Chapter Six
Kade
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She walks away from me and it hits harder than it should.
Her eyes tell me one thing, bright and burning with something I cannot name, but her body retreats again, slipping through the crowd as if she is trying to outrun whatever is happening between us.
The fire in her gaze is what keeps me rooted to the spot for a moment.
That silent defiance. That stubborn bravery she carries even when she thinks she is hiding it.
Every part of her rewrites something in me.
Every look. Every movement. Every breath she takes.
I can feel myself changing in ways I never asked for, turning into something unrecognizable, something that follows her without thinking, something that refuses to leave her alone no matter how many times I have tried to keep my distance.
I stand there for a heartbeat, fighting the instinct to go after her, and then I give in.
I always give in when it comes to her. I follow her through the crowd, watching the way she ducks her head and avoids stray hands, slipping between people with a kind of quiet precision.
She does not touch anyone. She does not let anyone touch her.
She moves with purpose, heading straight for the smoking area, and I track her without hesitation.
She scans the room once she reaches the doorway, her eyes searching, and when her gaze lands on me, something inside me settles.
She knows. She knows I will follow wherever she goes. She knows I am never far behind.
I wait a few moments before stepping through the door, letting the noise of the club fade behind me.
The air outside is cooler, sharper, and my eyes find her instantly.
She sits on the bench with a cigarette between her fingers, the glow of it lighting the edge of her face.
She looks small for a moment, alone in the quiet, but then she lifts her chin and that spark returns.
The one that pulls me in every time. I stride over to her without thinking, my steps steady, my pulse anything but.
I take a seat behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body through the air, close enough that I know she can sense me even before she turns.
I do not speak.
I do not need to.
She knows I am here. And I am not going anywhere.
The quiet settles between us, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of her cigarette.
I sit behind her, close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of her perfume beneath the smoke.
She does not turn. She does not speak. She just breathes, steady and slow, and the sound of it digs under my ribs.
I watch the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her fingers curl around the cigarette, the way the glow at the tip lights the edge of her jaw.
I should give her space. I should let her sit here alone.
I should pretend I am not pulled to her in ways I cannot control. I do none of those things.
I lean forward just enough that my voice will reach her without anyone else hearing. My breath brushes the back of her neck. She stiffens, only slightly, but I feel it. I feel everything she does.
“You ran from me.”
She freezes. Not in fear. In recognition. She knows exactly what I mean. She knows I saw the way she walked away, eyes burning, body retreating, pretending she did not feel the same pull I did. She does not answer, so I keep going, my voice low and steady, even though my pulse is anything but.
“You look at me like you want to set me on fire,” I say, “and then you walk away as if it means nothing.”
Her breath catches. I hear it. I feel it. It hits me harder than it should.
I shift closer, my knees brushing the back of the bench, my presence wrapping around her even though I do not touch her. “You know I will follow you,” I murmur. “You know I always will.”
She turns her head slightly, just enough that I can see the edge of her profile, the curve of her cheek, the faint tremble in her fingers as she lifts the cigarette again. Her voice is quiet when she finally speaks, but I can hear the tension in it, the conflict, the want she keeps trying to bury.
“You shouldn’t.”
I let out a slow breath, the kind that feels dragged from somewhere deep. “I know,” I say. “But I do.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, and the sight of it makes something inside me twist. I want to reach out. I want to touch her. I want to pull her back against me and tell her she does not have to run. But I stay still, because she needs the space and I need the control.
The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different. Charged. Waiting.
I speak once more, softer than before. “Tell me to leave,” I say. “And I will.”
She does not say a word.
And that is all the answer I need.
I close the distance between us, gripping her chin with a gentle force, enough to snap her gaze to me, I glance down at her lips before claiming them hungrily, my teeth grazing her bottom lip, seeking permission, seeking answers.
She doesn’t respond straight away, but when she does it sends my heart into a free fall, my world tilts, time stops as her lips move against mine, a quiet whimper between our mouths as her hands reach out for me, tangling in my hair, pulling me closer to her.
My hands snake around her waist, pressing her to me, needing more contact, my tongue swiping her bottom lip, seeking entrance, she instantly gives me what I need, her tongue flicking out against mine.
The taste of her on my tongue has me growling against her, my grip bruising on her waist as I drag her to me, her hands planted firmly on my shoulders to steady her, I pull back for a moment “Say it, say you’re mine Bunny.” my voice is hoarse, full of the undeniable hunger that simmers in my veins.
Her eyes search mine, looking for any reason not to agree, not to give herself to me, but all she finds is obsession, desire, only for her.
“Yours.” She finally says after what seems like an eternity.
I stand, pulling her up with me and press her against the stone pillar beside us, my hands pinning her hips in place as my mouth ravages her, feral, harsh kisses that have her struggling against me, her hands in my hair, pulling hard.
I pull back and my lips trail down to her neck, soft gasps and moans are like music to my ears, I find myself restraining the urge to wrap her legs around me and fuck her against this pillar, the thought of someone seeing her come undone around me, of seeing the pleasure that is only meant for me sends my thoughts murderous.
“Time to go home Bunny.” I growl against her silky skin.
She simply nods in response, knowing exactly how far this is going to go this time, no obstacles, no second guessing, no running.
I plant her feet back on the ground, she stumbles for a moment before my arms are around her, steadying her, I look into her eyes “Can you walk or do I need to carry you home?” A teasing smirk on my face has her eyes narrowing at me “I can walk.” she snaps at me with no real malice behind it.
I take her hand again and lead her back through the heaving club, the driver from earlier this evening is still waiting out front, tapping away on his phone.
I open the door for Mara again and watch her slide into the seat, her eyes on me the entire time.
I climb in behind her and slam the door shut, closing the distance between us.
I bark orders to the driver and turn my gaze back to her, my eyes falling down to her legs, to the silver fabric that holds the dress together, my hands reaches out to trace the knot that holds it in place, my tongue darts out to wet my lips as my gaze climbs higher, to the deep set V that shows off her chest, her nipples pressing against the fabric under the cool night air.
“Fucking beautiful.” I mumble, pulling her closer, her scent enveloping me as I hoist her into my lap, my hands running along her thighs as my cock presses against her thin panties, the same panties I ripped off her body before, the reminder lights up her eyes as I press my mouth to her collarbone.
“What happened between us before was only the beginning.”
A delicious promise, and one that I’m fully intent on upholding.
Mara————————
My thighs tighten before I can stop them, a reflex I hate because it gives him away.
It gives me away. It is a reminder of how deeply he affects me, how easily he can unravel me without even touching me.
He feels the shift in my body, the way I go still for a heartbeat, and his mouth brushes my neck in a slow, deliberate way that sends a shiver down my spine.
A low sound escapes him, something close to a laugh, something that tells me he knows exactly what he is doing to me.
I try to steady myself, to breathe, to pretend I am not reacting, but it is pointless. He always sees through me.
The car slows, then stops outside my building.
The world outside feels too bright, too normal, too far removed from the storm inside the car.
I look out the window, then back at him.
He is watching me with that unreadable expression, waiting for my next move, waiting to see if I will pull away or pull him closer.
I lean in, close enough that my breath brushes his ear, and whisper, “Now do not stop being all gentlemanly on me. Get the door.” My voice is steady, but my pulse is not.
He grins, sharp and knowing, and steps out of the car.
I watch him round the front, the streetlights catching on the tattoos along his forearms, the fitted shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moves.
He opens my door and offers his hand, palm up, patient, steady, as if he is giving me a choice he already knows I will take.
And I do.