12. Chapter Twelve #3
Yes. Fucking yes. All his.
***
Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I find Kane at the stove, sleeves rolled up, exposing powerful forearms inked with stories I still haven’t fully unraveled.
His shirt stretches tight across his shoulders, back muscles shifting beneath the crisp fabric as he stirs something that smells rich and warm and surprisingly domestic.
He turns slowly, gaze sliding over me with unapologetic appreciation, lips curling into a satisfied smirk at the sight of me wrapped in nothing but his robe.
“Never pegged you for the domestic type,” I tease softly, my voice still husky from sleep, betraying me more than I’d like.
He chuckles quietly, “I’m more than just a hard dick and tattoos, Camille. You’ll be shocked to learn I have hidden depths.”
I roll my eyes, biting back a reluctant smile as I step closer, leaning my hip against the counter beside him. “Can I help?”
He considers me a moment, then reaches out and hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me gently against his side. “Taste,” he murmurs, lifting a spoonful of rich sauce to my lips.
I part them obediently, humming appreciatively as the savory warmth spreads across my tongue. “God. That’s good.”
His eyes darken slightly, thumb brushing slowly over my lower lip, wiping away a lingering drop. “Told you,” he says, voice dropping to a rough murmur. “Depths.”
We sit close as we eat, shoulders brushing, thighs pressed tightly together beneath the heavy, dark table.
Kane occasionally lifts a bite of the to my lips, tender strands of beef soaked in rich, seasoned sauce, perfectly balanced with peppers and onions over buttery-soft rice.
He feeds me slowly, deliberately, watching each reaction with that quiet, ruthless intensity that makes my pulse stutter and my body ache, like he's savoring something rare, something precious.
His phone rings, the intrusive sound slicing between us. A flash of irritation tightens his jaw as he stands reluctantly, murmuring a clipped greeting as he strides deeper into the penthouse, away from me.
Left alone, I rise slowly from the table, the restless ache beneath my skin driving me to wander through the dimly lit living room.
Everything here is dark, matte black and unyielding, like stepping inside the hidden recesses of Kane’s mind.
There are occasional breaks of gray, cool and understated, but the overwhelming blackness consumes everything in its path, swallowing up light, sound, and sanity alike.
The air hangs heavy with the scent of leather, polished wood, and him, always him, lingering everywhere.
I trail my fingertips slowly across the dark spines of leather-bound books, the textured surfaces cool beneath my touch.
My hand slips over smooth, matte-black tables, the stark minimalism a perfect reflection of Kane’s calculated control.
His carefully constructed sanctuary: sleek, dark, unyielding.
My gaze catches on the crystal decanter resting on a black marble tray, the deep amber liquid inside glowing seductively under the low, golden lighting.
Whiskey. Kane’s drink, his favored indulgence, one I’ve never dared to taste.
Champagne and wine are my comfort zones, safe and predictable, delicate bubbles and sweet sips that tease rather than claimed.
But this drink…it’s entirely him: bold, dark, dangerously enticing.
Another line I’ve never crossed. Another part of him I’m about to surrender to.
My heart quickens, hesitation flickering only briefly before temptation overtakes caution, curiosity blending recklessly with the forbidden thrill of taking yet another piece of Kane into my body. Slowly, I lift the heavy crystal tumbler from the tray, the weight unfamiliar, substantial in my hand.
Almost reverently, I remove the stopper from the decanter, pouring a generous splash into the tumbler. The liquid flows rich and dark, like molten amber, its smoky, seductive scent immediately wrapping around me. Smoke, wood, spice, something deeper, primal, irresistibly dangerous.
I lift the glass carefully to my lips, inhaling the scent deeply.
Finally, I take a small sip, and the whiskey floods my mouth with a burning intensity I’ve never experienced before.
My eyes water slightly at the raw, unexpected heat.
This is nothing like champagne, nothing like the subtle elegance of wine.
This is fierce, unapologetic, dominating.
But as the burn slips down my throat, smooth and fiery, warmth blooms deep in my belly, settling low and heavy.
The sensation spreads slowly, deliciously through my limbs, melting my tension, turning the initial sting into something decadent and intoxicating.
Whiskey doesn’t ask permission. It invades, overwhelms, conquers every sense, just like the man whose taste I’ve willingly taken into my mouth, whose scent now clings to my skin, whose voice still echoes low and possessive in my mind.
Consumed by him. Inside and out.
Another reckless surrender.
Another dangerous part of Kane Rivera slipping beneath my skin, branding me, marking me as undeniably his.
Glass still in hand, I continue my slow exploration, bare feet quiet on the polished floors as I move deeper into Kane’s meticulously curated sanctuary.
The penthouse is all clean lines and shadowed luxury, everything carefully chosen, nothing personal or sentimental to soften the sharp edges of his control.
No framed photographs rest atop the black shelves, no smiling faces to betray glimpses of family or childhood memories.
Nothing to help me unravel who Kane Rivera truly is beneath the ruthless mask he wears so effortlessly.
Taking another sip of whiskey, heat blooms anew, the taste of him sliding warmly down my throat, my curiosity deepens. Who shaped this man? Who hurt him, changed him, forged him into this darkly magnetic creature whose pull I can’t seem to resist?
My steps falter as my gaze lands on a sleek black table positioned near the expansive windows, illuminated softly by the glow of city lights beyond the glass.
A chessboard rests there, elegant and poised, frozen mid-strategy, pieces locked in silent tension.
I stare at it, disbelief flickering through me, quickly chased by a surge of recognition.
Of course Kane plays chess. A game of patience and control, foresight and dominance.
It’s everything he is, everything he’s proven himself capable of.
My pulse quickens as I step closer, setting the tumbler down softly on the polished surface beside the board.
My fingers hover over the black and white pieces, realizing exactly what this means: Kane and I share something, something real, something beyond the heat and the destruction and the reckless pleasure.
Chess is a secret of mine. A quiet passion no one truly knows I possess.
And now it’s one more invisible thread connecting me to him, pulling me deeper.
My heart races as my eyes trace the board, analyzing the position, instantly recognizing the subtle ruthlessness of his last moves…
offensive, aggressive, perfectly balanced.
He’s brilliant, deliberate, cunning. My fingertips skim lightly over the black king, feeling the weight and smoothness beneath my touch.
The echo of Kane’s intensity radiating from every carefully positioned piece.
“You play?”
I jump, startled, turning sharply to find Kane leaning against the doorway, arms crossed casually, eyes dark and intense, fixed on me. His voice is low, lazy, edged with intrigue and something deeper, something dangerous.
Slowly, I raise my eyes, meeting his challenge head-on, allowing myself a small, secretive smile. “Yes, a little.”
That's a Lie. I’m brilliant. But I don’t tell him that. Bragging isn’t classy.
His eyes darken with quiet amusement, interest flaring again like a match struck between us. “Interesting.”
“Surprised?”
He pushes off the wall, stalking toward me with that slow, confident ease, his movements controlled, his gaze unwavering and fierce. “Not even a little bit, Camille.”
I swallow, pulse kicking into overdrive, my heart slamming painfully against my ribs as the air between us thickens once again. Another piece of him revealed. Another hidden side exposed. Another secret bridging the dangerous distance we keep pretending exists between us.
“You seem intrigued,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth.
I take another sip of whiskey, savoring the burn, then slowly lower my eyes back to the marble board, fingertips skimming lightly above the pieces. “I’ve never seen anyone play like this…leaving a game suspended, unresolved.”
He shrugs casually, stopping just beside me, “Sometimes I make one move a day. Sometimes I reset the board and start over.”
I nod, understanding immediately. Another way he controls the chaos. Another careful dance, another ruthless exercise in patience and dominance. My fingers hover briefly above a knight, then pull back, unwilling to reveal my thoughts just yet.
Kane
I shove the tension down and step out from the hallway, shoulders tight, jaw locked, my entire body strung like a loaded weapon.
The call with Javi pissed me off, small shit with the casinos, nothing urgent now, but I’ve lived this life long enough to know little cracks turn into cave-ins if you don’t seal them early.
I was ready to take that frustration out on something, someone.
But then…she's there.
The sight of her punches the air from my lungs.