11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Kade’s words lingered in the air, thick with something dangerously close to desperation.
And, apparently, my pussy had ears because—oops—it heard his mating call and answered loud and clear with one of its own.
I swallowed, shifting my position. The deep, insistent throb between my legs tried to override the fact that—hello?—I was still basically a prisoner in this fucked-up vampire frat house.
At this point, I needed sex more than I needed food or water. But I needed nothing more than I needed freedom.
And maybe…just maybe…I could use one to get the other.
But as soon as the thought formed, I shot it down.
Kade wouldn’t stand up to Malcolm. Not ever. The dude worshipped the fact that Malcolm was one of the so-called Powered. He wouldn’t fight for his own autonomy, so why the hell would he fight for mine?
And Connor? Kade wouldn’t stand up to him either. I didn’t know why, but I knew he wouldn’t.
But I had multiple potential sources of information now—Lena. Malcolm. Even Kade. Once I found out what my mom wanted me to know about the Lifewell, I could leave.
Whether I found out or not, I only had enough tuition money to stay through the semester’s end, so no matter how awful the situation was, an end was in sight. I could endure anything if the ends would justify the means.
But something inside me had cracked open, a jagged split of humanity and something else I didn’t want to name.
I didn’t just want to use Kade. God help me, I wanted to give him something back.
A piece of his own freedom. Maybe only for a few stolen moments, but still…
I stood and closed the short space between the ottoman and the couch. Biting my lip, I crawled onto the cushions on my knees, straddling his lap.
He stilled beneath me, his hands flexing into the couch cushions like he was trying to stop himself from grabbing my hips. His spicy smell wrapped around me like a warm hug.
“Can I take off the mask?” I asked gently.
Kade’s breath hitched. “I’m only allowed to take it off when I’m in the bathroom alone. Showering. Brushing my teeth.” His voice turned bitter. “I even have to wear it when I sleep.”
A fresh wave of anger rolled through me. At Malcolm for controlling Kade that way and at Kade for letting him.
I leaned in close. “Malcolm isn’t here right now. And I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He remained perfectly still.
We both held our breaths as I reached up and curled my fingers under the edges of the mask.
“Don’t,” he rasped. “Please don’t.”
He grabbed my wrist, but there was no fight in the hold, next to no grip at all. It was an empty protest, like it was an automatic response rather than what he really wanted.
I paused my lifting it anyway. “Let me.”
He shook his head. Then he nodded.
Slowly, I pulled it off.
The first thing I thought was, What the fuck?
Because he was blindingly hot.
Like, really fucking handsome. Vibrant green eyes. Dark, jealousy-inducing eyelashes. Curly blond hair that stuck out in all directions. Strong chin. Sharp cheekbones. Perfect, symmetrical features.
Why the hell had Malcolm called him a butterface?
And then Kade angled his head just slightly…and I saw it.
The scar.
I swallowed hard, fighting not to react the way I suspected most people did upon seeing it for the first time.
It looked gnarly, a thick, jagged thing that ran from his right eyebrow all the way down to his jaw, like something had tried to carve through him.
I exhaled softly, lifting my hand.
Kade shuddered as I traced my fingers gently down the length of his scar.
Then he tensed, so still beneath me, his breath barely moving his chest. Like if he so much as exhaled too hard, I’d vanish, and this moment would go with me.
The ridges of the scar felt uneven, like whatever had torn through him had done so violently, mercilessly. I softened my touch against it, moving with a care I didn’t entirely understand.
I didn’t do gentle.
But something about this… About him…
Kade’s dark lashes flickered. He turned his face just slightly, just enough for his lips to brush against my fingers.
I froze.
So did he.
It was the lightest touch, just the barest press of his mouth, but it sent something molten plummeting low in my stomach.
He inhaled, deep and sharp, then he let it out in a rush. “You shouldn’t…”
I dragged my thumb across his lower lip, silencing him.
His wide eyes snapped up to mine, like a rabbit caught in a snare. Only, Kade wasn’t a rabbit. He was something much, much hungrier.
Something that had been starving for too long.
He trembled beneath me, his hands twitching where they gripped the couch, like he wasn’t sure whether to grab me or push me away.
For the first time, I didn’t sense him sneering at me.
Like he was a completely different dude unmasked.
I tilted my head. “Part of you likes wearing the mask.”
His throat worked around a swallow. He didn’t answer.
But I already knew.
I followed the line of his jaw with my fingers, the shape of his cheekbone. He flinched—not like it hurt, but like he didn’t know how to handle it.
“No one touches you like this, do they? No one has in a long time. You let Malcolm do whatever he wants to you,” I murmured. “Let him own you…but you don’t like it when anyone actually sees you.”
His hands balled into fists against the couch. “That’s not…”
I leaned down until our noses nearly brushed. “You’re not nothing, Kade.”
His gaze dropped.
Not to my mouth.
Lower.
And when he looked back up at me, the open vulnerability I’d just seen vanished, replaced by a longing just as raw. Pure lust.
My stomach flipped.
I didn’t have time to react before his hands finally, finally moved.
They shot to my waist first, but only for a second, only to steady me. Then they slid up, his broad palms dragging over my sides, tracing the curve of my ribs, skimming the soft fabric of my shirt until his thumbs grazed the undersides of my breasts.
I wasn’t wearing a bra, thanks to Connor.
Kade made a strangled sound, like he was trying, and failing, to keep himself in check. Then he leaned in.
His breath blew hot against my chest, and when his mouth finally closed over my nipple—right through my shirt—I shuddered so hard I almost lost my balance.
A cry slipped from my lips as his tongue flicked over the cotton, dampening it, teasing, taunting.
His other hand, rough and desperate, slipped underneath my shirt, skimming over my stomach to palm my other breast.
Fuck. Fuck.
He squeezed. Not gentle, not soft. No, like he was touch-starved. Like he had been touch-starved.
His fingers rolled my nipple between them, and his teeth scraped through the thin fabric, a sharp little graze that made me gasp.
I curled my fingers into his curls, gripping tightly.
Not to stop him.
To keep him there.
A moan rumbled from his throat, vibrating into my tits.
It wasn’t cocky.
It wasn’t smug.
It was wrecked.
And then he did it again.
I arched, pressing into his mouth, and the noise he made—deep, guttural, filthy—sent a fresh flood of heat between my legs.
I pushed him away, just enough so I could yank my shirt over my head.
“I need to put the mask back on—”
“No.” God no. Looking at him, looking at his face, I could pretend like he was a completely different guy. “How long will Malcolm and Connor be gone?”
“A couple of hours, at least. They have this meeting every—”
“So time for a hate fuck,” I said.
“Do you think we still hate each other enough for a hate fuck?” he rasped.
I took his face in my hands, pulling him back to me until his mouth sucked on my nipple again, which I felt all the way down in my clit.
“Look,” I said, trying to sound less pant-y than I was. “We had a moment. Yeah. Am I now going to make the cruel world subside by making sweet, sweet love to you? Absolutely fucking not. I haven’t gone soft, and you don’t want my pity any more than I want yours.”
He grinned, the sight stalling my next several heartbeats. “A hate fuck it is.”