throat. Logic and reason start to blur at the edges, consumed by the fire that threatens to overwhelm every sense, every thought.
“R-Ryker...” My voice trembles.
His hand, warm and steady, brushes a stray lock of hair from my forehead, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake.
“Let me help you, Kayla.” It’s not just an offer—it’s a vow that makes tingles spread through me down to my toes.
Every fiber of my being screams for relief, for the promise of escape from the relentless ache. I have to do something because I feel like I’m being torn apart, starting at my pussy.