Chapter 29
chapter twenty-nine
Denali
I wake up in someone’s arms, and for a moment, I think that I must’ve gotten drunk last night. And then it all slams back into me with a vengeance, and I remember everything.
Every sigh, moan, and whimper of need. Every single touch, taste, and feeling that washed over me.
Kai. I'm in bed with my fucking boss.
I can feel the ghost of his dick inside me still, like an imprint that refuses to go away. And I want it again. I want it so bad it scares me.
In his sleep, he looks absolutely peaceful, nothing at all like his normal self.
He’s got a soft smile on his lips, that hair of his curling every so slightly against his ears where the strands dried after our bath last night.
His face is bare, so he must've gotten up at some point in the night and washed his face. Devoid of the makeup he’d been wearing for the gala last night, his face is like a painting.
Some men don’t look this good with makeup on, but he achieves such perfection effortlessly, like he was born of the heavens and gifted to Earth for adoration.
The temptation to indulge in my wickedest fantasies and lie here a little longer in his arms is strong. Almost too strong to ignore. But I refuse the desire and sneak from the bed, desperate to find my clothes and escape the room to gain a moment of clarity before he wakes and finds me here.
My dress is easy enough to find—it’s right where I left it, in his closet.
But it's not something I can put on easily.
Still, I slide it on and sigh, wishing I'd thought to bring myself a change of clothes.
I don't want to risk putting his loaners back on.
I know the second I'm enveloped in his scent, I'll lose all resolve in my body.
I can't go home. All I can do is hope that my mind will put the pieces of my insane night with Kai back together if there's a wall or three between us.
My phone lies on the end table, and the battery is almost dead.
It's damn near noon. Kai won't miss me in that bed for long.
Hopefully he's unconscious long enough for me to sort out what the ramifications are of what I've just done—what we've just done. All I know is I can't let this mess with my head. I have to put space between us until I get my bearings. If he looks at me with those puppy dog eyes from last night, the ones that screamed out feelings I have no business wanting from him, I’ll be back in that bed all day, and I don’t think my heart can take that.
The floor is cold on my bare feet as I pad my way out of his room and head for the kitchen. Maybe a hot cup of coffee and some space will clear my head, help me figure out what to do next.
I go through the motions in this fancy-ass dress, because my brain is a little fuzzy and I'm not sure what else to do.
I can't leave; I don't have anywhere to go.
So I treat it like it's another day in the life of Denali Stone, assistant to Kai Kobayashi, idol superstar, and start by making coffee.
Which takes not long at all, leaving me roaming the kitchen back and forth, pacing in several thousand dollars of satin and bare feet.
I didn't even bother to find my panties from before my shower. They're in Kai's room somewhere, just like my bra, just like my fucking dignity and sanity and any number of things that I apparently didn't possess last night after—
"You're up earlier than I hoped you'd be."
Kai.
I spin around, probably a bad idea in this thing, and there he is, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants and a smile, cockeyed though it is as he runs a hand through his hair and watches me.
I don't know what to do now; the whole point of leaving his room was to gain some space and mental clarity, and with one look, he's already got my insides twisted and my mind a blank.
"Ah, yeah," I try, hoping my excuse doesn't sound flat. "I was—I—you want some coffee?"
I turn back to the pot and start making his just how I know he likes it, because anything is better than looking him in the eyes and telling him I'm a chicken.
But I think he already knows. It'd be hard not to, with how I'm acting.
Most women in my position don't leave the bed they're in as soon as they're able to run away from their deepest secret fantasies.
"Denali." Hands settle on my shoulders, and I feel his heat radiating between us, against my back. "Hey."
Those words are said so calmly, so quietly, so softly, that it's like a feather against my skin, but somehow, it threatens to shatter the damn wall I've constructed in my head that I planned to hide behind while I sorted myself out.
They tease at the edges of my sanity, tug at my heartstrings, remind me of the softness he displayed last night, and I—
"Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?"
No. "Yes." Yes. "No." God, why is this so hard? "I don't know."
His laugh is right against the shell of my ear. It's so close, and yet, so far, and I don't know how that's possible. "I hope you're not having second thoughts." He hums to himself and the weight of his hands disappears. "Wait here."
I mean, where the fuck else am I going to go? Taiwan?
The loony bin, maybe.
It's where I belong for entertaining the idea of me, being the illicit secret flame of a superstar idol.
When he comes back, he's got something black in his hands, though it looks faded and worn.
I think it's a shirt, though I can't be sure.
He comes to stand behind me again, but this time he takes me by the shoulders and turns me around, and in seconds, he's bent over at the waist and busy picking my skirt up off the floor.
I jerk my leg back, confused and a little gun-shy. And I get laughed at for my effort. "Hold still, would ya? Just for a second."
And then, true to word, he takes only a second, lifting the dress up and over my head in one smooth, clean movement, and tosses it in the general direction of the table nearby.
It misses entirely and puddles on the floor.
"Now, let's put you in something a little more comfortable than that thing.
" He takes the black fabric off his shoulders and I recognize it as one of the shirts he wears a lot at dance practice.
It's one of his favorites, a worn vintage tee with his favorite old band on the back.
He drags the top over my head, and it falls over my bare body, clothing me once again, like battle armor.
Kai's hands skim my skin as he tugs it into place, down over my ribs, letting it fall around my waist to hit me mid-thigh.
It's huge, on either of us, but he likes it that way, and honestly, so do I.
"Kai—"
"Shhh," his eyes scan me as he inspects his handiwork. "Let me look at you."
He does more than that. He picks me up by the waist and sets me on the counter, too, and now my bare ass is cold against some solid marble, while a man I wouldn't have ever imagined being with like this watches my eyes and puts his hands on my knees, spreading them slowly.
I don't fight him, either. I guess that's a testament to how persuasive the man can be when he wants to be.
Instead of doing anything naughty right away, he simply parts my legs enough to step between them, and then moves into place, wrapping them around his waist as his hands drop and slide up my thighs, coming to a stop on my hips, over the shirt.
"See, now this is nice. I told you so."
Huh? "Told me what?"
"I told you that you'd look sexy as fuck in nothing but my tee shirt the morning after." His grin curls smugly. "I was right."
"Wait a second." I put a hand on his chest, stalling what I assume is him trying to get frisky again, so I can sort something out. When the fuck—? "When did you say that?"
"The night you rescued me from the alley, remember?"
"Honestly, I'm surprised you can even remember that," I say pointedly, remembering how out of it he was that night. "You were pretty bad off, Kai."
"Don't remind me," he says with a shiver. "That was rough. But having you there made it better."
I remember the time I spent soothing him as he slept, petting his brow, brushing the hair from his eyes as I dozed in and out. I didn't think he even knew I was there. "Really?"
"I've never had anyone voluntarily take care of me like that outside of my own family." The admission is a heavy one, and I imagine the strength it takes to admit it. "It felt nice. Especially since it came from you."
My cheeks heat in a blush, and I fan them in the hopes it'll hide my distress. It's a futile attempt, because Kai sees right through it. "Oh."
Kai leans in over the counter, over my waist, and places a kiss against the hollow of my throat, though it's a stretch for him, since I'm on the counter. "You're so beautiful like this, kara. Soft, warm, freshly fucked," I blush at the image, "and wearing nothing but my shirt."
I don't see it. "I'm hardly all that damn pretty, Kai—"
His lips crash against my own in a heartbeat.
I can barely blink before he's tugging me against him, my thighs clenching around his waist as he kisses me stupid, silencing my protests with his tongue and teeth and lips.
Dammit, I had a point to make by leaving his bed this morning, I wanted to sort things out.
And now, all I'm managing to do is let him undo all the worries and misgivings I had about this with a single kiss, a single look, a single smile.
My guard is down too low if I can't even tell this man no long enough to think straight.
Maybe that's not such a bad thing.
I know that's not my consciousness saying such blasphemous things. No way. Me, the woman who's guarded herself for so long out of necessity, out of habit. The woman who refuses to let others perceive her as weak or desperate. Denali Stone, hard worker, Jack of all trades, assistant to the stars.
Puddle for Kai Kobayashi. Add that to the resumé, too, I guess.