Page 83 of Key of Kink

His hand tightened fractionally at my waist, and just like that, I was back in the locker room, aware of the exact moment he’d stopped pretending this was casual.

“Because you don’t understand what you’re provoking,” he said.

I swallowed. “I think I do.”

The train shifted again, and someone’s backpack pressed into my ribs.

There was nowhere to move, nowhere to cool down.

Max’s thigh lined up behind mine, deliberately. His voice was pitched low for my ears only.

“You’re testing the wrong man.”

Heat flared through me. “Am I?”

His breath ghosted across the back of my neck. “Yes.”

He didn’t step back or try to create distance between us, though. If anything, he adjusted his stance so I was steadier against him, protected from the sway of the carriage.

The control in that action made my pulse race.

“You don’t get to decide how this goes,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to set the pace.”

“I don’t want to.”

The train rattled through a tunnel. He exhaled slowly, and for a second, his forehead almost brushed my shoulder.

“You have no idea how close I am to breaking every rule I have.”

The admission hit deeper than anything else he’d said.

The train slowed to a halt, and the doors opened. Max stepped back first, breaking our connection.

Part of me wanted to know what those rules were.

Max

I didn’t bring scenes home.

That rule had been carved out of experience. Control was safest when contained. No staying the night, no domestic overlap, no blurred lines.

I told him I wasn’t walking away.

That was new. It was also dangerous. Bringing Quinn home meant more than proximity. It implied vulnerability, inviting him into space that wasn’t curated for scenes.

This was getting way too personal.

I should have recalibrated. I should have let the heat cool, then reset the parameters.

Instead, I was bringing him back to the flat.

We left the station, and he walked beside me, quiet but alert.

Be honest. This isn’t about finishing what we started.