Chapter 31 #2
He walks closer, opening a cabinet just past me.
I press back against the cold stainless steel of the fridge to give him space, hyperaware of how little clothing actually separates me from complete exposure.
How thin the cotton of Kade's shirt is. How if I move wrong, they'll see absolutely everything.
He grabs a glass from the cabinet, then passes me again heading for the fridge.
His bare arm brushes mine as he reaches past to fill the glass from the dispenser, and I hold myself perfectly still like maybe if I don't move, this whole situation will somehow become less mortifying.
"Thanks." I accept the glass with both hands, grateful for something to do with them besides continuously trying to cover myself. At least holding the water gives me a purpose, makes me look slightly less like a deer caught in headlights.
"So you all live together?" I ask, desperate to fill the awkward silence with anything approaching normal conversation. Anything to make this feel less like I've been caught doing the walk of shame in their kitchen.
"Yeah, us and Havoc too," Beck says, settling onto one of the barstools and making himself comfortable for what's apparently going to be a whole conversation while I stand here half-naked and wishing I'd made literally any other choice this morning.
"Ahh, okay. Well, next time I'll dress a little more appropriately." I clutch the glass tighter between my palms, wishing I'd put on actual pants. Or stayed in Kade's room. Or had any kind of foresight whatsoever before venturing out into the shared spaces of a house full of men I barely know.
"Oh, we don't mind," Beck says with that same troublemaker grin, and Ash smirks his agreement.
Before I can formulate a response that doesn't involve literally dying of mortification right here on their kitchen floor, I hear footsteps.
Heavy, purposeful, heading this direction.
Then Kade appears in nothing but boxers—black boxer briefs that sit low on his hips and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
His hair sticks up in every direction from sleep and my fingers running through it last night, and confusion clouds his features as he takes in the scene before him: me half-naked clutching a glass of water, two of his shirtless roommates clearly enjoying themselves far too much at my expense.
Then something shifts in his expression—something dark and possessive that makes my stomach flip—and he's stalking toward me with predatory focus. Every muscle in his body radiates territorial possession, and suddenly the room feels smaller. Hotter.
The guys say something to him but I don't hear what over the rushing in my ears.
He ignores them completely anyway, stepping directly in front of me and blocking my view of everything else.
Taking the glass out of my hand without asking.
The next thing I know, everything is flipping upside down—the ceiling where the floor should be, my stomach lurching—as he hauls me up and throws me over his shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion like I weigh nothing at all.
"Kade!" I squeak, the world turning sideways as he starts walking. My hands brace against the hard muscles of his back while his arm bands across the backs of my thighs, holding me secure.
"Mine," he growls—at me, at them, at the universe itself, I don't even know anymore. But the possessive claim in that single word, rough and absolute, sends heat pooling low in my belly despite how sore I am. Despite how my muscles protest the jostling movement.
He carries me back to his room with long, determined strides, shouldering the door shut behind us with enough force to rattle the frame in its hinges.
A clear message to anyone who might think about following.
He sets me down carefully so I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, then hands me the water glass before dropping to his knees in front of me, settling between my spread thighs.
"Drink," he says. Commands, really.
He's so unbelievably hot like this—demanding, going all caveman possessive on me. The sight of him on his knees between my legs, those dark eyes blazing with need and territorial claim, makes my breath catch in my throat. Makes me forget about the embarrassment still heating my cheeks.
I bring the glass to my lips and take several long swallows, the cold water soothing my dry throat. Then I move to hand it back to him.
"More." His voice drops to something even more commanding, rougher. Not a request.
I tip the glass back and drain the rest, my throat working to swallow the cold water while his gaze tracks every single movement like he's memorizing it.
Like watching me drink is somehow the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
He takes the empty glass when I'm finished, reaching up to set it on his dresser without breaking eye contact.
Then his hands are on my hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear, and he's pulling them down my legs in one smooth, practiced motion.
He spreads my thighs wider, opening me completely to his view, and then covers my still-sore pussy with his warm mouth.
He's so soft with me—impossibly gentle licks and careful kisses—like he knows exactly how tender I am. How much I need gentle this morning after all the roughness last night. How my body is still recovering from hours of him taking me apart in every way imaginable.
"Kade," I moan, my hands flying to his hair, fingers threading through the strands that are still messy from sleep.
He pulls back just enough to speak against my sensitive flesh, his breath hot. "I thought you left me."
The vulnerability in those words—the fear underneath the possessive anger—makes my chest tight.
"No. I wouldn't sneak away." The words come out breathless but honest. As honest as I can be. "I just needed water."
"Good." He dips his head back down, sucking my clit into his warm mouth with gentle suction that makes stars burst behind my closed eyelids. Perfect pressure. Perfect everything.
God help me, he's so perfect it hurts.