Chapter 16
CAYDEN
My whole body is buzzing. Every muscle is so tight it hurts. That kiss... it wasn't some cautious test. It was a relapse into everything I’ve been trying to suppress for eleven years. Her lips on mine, soft and demanding at once, her body pressed against me for that moment like she wanted more.
And then the retreat, the panic in her eyes like she’d only just realized who I am. Who we are.
I set the glass down with trembling fingers, a few red drops spilling onto the polished wood. Screw it. The stains match the chaos in my head. I have to get out of here before I do something stupid—like follow her and pin her against the nearest wall.
I leave the library and head up the stairs, my steps hard and fast. As I pass the door to the east wing, the temptation burns in me to just go in and take her.
I imagine her standing behind that door, back pressed against the wood, just as breathless as I am.
Her hair mussed, cheeks flushed, lips still swollen from our kiss.
I see myself grabbing her, smothering her protests with a kiss and pinning her to the carpet until she screams my name again.
Until she writhes under me, digging her nails into my back, begging for more.
“Get a grip, Miller,” I growl softly.
I reach my bedroom, rip my sweater over my head, and hurl it into the corner.
My shirt follows, buttons protesting as I yank them open.
A few snap off, rolling across the floor, but I don't care. My reflection in the dark glass of the window looks like a madman’s.
My pupils are so dilated the blue of my eyes has almost vanished.
My chest heaves, muscles corded like I’m ready for a fight.
And below... I’m hard, so hard it’s physically painful.
My pants are tight, every movement a friction that reminds me of what I can’t have.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel the soft pressure of her lips and that short, hungry gasp in her throat before the panic took over. That sound—it was like a spark on dry tinder. It ignited everything I’ve kept under control for years. I can’t think, can’t breathe, without her in my head.
I storm into the bathroom and crank the shower on full. I don't wait for it to get warm. I need the cold. The biting, shocking cold to snap me out of this madness. I strip and step under the icy spray.
The water hits my chest like needles, running over my shoulders, my back, over the old scars that remind me of past battles.
But it brings no relief. The cold bites, but the fire under my skin is hotter.
It blazes, spreading, and I lean both hands against the cool marble walls, head hanging.
The water rinds down my back, over my scars, but my mind is miles away.
I see her. Not the journalist with her sharp questions and professional act.
But the Jade who was just sitting on my sofa, the Jade who kissed me like there was no tomorrow.
I imagine her here with me under the water.
Her wet skin glistening, drops pearling over her curves, her breasts, her belly, and lower.
I see her nipples hardening in the cold, her lips parted as she gasps for air.
The fantasy turns vivid, too real. I imagine standing behind her, hands firm on her hips, burying my face in her wet neck.
I’d turn her around, press her against the wall, the cold marble at her back, my body in front of her, hot and hard. My lips on hers, hungry, demanding, no more hesitation. No games. Just us.
My hand moves lower and I grip my hard cock, which can’t wait any longer to find release. I close my eyes and I’m back in that hotel room in Montreal. I see Jade naked on the bed, legs spread, eyes dark with desire. “Cayden,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and begging.
In my head, she’s here, now. I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my hips, and I drive into her, hard and deep.
The water pelts down on us, making everything slick and intense.
She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders, leaving tracks on my skin.
I thrust, again and again, feeling her tightness, the heat surrounding me.
She’s perfect, fits me like no one else.
Every thrust is a claim, an attempt to erase the years apart.
I imagine her throwing her head back, wet hair sticking to the wall, moaning my name.
“Cayden... please...” Her hands wander over my back, I bite her neck, sucking at the sensitive spot under her ear, and she shudders, pressing closer.
My hands slide over her breasts, kneading them, rolling her nipples between my fingers until she whimpers.
The fantasy escalates. I turn her around, pressing her upper body against the wall, her hands flat on the marble.
Her ass pushes back against me, inviting and demanding.
I grab her hair, pulling her head back slightly, kissing her neck while I slide into her again.
From behind, deeper, harder. The water runs over us, making the movements fluid and primal.
She pushes back against me, matching my rhythm, and I lose myself in her.
Every thrust is rage, is longing, is the suppressed passion of years.
My hand moves faster now, my grip tighter. I imagine her coming, her muscles twitching around me, her body shaking. She cries out, her moan echoing in the shower, mixing with the roar of the water. And I follow her, thrusting one last time, emptying myself into her, marking her as mine.
But it’s just a fantasy. My hand is no substitute for her.
The climax builds, the tension becoming unbearable—a wave that rolls over me.
I grit my teeth, a growl escaping my throat, and then it explodes.
Violent, uncontrolled, pressing me against the tiles.
My breath comes in hitches, forehead leaning against the cold stone while the water beats down.
The release floods through me, making my legs shake. .. and yet, I don't feel satisfied.
The relief was just a cheap substitute for what I really need. I stare at my reflection in the fogged glass and wipe my mouth. The craving isn't gone; on the contrary, it’s burrowed even deeper.
I dry myself mechanically, without really looking. My thoughts circle Jade.
I slip into loose pants, lie in bed, and stare at the ceiling. The moon casts silver light through the curtains, painting shadows on the walls. But in my head, it’s dark, filled with images of her. I imagine her lying in her room, maybe awake too, maybe thinking of me.