P.S. I’m Still Yours: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Silver Springs)
P.S. I’m Still Yours: Chapter 17

“Hello? Earth to Hadley?” Drea’s voice echoes in my head as I check the website on my phone.

I should be handling this better.

Growth always happens outside of your comfort zone. I just wish I’d known “outside your comfort zone” was a place built on fears and your deepest insecurities.

“Hadley?” Drea calls again.

My head snaps up. “I’m sorry, what?”

Drea, who’s straightening her hair in front of the mirror in my room, casts a worried gaze in my direction. “Everything okay? You’ve been staring at your phone for, like, half an hour.”

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just scrolling on Instagram,” I lie.

When Drea suggested that we get ready for Jamie’s surprise party together, I thought it might help get my mind off the launch of my website.

Wishful thinking on my part because I haven’t been able to stop checking the analytics and the social media accounts I set up for my brand.

The brand’s name?

Paintoholic Hearts.

I stayed up until 3:00 a.m. last night, posting every painting I’ve completed since Kane pulled a hero moment and refilled all of my supplies.

To say I have no idea what I’m doing would be a massive understatement. My online store has been getting a little bit of traction, but no sales. Not that I expected any different.

My social media accounts sit at zero followers, and my website hasn’t had a single visit so far.

To be fair, it only went live yesterday, and I haven’t done any advertising. That’s a whole other story that’ll require tons of research and time.

“All done.” Drea unplugs my hair straightener, places it down onto my desk, and makes her way over.

Her perfectly straight, purple hair falls down her shoulders, stopping inches below her breasts, and she’s wearing a cute gray dress with stunning cat-eye eyeliner—the kind that usually takes me a decade to do, but she somehow managed to make each side even on her first try.

My focus darts to my phone again.

Maybe I should change my logo?

I did what I could with Photoshop, sticking a heart on top of a pale blue watercolor stain with the name of my business on it, but I’m no graphic designer.

“You should get ready. Jamie will be at Vince’s place in an hour,” Drea advises, and I give a small nod.

I only realize she’s peeking over my shoulder when she says, “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s, um… It’s nothing. Just a little something I’m working on.”

Her brows shoot up to her forehead as she reaches for my phone. “May I?”

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “Sure.”

She starts to scroll through my store, checking all of my paintings. “Holy shit. Did you do this?”

She zooms in on the painting of a multicolored bird flying away, leaving a few of his feathers behind. The sun reflects on each of them, giving the floating feathers a pink-and-orange glow. “You’re crazy talented.”

A pit of emotion stretches my throat. “You think so?”

“Do I think so? Girl, I want all of these hanging above my bed.” She hypes me up, and it’s like a breath of fresh air infiltrated my lungs.

That’s the thing about artists.

We’re alone with our creations for so long we forget to look at them through the eyes of the person discovering parts of our souls for the first time.

We leave a little bit of us in each song, book, or painting we complete, and hearing someone else appreciate something we’ve poured all of our bleeding hearts into is incomparable.

I’m afraid I might cry when she taps the “Add to basket” button and proceeds to buy not one but two of my paintings right in front of me—the painting of the bird and one of a diamond heart that looks like it’s disintegrating, glitters amassing on the floor beneath it.

I make sure to tell her she doesn’t have to do that, but she forges ahead, becoming my first customer with a click of her finger.

My heart swells with joy when my phone chimes with an email notification, informing me of my first sale.

I throw myself into Drea’s arms as soon as she puts her phone down, and she laughs. “Now, you get your talented ass into the bathroom and do your hair, or we’re going to be late.”

I chuckle, taking her advice and racing to the bathroom to do my hair. It’s a good thing my makeup’s already done because my hair is a bitch to curl.

Drea came through with her magnetic lashes and bronze and copper eyeshadow. I opted for a black off-the-shoulder bodysuit and pale blue jeans tonight, and I look like a new girl.

“Oh, and you’re never going to guess who changed his mind at the last minute,” she tells me as we’re racing down the stairs a half hour later.

I grip the railing. “Kane?”

She snorts. “Looks like he didn’t want to be the only one not invited after all.”

Fuck.

When the idea to throw Jamie a birthday party came to me, I knew I had no choice but to invite Shay and Brooke. It’s Jamie’s birthday, for fuck’s sake. I could hardly see myself not inviting her friends because Kane doesn’t want to mingle with us normies unless they’ve signed an NDA.

I figured since he was the one causing a problem, he should be the one to stay home.

It’s been hard enough to avoid him since our kiss. I wasn’t trying to get near him, let alone in a situation where booze runs high and inhibitions run low.

Shit, I was so sure he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on the NDA situation.

“Wait, so he’s not going to make them sign an NDA?” I ask when we reach the first floor.

“Oh, no, they signed it. You should’ve seen Brooke’s face when I told her who my boss was. Poor girl looked like she was having an asthma attack.”

A hint of jealousy burns within me. “Is she a fan or something?”

“The biggest.”

Great.

So, you’re telling me I’m going to have to watch Brooke drool over Kane all night?

Well, that backfired quickly.

We make it to Vince’s house twenty minutes early.

Cal was supposed to text us once he and his sister left the house, but we haven’t heard from him yet. I’m starting to worry something’s gone wrong. Jamie thinks we’re just hanging out at Vince’s house for no particular reason.

What if she decided to bail and stay home after a long day at work?

Drea tangles her arm with mine. “Relax, they’ll be here.”

The boys and I spent all of yesterday decorating Vince’s house for the party.

We hung up balloons, streamers, and a gigantic “Happy Birthday” sign and set up a minibar area.

Scar and Vince were in charge of buying the snacks, which is why you’d think this is a two-year-old’s birthday party—they got mini corn dogs, cheese sticks, and pizza rolls. All very elegant snacks.

They also dumped five different flavors of chips and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos into a single bowl, and I feel bad for whoever’s unfortunate enough to try their concoction.

“When’s Kane getting here? He’s still coming, right?” Brooke’s questions make my teeth grind.

She’s been asking us about him since she showed up. When she’s not fishing for compliments about her appearance—she looks gorgeous, as always—she’s bombarding us with questions about what Kane is like in real life.

Part of me feels bad about it.

She’s a fan, about to meet a huge celebrity and a total hottie.

I can’t blame her for being excited, but she’s being so damn annoying I wish we could make her sign another contract—this one stating that she has to shut her trap until the end of the night.

“I think they’re here. I heard a car pulling up,” Vince says five minutes later.

“What? They’re early,” I shriek, dashing to the switch to turn the light off.

I remind everyone to grab a party horn, and Vince, Drea, Brooke, Shay, and I scramble behind the kitchen island, waiting for Cal and Jamie to enter the house.

We wait a total of three minutes before we hear what sounds like Jamie’s voice on the porch. “Why are the lights off?”

Cal answers, “I don’t know. That’s weird.”

We hear the door creak open but wait until Jamie flicks the light on before jumping out from behind the island and shouting, “Surprise!”

“What the fuck?” Her hand flies to her mouth as she scans her surroundings, taking in the minibar and decorations.

She bursts into tears the second she realizes this is all for her.

We all huddle closer to her, hugging her one by one. It isn’t long before my turn rolls around, and I pull her into my arms. “Happy birthday!”

She laughs, wiping her face. “Did you do this?”

We separate. “How did you know?”

“Well, for one, there’s no way the guys had the brainpower to put this together, and I never even told the girls it was my birthday,” she explains, and I assume she didn’t tell them because she was dreading her first birthday without her dad. She’s only been friends with Brooke and Shay for a year.

“Are you mad that I blabbed?” I give her my best puppy eyes, and she cracks a smile.

“You’re forgiven.” She pulls me in for another hug.

We’ve just withdrawn when I spot him.

Kane’s standing in the doorway, the dark circles rimming his green eyes not nearly enough to dim his beauty. He must’ve gotten here seconds after Cal and Jamie.

He sees me right away. He’s wearing a leather jacket and a white T-shirt, rocking that effortless James Dean look.

That’s when I spot the cut on his lower lip.

Scar pops up behind him, and I swallow the gasp building in my throat.

Scar has a black eye.

The mother of all black eyes.

And it looks recent.

Did Kane and Scar get into a fight?

I force myself to mind my own business, retreating to the fridge to grab one of the seltzers I brought. I join the girls hanging out by the kitchen island, watching Brooke stalk toward Kane from the corner of my eye.

I might act like I couldn’t care less, but my blood is sizzling beneath my skin.

Brooke stops before him, flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, and introduces herself. Kane looks her up and down swiftly, giving her one of his panty-dropping smiles.

This is going to be a long night.

“Are you fucking insane? You’re going to break your leg.” Jamie laughs at Vince, who’s standing on top of the pool table, doing a ridiculous little dance and spinning his shirt over his head.

“A deal’s a deal.” Vince refuses to listen to reason, throwing his shirt at us and removing his belt as the guys laugh so hard they’re gasping for air.

A dare.

That’s what started this whole thing.

Kane bet Vince that he could beat him at every table game in his house.

I thought that was just Kane being cocky, and he couldn’t possibly beat Vince at pool, foosball, air hockey, and darts. But he did. Although not before Scar and Cal requested that the loser be punished with a dare.

Vince was pretty confident at first, but he realized he’d fucked up when Scar brought his fist to his mouth to muffle his laughter.

“What?” Vince asked.

Scar bit back a smile. “You’ll see.”

Turns out he and Kane have played these games a lot since summer started. Kane couldn’t exactly go out and explore the town, so he occupied himself the best he could—by ordering a bunch of games and kicking Scar’s ass at them over and over.

Brooke cheers when Vince begins taking his pants off, and Cal turns up the volume of the stereo as if to spur Vince on.

I might worry about the loud music if it weren’t for the fact that I’m feeling buzzed, relaxed, and surprisingly unaffected by Brooke eye-fucking Kane.

The girls cheer louder at the sight of Vince’s sculpted, tattooed body and the dark briefs covering the bulge in his pants. He doesn’t look small, that’s all I’ll say.

Brooke shapes her hands into a megaphone and shouts, “Take it off!”

He’s down to his underwear now, and I’m certain he’s going to wuss out until he slips his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and—

The sound of the doorbell scares the shit out of us.

“Fuck.” Vince snaps out of it, leaping off the pool table and picking his pants up.

He shoves his legs into his jeans while balancing himself on his right foot and then his left and takes off toward the front door.

I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the cops grilling us about a noise complaint. It’s past 1:00 a.m., and the music is way too loud.

Cal lowers the volume of the stereo as soon as Vince dashes out of the room, and we try to listen in, but it’s no use.

The game room is on the opposite side of the house, as far as can be from the front door. It’s a miracle we even heard the doorbell.

A few seconds elapse before music cuts through the air again, but this time, it doesn’t come from Vince’s pricey speakers but from my phone.

I’m getting a call from Maggie.

I have no idea what she’s doing calling me at this hour, but I figure she forgot about the time difference between Italy and North Carolina.

Or maybe she butt-dialed me since we talked on the phone a few days ago.

I’m about to pick up, but the call disappears from my screen. I get a text from her a few seconds later. It’s a picture of her holding a mimosa at brunch with some Italian stallion kissing her cheek.

I grin, texting her back.

HADLEY

Who’s this guy? What happened to the hottie on your stories?

MAGGIE

That’s over. I’m with Antonio now. At least I think that’s what his name is. I don’t understand much of what he says.

HADLEY

MAG! You ask the young man what his name is right now!

MAGGIE

Trust me, telling me his name is the LEAST interesting thing he can do with his mouth.

I chuckle at her shameless message. This girl is incorrigible.

At least she doesn’t lie to you…

God, I hate that I’m keeping things from her. I didn’t even tell her about my kiss with Kane during our phone call.

In all fairness, I can’t exactly tell her that I made out with her idol because then I would have to tell her that he’s also my childhood friend and the boy I used to be hopelessly in love with.

There’s a lot to unpack, and I’m hoping by the time I get back to Boone, whatever happened between me and Kane won’t be worth telling.

I’m about to slip my phone back into my pocket when a deep voice stops me.

“You’re a fan of Anaya?”

I whisk my head to the right and replace Kane staring at me intently.

We haven’t addressed each other all week, and this is what he has to say to me?

Not “I’m sorry I never answered your texts” or “I’m sorry I ran out on you in the middle of our kiss”?

My brain needs a second to process what he just said.

I recently bought a ringtone of one of my favorite songs, “Breathe” by this young songwriter and singer named Anaya.

I’m not usually one to use songs for ringtones, but I’m completely obsessed with her new stuff, and I intend to listen to “Breathe” until I’m sick of it.

“Since she started. I don’t think there’s one song on her new album I haven’t listened to a thousand times,” I confirm.

Kane responds with a nod.

The ironic part is, Kane and Anaya are good friends.

At least, that’s the impression I get from following her on social media. They post each other every year on their birthdays and are often seen hanging out.

The media tried to twist the truth and start rumors at first, but Kane quickly shut them down, calling the press sick for implying he would be in a relationship with a sixteen-year-old girl. It looks like they have more of a mentor thing going on.

“I’m an Anaya fan, too.” Brooke feels the need to throw in her two cents, slowly running her hand up and down Kane’s leg.

Lava courses through my veins.

I wish he’d push her hand away. Maybe cut it off with a chainsaw—whoa, take a chill pill, Hadley.

Kane barely even reacts, green eyes drilling into me.

Jesus.

There’s something about the way he stares.

Like he’d rather stab himself in the fucking face than take his eyes off me.

Why is he doing this? In case he didn’t notice, there’s a whole-ass model next to him, and she would gladly let him fuck her within an inch of her life.

“Really? What’s your favorite Anaya song?” I put Brooke to the test, loving every minute of her panic as she opens her mouth to speak, only to close it a second later.

She has no idea who Anaya even is, does she?

“I… I like all her songs,” she stammers.

It would be so easy to keep this going and embarrass her, but I decide to drop it.

“Let’s do another shot,” I say without thinking.

“Sure,” Jamie and Shay agree.

I’m pouring tequila into five shot glasses before I know it, handing out the remaining four to Cal, Shay, Scar, and Brooke.

Scar starts the countdown, but I don’t even wait for him to finish to tip the shot back.

My eyes water as the liquor streams down my throat, and I have this inkling that unless I want to end up with my head in the toilet again, I’m going to have to stop drinking.

Vince pads into the room the second we set the glasses down, holding what seems to be a ticket in his right hand.

“The fuck is that?” Scar asks.

Vince shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “A five-hundred-dollar noise complaint ticket.”

With that, he grabs the remote to the stereo and turns up the volume, as though he didn’t just get fined half a grand two minutes ago. “You motherfuckers want to play beer pong?”

“For fuck’s sake, Hadley. Are you trying to make me puke?” Jamie says on a chuckle, a hint of disgust crossing her face as she takes the red cup to her mouth to knock it back.

“I told you I wasn’t half bad.” I crack a guilty smile, rinsing the beer pong ball in the cup of water next to me.

I’ve played beer pong a lot since I started college.

Maggie was dating some douche nozzle named Jordan my freshman and junior year, and every party we’d go to, without exception, would end with me kicking some frat guy’s ass at beer pong while Maggie and Jordan made out in a corner.

It was a good way to pass the time, and seeing the dudes’ faces when I beat them amply made up for being the designated third wheel.

Jamie rests the empty cup on the table. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it meant you could compete in the fucking world championship of beer pong!”

She’s exaggerating.

I missed a few shots here and there, and I’m only winning because Jamie is so drunk she throws like she’s standing on a rocking boat. She’s had enough to make a breathalyzer implode on itself.

“Let’s end this so we can get a gallon of water in you.” I take my shot and send the ball flying straight into Jamie’s last cup after a single bounce.

My victory draws a sigh out of her, and just as she’s about to down the beer, I say, “Leave it. You’re only allowed to have water for the rest of the night.” I round the table, gesturing for her to follow me with my chin. “Kitchen.”

Jamie doesn’t protest, shadowing me down the hall.

The rest of the party doesn’t even notice we’re gone, too wrapped up in Scar and Vince arm-wrestling on the air hockey table to pay attention to us.

It’s past 3:00 a.m., and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since one. If Kane wants to go ahead and fuck Brooke six ways from Sunday, then he’s free to do so. I won’t stand in his way, and I certainly won’t beg for a sliver of his attention.

I get Jamie and myself water bottles before taking a seat around the kitchen table.

Jamie follows suit, taking small sips of her water as she plops down next to me.

“So… it looked like you and Shay were getting quite… comfortable earlier,” I tease, a grin playing on my lips.

The girls and I felt like dancing at some point through the night, and we pushed the game tables aside to create a dance floor. Jamie asked Shay to dance, and she immediately said yes. Because who could refuse the birthday girl?

They were absolutely adorable, whispering in each other’s ears, chuckling and swaying their hips to the music. As for Kane and the guys, they parked their asses on the couch and bickered like they always do.

“I know.” Jamie throws her head back with a groan. “I wish I had an excuse to be alone with her. We haven’t had a second to talk since we made out in her car.”

Ideas flood my mind, and I’m quick to identify the most viable one. “What if we play some sort of drinking game?” It hits me a moment later. “No, what if we play seven minutes in heaven?”

Her first reaction is to laugh in my face. Fair enough.

“Oh, shit, you’re serious?” she realizes when I don’t laugh.

“Think about it. It would be the perfect excuse. We can just put all of our names into a hat and each pick one. We’ll tell them you get to pick first because it’s your birthday, and I’ll conveniently put Shay’s name on top of the pile. Then you two can go in the closet and just…” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Do your thing.”

Not going to lie, I’m also hoping to set up Scar and Drea. I’m not dumb. These two are obviously obsessed with each other.

She’s not convinced. “I don’t know… Isn’t that, like, a kids’ game?”

I can’t help my smirk. “Not the way we would play it.”

As I expected, the guys mock my idea from the moment it leaves my mouth.

They go on to call it lame and a kids’ game, but I manage to turn things around when I show them the whipped cream I pulled out of Vince’s fridge and the bandana I found when I went snooping around his bedroom.

Speaking of, I think Vince deserves some kind of award for heaviest sleeper in the world.

He drank so much he passed out, and the guys carried him to his bed while Jamie and I were in the kitchen. He didn’t even notice me going through his room, lying on his bed in a star position.

“Not so much of a kids’ game now, is it?” I flash a proud smile, showing them the bandana we’re going to use as a blindfold.

Scar snorts. “It’s still a kids’ game. Just a more interesting one.”

“Come on, guys, it’ll be fun.” I glance at Jamie with a knowing smile. “Who’s in?”

“I am.” Jamie backs me up. “But first, hit me.” She opens her mouth, and I laugh, pouring a mountain of whipped cream inside.

“I’m down,” Brooke chimes, glancing at Kane with a smirk, and blame it on the alcohol in my system, but I hadn’t realized how easily this could come back to bite me in the ass until now.

Let’s hope she doesn’t pick Kane’s name.

The last thing I want is for them to be alone in a dark closet for seven minutes.

I look down at Vince’s baseball cap filled with everyone’s names. I was careful to put Shay and Scar’s names on top of the pile, just like I planned, but I can’t control the names other people pick.

It isn’t long before the others go along with my plan, and of course, by the time I realize it wasn’t such a good idea after all, they’re all pumped and ready to play.

“We only got one blindfold, though. Who’s going to wear it?” Shay points out the game’s flaw.

“How about we just roll a dice for it? Whoever gets the lowest number wears the blindfold,” Drea suggests.

“Works for me,” Jamie agrees.

“Okay.” I force a smile. “Jamie should pick first since it’s her birthday.”

We all settle around the L-shaped couch in the corner of the game room, and I pass the hat to Jamie.

She picks a name, unfolding the piece of paper and wrestling a tell-all smile. “I got Shay.”

Jamie, who’s fully aware of the next part of my plan, passes the hat to Drea without her asking, and she’s a bit surprised but doesn’t argue.

Color leaves Drea’s skin. “I got Scar.”

Looks like I was right to put his name right underneath Shay’s.

“Gimme,” Brooke presses.

Drea clears her throat, passing the hat to Brooke, who’s so eager to pick a name it makes me cringe. She shoves her hands into the hat, and I’m hopeful she’s going to pick out my name or another girl’s name just so that she doesn’t end up with Kane.

Brooke unfolds the piece of paper and represses a squeal, her face lighting up with excitement. “I got Kane.”

Cal’s eyes replace me instantly, and he gives me an awkward smile. “I guess that means it’s you and me, Queen.”

I don’t answer, managing a nod.

So, not only did I practically force Kane and a supermodel to hook up, but I’m also going to have to spend seven minutes alone with the boy I rejected not even a month ago.

“We should pick again.” Kane’s voice slices through the air.

We all turn to look at him, but the only person he’s looking at is me. His eyes are hard, his jaw tight, and call me crazy, but I think I saw his eye twitch.

“What? Why?” Brooke whines.

“No backsies,” Scar protests. No wonder he doesn’t want us to pick again. It’s obvious he’s over the fucking moon about getting paired with Drea.

“Agreed,” Cal piles on.

This isn’t happening.

I got the lowest number.

Of course I did.

Cal rolled a six, and I, being the definition of unlucky, got a one, which means I have to wear the blindfold.

All I can hear is my unsteady breathing as I take a seat on the floor of the large closet in the next room, waiting for Cal to come in so that I can reject him one more time.

The guys decided that the person with the blindfold would go in first. I swear it took all of my willpower not to fake a bad migraine and run.

I should’ve.

Anything is better than having to tell Cal I don’t want to kiss or touch him.

My heart drops to my stomach when the closet creaks open.

Here we go.

I had my speech ready, but now that he’s here, I can’t make a sound.

Footsteps sound against the hardwood floor, and I squint, hoping to see something, but the bandana is too opaque.

I almost yelp when a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me off the floor.

I land on my feet, struggling to steady myself for a moment, but the hand flies to the small of my back, helping me regain my balance.

I exhale a breath. “Look, Cal, I—”

The words on my tongue evaporate when Cal jerks me closer and crashes his mouth against mine.

A gasp rips from my throat, and I press my palms to his chest, preparing to push him away, but the feel of the fabric under my fingertips kills every drop of resistance in my system.

It’s leather.

I claw at the fabric as Cal’s mouth slides against mine and realize…

Cal isn’t the one kissing me.

I catch a whiff of the cologne filling the closet, and the delicious smell solidifies what my body already knows.

I’m kissing Kane.

I don’t know how he got in or why he didn’t just settle for a quickie with Brooke, but he’s the one ravaging my mouth with his, taking my hips into a bruising hold and licking past the seam of my mouth with a groan.

I want to call him out for breaking every single rule we laid out, but all I can do is grasp at his shirt, holding his body dangerously close to mine.

One of his hands leaves my hips and climbs up my spine, landing in my hair and angling my head back an inch. The action causes my mouth to open wider, and the fucker jumps at the chance to slide his tongue past my lips.

I might not be able to see anything, but I can feel every bit of his smile when I let out an unintentional moan, and his tongue darts out to replace mine.

It’s all too much for me.

His mouth, his hands tugging at my scalp, the pounding vessel in my chest. He is such a good kisser I have no chance of escaping him. No chance of even wanting to.

He breaks the kiss, and another gasp leaves me when a trail of cold foam is sprayed over my skin, all the way from my ear to my clavicle.

He just covered me in whipped cream, and when his guttural groan sweeps over my flesh, I read his intentions loud and clear.

My knees nearly buckle when he descends on my neck, my back hitting the wall behind me with a thud. He closes the space between us, slamming his body to mine. Then his tongue is gliding up the side of my neck, licking me clean.

Heat consumes me, and I throw my head back against the wall.

“Please,” I pant, and a low “Fuck” fills the darkness before Kane digs his teeth into my collarbone, nipping at my skin as if to brand me with ownership.

The next thing I know, a layer of whipped cream is stretching over my cleavage, and Kane is dipping his tongue in the dip of my breasts, one of his hands pushing against my hip bone before running his fingers along the waistband of my jeans.

God, I want him.

I want to let him do everything to me.

Whatever he wants, wherever he wants, whenever he wants.

If that’s not the most terrifying thought that’s ever crossed my mind, I don’t know what is.

He pulls back, drawing his finger up the side of my neck to gather the remnants of whipped cream.

“Open,” he commands in a low voice, and I feel his thumb sweep over my lower lip.

When I don’t open fast enough, he dips his index and middle fingers inside my mouth, groaning when my tongue latches onto them, twirling around the tips to lick them clean.

His other hand replaces the base of my neck, and he pulls his fingers from my mouth, his lips grazing the side of my jaw. I can’t bring myself to put an end to his teasing, a hiss falling from my lips when he captures my earlobe between his teeth.

Running solely on instincts, I drop my hand to his pants, curving around his cock straining against the fabric, and the hand he has wrapped at the base of my neck tightens at the contact.

He’s so hard he’s probably super uncomfortable, but the thought doesn’t deter me from squeezing him until he groans with irritation.

He smashes his mouth back to mine the next second, his tongue dipping back inside without requesting access.

I thought his kisses were intense before, but the way he’s kissing me now? I can feel his resolve thinning with each stroke of his tongue. I run my palm up and down his stiff cock once more, and he wedges his knee between my legs, pressing against my clit ever so slightly.

I’m crazy enough to consider slipping my hand inside his jeans when…

An alarm goes off on his phone

I can’t see shit, but I do hear the growl breaking past Kane’s lips as he stops the alarm and pulls his body off mine.

It’s been seven minutes.

The absence of his touch leaves me in an uproar, a type of desperation I’d never felt before taking me under, but I don’t have time to voice my body’s protests because he slings the closet door open.

Just like that, he’s gone.