Chapter 18
Violet
The sun set hours ago, and the daily commuters have long since abandoned the city, but Kane still isn’t home. He hasn’t texted, hasn’t called. And if I check my phone one more time, I’ll throw it off the damn balcony.
I don’t know why I care. It’s not like I actually want him here. But it’s also not like him to say he’s going to do something and then not follow through. That’s my specialty, not his.
Derek Kane is responsible to a fault. He’s rigid and predictable, the kind of man who treats the simplest agreements like binding contracts. Which means he’d at least give me a heads-up if he decided I’m more trouble than I’m worth and fucked off back to his lakeside fortress.
I flop sideways on the couch, the smooth leather creaking under my weight.
My wolf paces restlessly inside me, alternating between a low growl and a wounded whine that reverberates through my skull.
The bond’s been gnawing at me since I left Kane’s office earlier, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything.
Not even the glow of the TV can distract me– which is really saying something, considering the sexual tension between the hosts of this home renovation show is off the charts.
They bicker like they can’t stand each other, snapping and rolling their eyes, but it’s painfully obvious they’re sleeping together.
I’ll bet they’re probably tearing each other’s clothes off the second the cameras cut.
Maybe they’re like me and Kane– enemies stuck in the world’s worst arranged mating, just waiting for privacy so they can take all that pent-up aggression out on each other’s bodies.
Tragic.
I mash the power button with a scowl and drop the remote, letting it clatter to the floor and skitter under the coffee table.
It was bad enough that I let Kane fuck me in the elevator, but the way I’ve been obsessing over it ever since is truly fucking pathetic.
I’ve been replaying the memory for two days straight like my own personal porno: the way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive, how easily he took control, slammed me against the wall, and railed me like his life depended on it.
The part of me that still hates him is furious about it. But the other part– the fucked-up, feral bitch who wanted it just as badly as he did– keeps replaying it on a loop, getting off on the thrill of how rough and dirty it was. On how little it took for me to fall apart under his hands.
I hate that it was the best sex of my life.
I hate that he ghosted me afterward.
And I especially hate that the next time I saw him, I let him shove my face into his desk and brand his handprint on my bare ass.
A sharp, embarrassed laugh bubbles up in my chest, and I slam my head back against the armrest, the impact rattling my teeth. This isn’t me. I’m not the girl who waits up for some asshole to come home. I’m not supposed to crave a man I despise.
But the universe doesn’t seem to give a shit, it just keeps slapping me with fresh humiliations, one after another, like it’s trying to see just how far I can be pushed before I break wide open.
There’s something seriously wrong with me, isn’t there?
I mean, I’ve always liked it a little rough.
Teeth sharp, claws out, hands tight enough on my throat to remind me I’m still alive.
That part isn’t new, but this? This is next level.
I swear that first smack felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, and the second one wiped out the rest of the world entirely.
Everything else faded to background noise– sight, sound, thought– until there was nothing left but the mind-numbing intensity of it and the strange, illicit heat flooding my body.
I liked it too much. Wanted it to last. Wanted more.
Then he put his mouth on me, and I came so hard I damn near blacked out.
Let’s be real, getting eaten out can be hit or miss.
For me, it’s always been a miss. I’ve let a few guys try, but none of them had a clue what the hell they were doing down there.
Too slobbery. Too much teeth. Too much fumbling.
It always turned awkward fast, until I’d fake it just to get them to quit and move on to the good stuff.
Not Kane.
Whether it’s experience or just sheer, unfair talent, that man knew exactly what he was doing.
Like he’d mapped me out already, every nerve ending tuned to his tongue.
I’m pretty sure what he did today completely rewired my brain.
Or maybe it tapped into a frequency I didn’t even realize was there, activating some kink I didn’t know I had.
You’d think I’d be good now. Satisfied, back on my usual bullshit.
But no. I’m still all hot and achy, wound too tight, worked up as if I didn’t come all over Kane’s face at lunchtime.
Like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that we’re done here.
That it does not, in fact, belong to the one person I absolutely cannot afford to want, but am hard-wired to crave.
God. Is it too much to hope that he comes storming in here and bends me over the arm of the couch?
No.
Bad Violet.
Less fantasizing about fucking him, more fantasizing about slitting his throat.
Except then I’d never experience his tongue again. Or his dick. And dammit, that dick was top tier. Long, thick, and it hit just right. I should be ashamed that I let him pin me to the elevator wall like a battering ram, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
If there was ever a time to seriously consider therapy, it’s probably now. Then again, if I’m going to be stuck in this nightmare, I might as well get something good out of it.
My phone buzzes on the couch beside me, jarring me out of my thoughts. Hope lights in my chest for half a second, but when I flip it over, it’s just a text from Char checking in on me.
I fire off a quick reply as proof of life, then toss the phone aside and let the silence rush back in.
My wolf curls tighter in my chest, a coiled knot of hunger and spite.
I know exactly where each feeling is aimed– the hunger at Kane, the spite at me.
It’s ridiculous that she’s so attached to the man when all I am to him is a warm body to rut against. But maybe that’s the whole point.
Maybe I should stop pretending I’m above it and just enjoy the orgasms.
Pushing up off the couch, I retreat to my bedroom, cutting through to the en-suite and flicking on the light. I know I’m playing with fire, so my solution is simple. A cold shower.
I peel off my clothes and toss them in the hamper before stepping in and cranking the faucet to arctic.
The water hits like a slap, stealing my breath, muscles locking up as the shock ripples through me.
After a few seconds, the sting settles into something almost good.
It’s oddly grounding in a way that reminds me of getting thrown into Lake Michigan as a kid for the polar plunge– that split second of blind panic followed by a wild, electric thrill.
I stand there and let it numb my skin and quiet the restless urge in my veins, dragging me back into my body.
By the time I shut the water off and get out, my teeth are chattering so hard I’m in danger of chipping one. I wrap myself in a towel and pad into my bedroom, the floorboards icy against my bare feet.
That’s when I feel him.
It’s not the sound of the door opening or the heavy tread of boots on hardwood that alerts me to Kane’s presence, but something deeper.
A pulse of static under my skin, a tightening in my gut like the air pressure just changed.
My wolf snaps to attention, every muscle in my body locked and trembling.
I fumble for a pair of panties, dragging them up my still-damp thighs, then yank an oversized t-shirt on over my head.
I’m halfway through combing my hair when Kane appears in the doorway, silent and massive and radiating heat.
He’s barefoot, dark hair damp from his own shower, dressed in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips and cling in all the right places.
My mouth runs dry. Not because I want him, just because it’s… biological. Or something.
He takes one look at me– fresh out of the shower, hair wet, shirt clinging to my chest– and his eyes darken with unmistakable hunger. My heart jackknifes in my chest, then drops into a freefall.
“Well, well,” I say, forcing a sneer. “Look who finally decided to show up.”
He shrugs, barely a flicker of movement in those carved shoulders. “Work ran late.”
“Did you at least murder someone interesting?” I lean back against the dresser, folding my arms across my chest like I’m not dying for him to cross the room and put his hands on me. “Or do all your victims blur together after a while?”
He ignores the bait, glancing past me to take in the room before his gaze settles on the bed. “You want me to sleep in here, or are you coming to mine?”
I blink. “What makes you think I want to sleep next to you?”
His head tilts, brow creasing. Not defensive, just… confused. Like the answer should be obvious. “Isn’t that why you barged into my office today and demanded I stay here?” he asks evenly. “So we can get some real sleep?”
I grit my teeth, hoping he can’t see the flush I feel crawling up my neck. “Whatever. Here’s fine.”
He doesn’t respond. Just rounds the bed and pulls back the comforter on the opposite side, like the decision was never really in question.
“You gonna wolf out again?” I ask, doing my best not to stare at the way all that hard-earned muscle ripples as he moves.
“Think it’s better if one of us does,” he replies, voice flat.
“Why’s that?” I snort.
He pins me with a look that makes my belly flip. “You know why.”
I arch a brow, keeping my expression cool. “What, you don’t want to fuck it out?” I snap, even as my heart races at the thought.
His eyes drop to my bare legs, then slowly climb back up to meet mine, irises rimmed in gold. “We can, if that’s what it takes,” he murmurs. “But just being close seemed to work before. No need to complicate things further.”
“Right,” I snort, pushing off from the dresser and stepping closer to the bed. “Because that’s all it was in the elevator. In your office. A complication.”
“Considering we haven’t managed a single civil conversation,” he says calmly, “Yes. Sex absolutely complicates this dynamic.”
I stare at him, the weight of that landing all at once. “Think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me that wasn’t an insult or a command,” I mutter.
“I’m not much of a talker,” he grumbles, climbing into bed and stretching out on his back like he owns the place. The sheet barely makes it past his hips, and my eyes snag on the thin trail of dark hair leading down from his navel before I force them back up to his face.
“Yeah, I noticed,” I scoff. “You ever think maybe if you stopped ordering people around for five minutes, they’d like you more?”
He settles his head against the pillow, closing his eyes. “I don’t care if people like me. I care if they do their job.”
I stand there with my arms folded, just looking down at him. He’s so fucking gorgeous, even when he’s being an asshole. Especially then. It’s infuriating. The way his biceps flex when he folds his hands behind his head, the smooth, tan skin stretched over so much raw strength…
I’d kill for that kind of power.
Instead, I’ve got rage and trauma and a wolf that refuses to let me rest.
He opens one eye, catching me in the act. “You getting in,” he asks mildly, “or are you gonna stand there all night?”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snarl, squaring my shoulders.
He rolls his head toward me, lips twitching. “Have you always been this difficult?”
I shrug.
He sighs, like I’m an impossible puzzle. “Your parents must’ve had a hell of a time with you.”
My blood goes cold, his comment striking a nerve that leaves me feeling far too exposed.
Because it’s true.
My father left. My mother spent my entire childhood trying to mold me to her impossible standard of perfection. I was always too much, or not enough. Too wild, too weird, too unwilling to shut up, keep my head down, and behave.
I stare at Kane, something ugly cracking open in my chest. “My dad bailed a long time ago,” I say flatly. “And the only thing I’ve ever done that made my mom proud was this damn Pairing. So if you’re gonna disapprove of me, get in line.”
He doesn’t respond, but something flickers behind his eyes as he stares back at me. Not pity, but a strange sort of understanding.
Doesn’t matter.
I rip my shirt off, then my panties, and let the shift roll over me before my mind has a chance to spiral. My bones snap and rearrange, fur bursting across my skin in a rush of heat. A heartbeat later, I’m on four legs at the edge of the bed, hackles raised.
Kane doesn’t flinch. He just pats the spot beside him in a silent invitation.
I hop up, pacing in a tight circle before dropping down and curling in a ball against his side. His hand sinks into my fur, rough fingers finding the spot behind my ear and stroking in slow, steady circles.
My wolf sighs in contentment, the sound vibrating through my whole body. I let my eyes slide closed as the warmth of him seeps into me. The ache eases, the bond humming low and gentle for the first time in days.
I’m almost asleep when I swear I hear him whisper an apology.
I don’t know if he means it for me, or himself, or the universe that fucked us both. But for one fleeting, stupid moment, I almost believe him.