Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
He's rough and demanding, his hands exploring every inch of me, but there's a playfulness in his touch that takes me by surprise. It's a stark contrast to the intensity of his gaze, and it makes my head spin.
“God, how I’ve wanted this,” he breathes against my ear. “For so fucking long… that day you posed for me.”
My breath hitches. “I… was so nervous,” I confess, my words barely audible.
“I wanted to drop my camera and go fuck you right then and there. You were so goddamn hot, and I was so fucking hard.”
Damn.
I want to explore every inch of him. He groans against the crook of my neck as I pull his button shirt from his pants and slip a hand against his skin. He's so warm and smooth. I toy with his fly, eager.
When I finally discover him, a guttural moan escapes him. He's rock-hard, and I want him so badly. I slip my hand into the band of his briefs—it's my turn to tease. I slide my palms over his ass and free him, and I can’t help but sneak a peek. He's as glorious as I'd imagined.
He drops to his knees. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my panties, and with a swift tug, he slides them down my legs, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
He grabs my leg and hikes it above his shoulder. I inch lower against the door, still half-steady on one shaky leg.
His hot mouth finds my pussy, and he groans as he tastes me for the first time.
Oh, God.
I throw my head back, drowning into oblivion.
I press my sex harder against his mouth, aching for more. I’m so damn close. But he teases and cruelly pulls back. “You taste amazing, but I need to fuck you. Now.”
I'm caught off guard when he digs into his pocket and pulls out a condom, ripping the packet with his teeth and rolling it onto his length with a practiced ease that momentarily startles me.
How many times has he done this? The thought flutters through my mind, but I push it away.
I don't want to think about anything else. I just want this.
He lifts me, pressing me against the door as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. I can feel his hard-on against my wet, eager pussy, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. This is really happening, and there's no stopping us—a freight train, undeniably reaching its destination.
He kisses me hard, swallowing my gasps as his hard cock rubs against my pussy. It feels so damn good. I close my eyes as I lose myself to him. There's no coming back from this.
With one swift thrust, he's inside me, filling me whole. I cry out, the sensation of him overwhelming, as he stills for a moment, letting me adjust to him. He's gentle at first, his movements slow and deliberate, but it isn't long before that gentleness gives way to a raw, hard, unforgiving hunger.
He drives into me with an almost punishing rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body.
I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he brings me closer and closer to the edge.
Our bodies collide in soft sounds, both of us still fully clothed.
The sound of his ragged breath against my ears pushes me in deeper.
I'm teetering on the brink, lost in a whirlwind of sensation, when he bites my bottom lip.
It's the final push I need to tumble over the edge, my orgasm tearing through me.
My body convulses around him, and he groans against my mouth as he finds his own release, his body shuddering with the force of it.
For a long moment, we stay like that, locked together against the door, his face buried in the crook of my neck as we both struggle to catch our breath. But as the fog of pleasure begins to clear, reality comes crashing back down around me.
What the fuck have I done?
The guilt hits me like a physical blow, making my stomach churn with nausea. I can't believe I've done this again. I feel dizzy, the room spinning around me as I try to make sense of my actions.
Caine senses my discomfort, and he retreats, giving me the space I need. He presses a soft kiss on my forehead as he pulls his pants back on. "I'll be right back," he says softly. "Don't go anywhere."
Where would I go? I'm frozen against this door, still shaken, still not quite believing what just happened, staring at my pink cotton panties dangling around my right ankle, newly acquainted with my flower-covered Vans sneakers.
As promised, Caine is back in a flash. He instantly reaches for me and takes me in his arms. "I'm sorry."
I'm not sure what he's sorry for, but I'm sorry too, sorry for what we just did.
"I think I'm going to be sick," I mumble, my voice barely audible.
He pulls back to look at me, concern etching his features. Without a word, he gently guides me toward a door at the far end of the office.
We stumble into his private bathroom, a marble-clad sanctuary that's as sleek and sophisticated as the rest of his office. The moment we're inside, I grab my hair and drop to my knees in front of the toilet, retching violently as the full weight of my actions hits me.
Caine is there, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back as he kneels beside me. I'm vaguely aware of his presence, but my focus is solely on the porcelain bowl in front of me, the cold sweat that's broken out across my skin, and the bitter taste of bile in my mouth.
When there's nothing left in my stomach, I collapse back against him, tears streaming down my face. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close as I dissolve into sobs, my body wracked with guilt and shame.
I've made a terrible mistake, one that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself for. But in this moment, all I can do is let the tears fall, lost in the arms of the man who's just turned my world upside down.
I sit on Caine's sleek leather sofa, clutching a glass of water he's given me.
My hands are still trembling so badly that tiny ripples dance across the surface with each shallow breath I take.
The coolness of the glass against my palms provides a strange comfort, something tangible to focus on while my mind spirals.
He settles beside me, maintaining a careful distance, respecting the invisible barrier I've erected between us. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Though only inches separate us physically, the emotional chasm feels impossibly wide as shame continues to wash over me in relentless waves.
"I'm sorry about what just happened," he says softly. “I knew you were vulnerable… I don’t deny that. But I don't regret it. What we did... it isn't shameful, Jenna."
I stare at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
"I feel so guilty. Do you know what this makes me?
No better than my mother." My voice breaks.
"When I was eight, I was bullied by a teacher, and I ran home to my mother.
I walked in on her with our neighbor." My voice sounds hollow, even to my own ears, as the memory crystallizes with painful clarity.
"My dad was working a double shift at the factory.
He'd been taking extra hours for weeks, trying to save up for our summer vacation.
" I swallow hard, the glass trembling more violently between my fingers.
"She didn't even hear me open the door. They were on the couch—our family couch, where we'd watch movies together on Friday nights. I just stood there frozen, this weird buzzing in my ears drowning everything out except the sound of their... their moans.”
I close my eyes, the memory so vivid I can still smell the cinnamon candles she'd lit, can still see the afternoon light filtering through the curtains, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.
"When she finally saw me, she jumped up, wrapped herself in a throw blanket—the one my grandmother had made.
Her lipstick was smeared across her face.
I remember thinking she looked like a clown. A terrifying, desperate clown."
The memory surfaces like a bruise being pressed—that confused little girl watching her mother wrapped around someone who wasn't her father, the hurried scrambling for clothes, the desperate pleas not to tell.
"I swore I'd never be like her. Never be that... trampy."
Caine gently lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You're not trampy, Jenna. Far from it."
"You had a condom ready," I say suddenly. "Was I just... is this something you do often?"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I've been with my share of women, yes. I was seeing this woman a few months back, a consultant we hired on contract. Sandra was her name. We used to fuck on my couch. That’s why I still have condoms in my desk.”
The memory of him reaching into his desk suddenly makes sense.
I cock a brow, annoyed by his revelation. Of course he would be fucking women on his office couch. He's a gorgeous billionaire. What did I expect? The condom was certainly convenient. I wonder if we would have had sex if there hadn't been a condom.
"I've only been in love twice," he goes on. "Maria was my first love. College girlfriend. Smart as hell, studying neuroscience. She left me for a guy in her lab who wasn't—her words—'as intense or neurotic as me.'"
A laugh escapes me despite everything. "Neurotic? You?"
His smile is small but genuine. "Hard to believe, right?"
The moment of levity fades quickly, reality settling back around us like heavy fog.
"What are we going to do about this?" he asks quietly. "I hadn't planned for this to happen, not like this. I'm sorry I've messed up everything.”
"You haven't messed up anything I haven't messed up myself."
"The difference is I have nothing on the line. You have everything."
I close my eyes, exhausted. "I'm sorry about... acting the way I did… I’m embarrassed. And also, you know… throwing up."
"Don't apologize." He smiles. "That was definitely a first for me. I've never made a woman vomit before."
I bite my lip. "Well, don't take it personally. The sex was amazing."
A playful grin stretches across his lips. "Glad to hear it. And I completely agree."
I feel myself blushing, brought back to that intense orgasm. Silence fills the room as we both get lost in the memory of it. The weight of what we've done—what we're still doing—settles around us like a heavy blanket.
I can almost see the images playing across Caine's face, his green eyes darkening slightly as he remembers. My skin prickles, recalling the way his hands moved over my body, slow and deliberate, and rough and frenzied, all at once.
The pool hall feels a million miles away.
Reeves, Liam, our little yellow house in Cumberland—they exist in another universe right now.
In this office, with its pretentious industrial decor and that ridiculous, expensive-looking, gigantic light fixture overhead, time seems to stretch and compress all at once.
I trace the edge of the sofa with my fingertip, picturing him fucking another woman right where I'm sitting.
Everything about his life is so different from mine—from the expensive stuff that surrounds him to the way he carries himself, like someone who's never had to worry about making rent or figuring out how to pay the month’s mortgage.
And yet, there's something in his eyes that mirrors my own pain—that loss of a parent too young, that search for something solid to hold onto.
The sun has set, and the city lights of Portland twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows across the room. I should feel guilty—I do feel guilty—but there's also this terrifying sense of rightness I can't shake off. Like I've been sleepwalking through my life until now.
I picture the faceless woman again. The woman he fucked on this couch. She's beautiful, intelligent and sophisticated, and the complete opposite of me. She's not sentimental. She's a total girl boss. She doesn't care about him. It's just about sex for her.
I wonder if they're still fucking. He used the past tense when he spoke of her. "So you broke up with the couch sex lady," I ask. I hate myself for caring so much. "What was her name? Sandra?"
A whisper of a smile traces his lips—he's seemingly amused by my very obvious jealousy. "Yes, we broke up a few months ago, before I met you. I found out she was married and had been lying about it."
I laugh. Wow. Ironic. "You have a thing for married women, apparently."
He shakes his head and takes my hand. "This isn't the same, Jenna. It's not the same at all."
"How so?" I ask, curious. "How is it different?"
He shakes his head, at a loss for words. There's clearly something he wants to say, but he doesn't utter a word.
"You said you've been in love twice?" I ask. "Who was the second woman?"
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. He doesn't say a word for the longest time. He inches closer, and for a brief moment, I think he's going to kiss me again. He better not.
He palms my cheek. "You, Jenna. You. I thought that was obvious."
I'm startled. I'm speechless.
"I wouldn't be fucking up your life for just a fuck, Jenna," he tells me. "There's a lot of women I could fuck if that was all I was looking for."
I don't understand. Again, the question begs for answers. Why me?
"What are you looking for?" I ask, confused.
"Someone that excites me, someone I can't stop thinking about, someone who I click with… I don't know… chemistry... a soul mate, an unexplainable, undeniable attraction. I can't explain it, Jenna. "
His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light. "All I know is… I have that with you… and I’m in love with you, Jenna."
The words hang in the air between us. I feel them echo inside me, and I recognize the truth in how my own heart responds. But I can't say it back. Saying it would make this too real—a betrayal I couldn't take back.
“I’m sorry, Caine…” I whisper instead. “I need to go home.”
Caine nods, understanding what I can't bring myself to say.
As I gather myself to leave, I'm more confused than ever—torn between the life I've built and the man who makes me feel more alive than I have in years.