Page 53 of Pistols & Peonies

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.