Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My fingers slip beneath the waistband of my panties, the contact sending a jolt of warmth through my body. I gasp, the sensation both foreign and familiar, a reminder of the pleasure that's been so mostly absent from my life.
As I touch myself, it's Caine's face I see, his hands I feel.
I imagine the warmth of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his stubble against my skin, the weight of his body pressing down on me.
With every stroke, I can almost hear the low rumble of his voice in my ear, telling me how beautiful I am, how much he wants me.
I arch my back, my soft breaths coming in short, ragged, quiet gasps as the tension coils tighter and tighter within me. My body moves of its own accord, chasing the release that's just out of reach, the sweet oblivion that I so desperately crave.
And when it finally comes, it's like a tidal wave crashing over me, powerful and unrelenting, washing away all thoughts of right and wrong, leaving nothing but the blissful sensation of my climax.
As I lay there, spent and clammy, the guilt creeps back in, wrapping its cold fingers around my heart.
But for a few fleeting moments, I allowed myself to be free, to be the woman I've longed to be.
And now, as sleep finally claims me, I can't help but wonder if I'll ever be able to go back to the way things were before Caine Hall walked into my life.
The morning light filters through the car windows as I navigate the familiar streets to Liam's daycare. My fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel while my mind races with thoughts of Caine—his touch, his smile, the way his eyes darkened when his hand slid under my skirt.
"Mommy, look! Big twuck!" Liam points excitedly at a construction vehicle, his voice pulling me back to reality.
"Yes, sweetie. That's a cement mixer." I force a smile, guilt washing over me. Here I am, fantasizing about another man while my beautiful son sits in the backseat.
I catch Liam's eyes in the rearview mirror. Those innocent brown eyes that trust me completely. What kind of mother am I becoming? What kind of wife?
"No more," I whisper to myself. "Today is the last session. The very last time."
The arrangement with Caine has saved us two months’ rent—a small fortune we desperately needed. I should feel relieved, grateful even. Instead, I feel a hollow ache at the thought of never seeing him again after today.
"We can handle next month," I reassure myself, though the uncertainty of what comes after lingers like a shadow. Reeves mentioned something about a tournament with a decent cash prize. Maybe that will work out.
I pull into the daycare parking lot, my stomach knotting as I think about the line I nearly crossed. The line I'm determined not to cross today, no matter how much I want to.
I turn and shoot Liam a smile. "We're here."
"Yay," he cheers. He loves his school so much, and the thought of him having to leave it makes my stomach go hard.
"Ready for another big day at school, buddy?" I ask, unbuckling Liam from his car seat.
He nods enthusiastically. "Miss Fiona said we paint today!"
"That sounds fun!" I gather his backpack and lunch box, kneeling to straighten his little jacket. "Remember what we practiced? Your R sounds?"
"Rrrrr," he says, exaggerating the sound with adorable concentration.
"Perfect!" I hug him tightly, inhaling his sweet scent. This is what matters. This is real. Not some fantasy with a man who probably sees me as nothing more than a chess piece.
As I walk Liam to his classroom, I make a silent vow. Today, I'll say goodbye to Caine Hall. I'll thank him for the financial help, play one last game of pool, and walk away with my dignity intact.
My marriage might be complicated, my life far from perfect, but I won't be the one to destroy what we've built.
I can't.
The hall is quiet, with only a few regulars scattered around the tables. I busy myself behind the bar, wiping glasses that are already clean, arranging bottles that don't need arranging.
When Caine walks in, my heart betrays me with a flutter. He's dressed in dark jeans and a blue button-down. He moves with that same slow confidence that first caught my attention, like he has all the time in the world.
"Hey," he says, approaching the bar with a sheepish smile.
"Hey, yourself," I respond, trying to sound casual despite the heat rising to my cheeks. "Ready for our last games?"
Something flickers across his face—disappointment, maybe. "I suppose I am."
We move to the table and rack the balls. I'm hyperaware of his presence, the scent of him, the way his gaze dances over me. And of course, my body remembers his touch all too well.
"About last time," I say, breaking the silence. "We need to be clear. No touching today. No funny business."
Caine nods, his expression solemn. "I understand. And I'm sorry about what happened."
"Don't be." I line up my shot, avoiding his gaze. "I was the one who dragged you into that storage closet, remember?"
"Still," he says quietly. "I've never been a home wrecker, Jenna. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely troubled. "I'm just... drawn to you. More than I expected to be. I lost control, and that's not like me."
I sink a striped ball and move around the table, keeping my distance. "It won't happen again," I say, making it sound more like a question than a statement.
"It won't happen again," he confirms, but the regret in his voice makes my chest ache.
We play in silence for a while, the click of balls and occasional murmur from other patrons the only sounds. Every time our eyes meet across the table, I feel that pull, that dangerous current between us.
"You know," he says finally, "when this arrangement started, I never thought..."
"Me neither," I admit, cutting him off before he can say something that might break my resolve.
Just a few more games, I remind myself. One last hour. Then back to real life, to Reeves and Liam and bills and responsibilities. Back to the woman I'm supposed to be.
I lean against the table, studying the layout of balls, but my mind is elsewhere. Sure, there’s this thing with Caine. But there’s also so much more, so many things I wish I could change.
"What's got you looking so down?" Caine asks, pausing before taking his shot.
I sigh, twirling my cue between my fingers. "Liam's birthday is next week. All he wants is a kitten."
"And that's a problem because...?"
"Reeves is dead-set against it. Says we've got enough responsibility with the hall and Liam.” I shake my head. "I get it, but you should see Liam's face when he sees cats. His eyes light up like nothing else." I go for a shot and miss it.
Caine nods, his expression softening. "Kids should have pets. Teaches them responsibility, compassion." He lines up his shot, sinking a solid with perfect precision. "I had a cat growing up. After my mom died... I think that cat was the only thing that got me through."
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. It's sometimes easy to forget he's human, with his own pain and history.
"Your shot," he says, stepping back.
I bend over the table, trying to focus, but I'm terrible today. My mind is scattered, torn between guilt and desire, between the reality of my life and the fantasy of what could be.
Miraculously, I manage to pot a ball… then a few more. I'm on a roll when I notice a playful smile stretching across Caine's lips.
"What?" I ask, suspicious.
"Nice skirt," he says, nodding at my frayed denim number—definitely not my sexiest option.
I laugh. "This old thing? Please."
"How about one last bet?" His eyes glint playfully. "A race. I need five games, you need one. If you win, I'll send another surprise."
My heart quickens. I do love surprises. "And if I lose?"
Caine's smile curves into a wicked grin that sends a shiver down my spine, a stark contrast to the soft, melancholic expression he wore moments ago when reminiscing about his childhood pet.
The transformation is like watching night fall, the warmth of the sunset giving way to the cool, seductive promise of the stars. His green eyes, always so intense, now gleam with a mischievous light that makes my stomach flutter with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
"You didn't think I was going to make it that easy, did you?
" he teases, his voice a smooth, low purr that seems to resonate within the very marrow of my bones.
The playful tone is at odds with the serious, almost predatory gaze he fixes me with, a look that suggests he's already envisioning his victory and something very naughty.
I feel my cheeks flush as I realize the implications of a very possible loss. "What do you get if I lose?" I ask, wary.
He smiles so slowly, my knees buckle a little. "Your undies, beautiful."
"What?" I nearly choke. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." He leans closer, voice dropping. "You're wearing a skirt. It would be easy to slip them off. Greg wouldn't even notice." He shoots me a wink. "And I want a little keepsake to remember you by."
“But I distinctly said ‘No funny business’, remember?”
He laughs softly. “Oh, I remember… but I still want your panties.”
I gasp in shock. The thought of him claiming my underwear, even as a playful forfeit, is both thrilling and mortifying. It's a stark reminder of the dangerous game we've been playing, a game that's become all the more real with each passing moment.
"I suppose I should have known better than to consider a bet with you," I admit, my voice betraying a hint of breathlessness. I can't help but glance down at the hem of my skirt, the frayed denim suddenly feeling dirty.
Caine laughs softly, the sound a rich baritone that fills the room. "I told you, Jenna," he says, his words slow and deliberate, "I always get what I want."
The air between us feels charged, electric, as he steps closer, his gaze never leaving mine. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his deodorant mingling with the faint musk of… him. It's intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget where we are, lost in the gravity of this moment.
I should be outraged. I should tell him to go to hell. Instead, heat floods my body, pooling low in my belly. One last naughty thing before this ends. One final memory to hold onto.
"Fine," I hear myself say. "You're on."
He's won the lag, and as I sit and watch him rack the balls, my fingers shake a little.
He breaks with newfound intensity, running the table with effortless precision. I've never seen him so focused, so determined. It's like watching a different player altogether.
I am so going to lose this bet.