15. Cade
Chapter fifteen
Cade
I have very few regrets. I’ve never been one to live life with many simply because it doesn’t change the mistakes you make. It doesn’t mean you can’t learn from them, but regretting your decisions is a useless mindset.
But I regret this decision. Barging into the Bennett house, expecting the worst, and making a mess of everything before I even could see what was right in front of me—that’s going to haunt me for a while. I can’t fix it. I can’t learn from this mistake. The people Sloane and I tried so hard to keep this from now know that something is going on between us, and it’s my fault.
The look in Sloane’s eyes was enough to burn me like molten lava. But I didn’t simmer down, despite seeing her fiery rage, but I certainly felt my mood shift. I wish I could turn back time and arrive here calmer and more collected, but I know that would be too much to ask of me.
Once we get upstairs and Sloane ushers me into her room, she shuts the door behind her. My eyes land on the painting in the corner. I knew she was a remarkable artist, but I didn’t realize just how much until now. Though the painting is clearly unfinished, it’s undeniably a portrait of Mike, and it’s a stunning start. I never spent much time looking and appreciating art until Sloane and I got closer, but I can see why she enjoys it so much.
When I tell her to paint with her emotions, it isn’t based on factually knowing and understanding the craft, but simply knowing creativity in a general sense. Creativity is rooted in feeling, whether it’s painting, writing, or even photography. People don’t create simply because it’s a job; they create because their feelings allow them to, thus transforming it into a possible source of income. Sloane always knew that painting was rooted in emotions, but it seemed once she turned it into a job and people noticed, the pressures outshone what she loved about it. She allowed it to become a chore, which made it less passionate.
But that’s not why we’re in her bedroom, is it? She’s not here to show me her progress.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I turn around to look at her. Her arms are crossed over her chest, as if they’re a shield to protect herself from me. I suppose I deserve it. I came in here like some type of caveman, demanding her to answer my messages and calls, not even considering that she could be completely fine. But can she blame me? I got her text message at the office, showing a new message from the stalker. And not from her family’s mailbox like before, but sent to her email address. This person has internet access to her now, and the details they shared were much more revealing than the first message.
The first one was just a teaser. This one was a warning. It’s chilling because it isn’t just Sloane involved now, but me. I’m on this person’s radar, and whatever secrets they’ve dug up on Sloane don’t hold a candle to the secrets they could dig up on me.
But that’s all meaningless in comparison to Sloane’s safety, and Liam’s. Dig up all the information you want on my past. It isn’t perfect by any means, but leave my son and Sloane alone. Then again, none of this would be happening if not for Sloane. I’m not saying she is at fault because that obviously isn’t the case, but she is the object of their affections. I’m nothing more than a potential casualty.
“You sent me a text with that message. What was I supposed to think?” I ask, still gravely upset that she’s actually angry with me about this. All I want to do is protect her. Why is that so wrong?
“I don’t care that you came here as fast as you could,” she says, dropping her hands at her side. “I care about how you spoke to Mike. And how you spoke to me,” she adds.
I shake my head and scoff. Did I insult Mike? Yeah, I did. I shouldn’t have, that’s for sure. After all, he knew about the first letter from the stalker, and it was him who called me, asking me for additional resources. Even if I hadn’t already known about it, he trusted me enough to get me involved. Yes, I shouldn’t have said he and the police department were essentially useless just because they’re a small-town force. They do a good job for this community. But that doesn’t mean they are equipped to handle something like this.
This stalker is much more calculated than some loser hacker using the Rose Valley Public Library to send messages that are deemed untraceable because the town doesn’t have the funding to up its security. This person may not even be in Rose Valley at all.
“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” I say. We’re already in this mess, and I won’t apologize for caring about her enough to bulldoze anyone, including my best friend, to get to her. Yes, I admit it was wrong of me, but I won’t apologize for it.
She shakes her head. “So you thought you could boss me around like you own me or something?” she asks, her jaw tightening.
Her eyes, already blazing with anger, alight with something new entirely, and it sends a lick of flame towards me, stirring up my own fire. A newfound heat that I never thought I wanted—a sense of possessiveness that I’m beginning to see I have with Sloane. That feeling of wanting her, but keeping her at a distance… it’s all beginning to make sense.
I want Sloane more badly than ever. I want her to be mine and mine only, like a rabid beast staking my claim on her. But I know I still keep her at arm’s length as a way to protect myself from eventual heartbreak. The pain I’ve known with love is too much, and I can’t bear to go through it again.
I step toward her until our chests press against one another. Neither of us is backing down from this desire between us. “Don’t I?” I say, finally answering her question.
Her breath catches, and her chest heaves like she’s trying to regulate the anger and lust warring inside her body, cooling it to match the temperature in the room.
But how can she, when the room is scorching with my now-desperate need for her?
I place my hands on her hips and tug her even closer to me. She doesn’t push away, but lets me guide her to the closed door. I can feel her heart pounding as I grab her hands and put them above her head in a submissive position.
“Are you enjoying this?” she asks in a husk of a whisper that barely reaches my ear.
I press my body against hers in answer, causing her breath to hitch again as she feels the proof of my desire poking against the warm apex of her thighs.
“Stop torturing me, Cade,” she groans quietly.
I pull away to look into her eyes. That simmering fire has been replaced with a liquid heat, begging to be quenched. After what feels like an eternity, our lips meet in a hot, steamy embrace filled with weeks of pent-up frustration, possession, and lust. But a new emotion has entered the mix this time: a deep, mutual, tender yearning. It expresses our shared feelings for each other that our words cannot.
Possession overtakes me again, and I want her completely at my mercy. My hands tighten in hers, stilling her arms over her head as my lips descend down her neck, nipping at the skin slightly.
Her breathing quickens at my assault, and the sound of it sends my desire soaring. Pulling away slightly, I unbutton her shirt, planting kisses as I do until I’m right below her belly button. She’s downright panting now, and I stand up against to fully remove her shirt. Not skipping a beat, I remove her bra, letting it fall to the floor with her shirt. My desire for her is begging me to take what belongs to me, like we’re two magnets unable to resist each other.
As if sensing my intention to dominate her, she presses a firm hand into my chest and pushes me onto her bed. The old bed creaks, throwing me off slightly, but I pay close attention as she climbs over me. She’s clearly reasserting her authority over me, of the situation, and if I wasn’t ready for her before, I am now. My erection strains against my pants, and she looks at it with undisguised hunter. I stifle the urge to give in to her play, to beg her to touch me where I most want her.
She kneels back to grab my shirt. With a strength I didn’t know she had, she rips it open, making buttons clatter against the floor and walls, but I don’t care; I have more. I growl, turned on more than I can say by this domineering side she’s exposing to me. Her soft hands skim along my chest and stomach, and she rakes her nails along each newly exposed swath of skin.
I grit my teeth at the exquisite sensations. All she’s doing is caressing me, and I feel like I’m going to blow like a clumsy teenager.
My muscles tense as she finds my belt and unbuckles it, moving with a slowness meant to enrage me. I groan, leaning my head back into the pillow as she takes her time sliding off my pants. If she’s trying to punish me for my mistakes, then she’s doing an impeccable job so far. She takes her time exploring me, kissing and licking me from my neck to right above the waistband of my boxers, making me wait and beg for more of her. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands into the mattress, determined not to give in though it’s taking every ounce of my self-control.
I inhale hard as I feel her hand slowly slip under my boxers. I can’t help but release a low, rumbling groan as her fingers close around me.
“Apologize,” she demands.
My eyes fly open, and I meet her gaze. I know my eyes have gone black with desire, but her command immediately steels my resolve. I won’t apologize. I won’t apologize for wanting to protect her, for wanting to tell the world she belongs to me. And I won’t apologize to this stalker that I got the woman they clearly so desperately want.
I will not apologize for any of it.
“No,” I reply.
Her fingers squeeze my rock-hard cock, and I growl, gritting my teeth until I’m sure I’ll break them. This woman will be the death of me. My instincts scream at me to thrust into her hand, to get the relief I desperately crave.
But I remain silent.
“Apologize.”
I keep my mouth sealed shut, watching my chest rise and fall rapidly even though I’m in the best shape of my life. This is the effect she has on me, this woman I once saw as my best friend’s baby sister.
“No,” I choke out.
She just smirks at me, letting go of me as she gets off the bed. She stands beside the bed, just out of my reach. I watch her naked body as she starts taking baby steps away from me as if daring me to snatch her back. Her skin is flushed, her nipples are perked, and I see the tantalizing slickness between her legs. Her desire is just as scorching as mine, but she’s willing to wait it out for as long as needed if it means getting what she wants.
Stubborn as ever.
“Okay, then,” she says as she watches me intently. She hums, and her hand slowly descends down her body. I watch, transfixed, as her hand inches closer to the place I’m aching to be inside. It dances along her slick flesh, leaving me in agony on the bed, my erection about to rip a hole through my boxers.
When her eyes flutter shut with pleasure and the slightest hint of a moan escapes her lips, it’s game over for me. I spring up from bed, scoop her up in a fireman’s carry, and push her back on the bed.
I pull off my boxers and take myself in hand as I start to position myself on top of her. But with surprising strength, she quickly flips us over, making me groan in frustration.
“Apologize.”
This woman! She just won’t quit, will she? She’s on her knees, her hands pressing down on my chest, hovering herself over my aching tip. She lowers herself just a little until our flesh just barely touches, rolling her hips slightly, teasing me mercilessly as I lay back and grit my teeth.
I growl, my animalistic lust for her spiking in me tenfold. I grip her hair in my fist, pull her toward me, and press her lips to mine in a bruising kiss. She moans into my mouth, and I take advantage of her momentary distraction by shooting my hips upward until I’m buried inside her. She gasps but does not resist my invasion, finally giving into her need for me.
Or is she? She sits up until I’m almost out of her, then slams her hips down to mine, fully encasing me again.
“Fuck, Sloane,” I groan, placing my hands firmly on her waist.
We find our rhythm, our bodies synchronizing as one. I slam into her repeatedly, into that spot I’ve learned makes her feral. She starts keening so loudly, I bring a hand over her mouth and tsk at her like I’m scolding a naughty child. She seems to have forgotten we’re in her childhood home—and her family is very much here.
I feel her grin against my hand as if I’m just egging her on. She picks up her own pace, moving her hips in rolling thrusts, and it’s my turn to force down a loud groan as I feel her walls squeeze deliciously against me. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s going to be the death of me.
I capture her lips with my own as we continue, unwilling to break our kiss and our iron grip on each other. She tugs my hair hard as she bounces atop me, fully embracing this domineering side I had no idea was even in her.
I flip us over again, grasping her waist and driving into her harder, placing her legs above my shoulders so I can go as deep as I can. Moans start flooding out of her once more, and I cover her mouth again to muffle them. They’re music to my ears, but probably not to everyone else in the house, certainly not her own family. My lips and tongue run down her neck before finding her chest. She arches her back, allowing me to take her nipples in my mouth one at a time. I make sure to lavish a great deal of attention on every part of her breasts. I want her to look in the mirror tomorrow and see the proof of how much I desire her.
Our need for release works itself into a frenzy. Her legs wrap around my waist as she flips us over once more, giving me the best view I could ask for as I see my marks on her, my loving ministrations all over her breasts. A few more frantic movements, and we reach the height of our pleasure together, both of us shuddering as we do our best to keep the volume low.
Coming down from that high is tough. We both seem to come to the sobering realization that we resolved nothing, and the fact that this seems to be a never-ending cycle between us is clearer than ever. Still, even if all our sexual encounters have been ignited by some type of anger or frustration, this is by far the best sex I’ve ever had. And based on Sloane’s collapsed posture and almost comically blissed-out expression, I think it’s safe to say the same for her.
We lie naked next to each other on the bed, trying to bask in an uneasy afterglow as we stare up at her popcorn ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I finally whisper, and she looks over at me, realizing what I’m apologizing for. “This isn’t the guy I want to be.”
In truth, I don’t know who this person is. This isn’t the Cade Hart I was ten years ago. But a lot happened in those ten years that I haven’t come to terms with, and it’s starting to catch up to me. Now I’m taking it out on Sloane. If this is going to work between us, I think it’s time I’m finally honest with myself.
Before I can say anything else, Sloane speaks up. “I was in rehab,” I hear her whisper, so quietly that I barely hear her.
I look over at her. She’s back to looking up at the ceiling. Maybe she thinks it’ll be easier to get the words out if she isn’t looking at me.
“I was struggling with getting my work out there in college, and my mental health took a nosedive,” she continues. “I started drinking and going out a lot. Developed shitty coping skills for dealing with the pressure, you know?” She finally looks over at me, her eyes glassing over with unshed tears. She shakes her head, looking down at a random part of my shoulder to distract herself from her painful words. “My parents wanted me to come home after my stint at rehab, and I told them no. I didn’t want Rose Valley to see me as some failure because I couldn’t hack it in the city. So I stayed away.”
I shift to take her in my arms, pressing her closer to my chest so she knows that this doesn’t change how I feel about her in any way. I feel a stab of guilt for how I treated her the first night she got here. If I had known all this, maybe that night at O’Malley’s would have gone differently. Yet, I want to believe if that night didn’t turn out as it did, perhaps we wouldn’t be here.
That still doesn’t excuse the fact that I said many things at O’Malley’s that were wrong, looking back. I allowed myself to get so caught up in my feelings that I didn’t care about hers. I made assumptions about her, accusing her of being neglectful of her family when the real reason she stayed away was because she didn’t want them to see her as a failure.
I’m beginning to see that there is a troubling pattern here with our relationship. We simply can’t be vulnerable enough with each other, feeling like we can’t share our innermost selves because losing each other would be too painful. Now that Sloane has revealed one part of herself with me, it’s my turn to work on opening up to her if we’re going to stick together.
“This doesn’t change how I feel about you,” I tell her softly.
She nods against my chest, and I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I just felt so lost back then, and before coming here, I could feel myself falling back into that dark place,” she says before looking up at me again. “You’ve helped me forget that, and maybe it’s a distraction, but it’s been a welcoming one. But this letter, this stalker… they want something from me, and I’m scared that I’ll fall back into that dark place again,” she finishes, her voice shaking a little.
I tighten my hold on her and shake my head. “I will not let that happen, Sloane. You have me now, and I refuse to let this person cause you any problems,” I tell her firmly, and that is a promise. “Focus on your work, and let me take care of the rest.”
“And what about you?” she asks, looking up at me.
I look away, knowing what she means by that. The letter mentioned having information on my past, and it isn’t something either of us has forgotten. And I plan to tell her, but right now, I want to focus on her. But with every minute I spend with her, I’m beginning to see that I can be open with her, especially now that she’s opened up to me.
I can see the real progress and growth we’re making. We’ve come a long way since our messy first night together. Our relationship isn’t perfect by any means, but we’re learning to communicate and open our hearts, allowing each other to see our most vulnerable parts. It’s definitely a slower process for me, but I can feel myself getting there with each passing moment I spend with Sloane.
For now, I’ll just enjoy being in this one.