Page 49 of Kane

I feel everything and nothing all at the same time.

The waves of pleasure are sharp; brutal and unrelenting. I watch as my cum paints the tile, watch as it drips down slowly, like time itself doesn’t exist.

The euphoria is palpable and my shoulders relax as I suck in a breath and ride the wave of my orgasm, which feels like it goes on forever.

And then, as I drain the remnants of my arousal from my softening cock, the truth hits me.

I came.

I fucking came, thinking about him.

Panic and anxiety rise up, and my breath catches as the floodgates open; letting out all the ghosts I’ve worked so hard to bury.

I don’t know how long I stay there, kneeling on the floor with my head hung low; waiting for something that doesn’t exist.

For someone to tell me it’s alright. For someone to reach out and run their fingers through my hair and tell me precisely what to do.

To tell me that I’m not the monster I feel like I am at this very moment.

But there is no one.

I close my eyes and shake my head before I rise and turn off the water. I step out of the shower and grab a towel, drying off my hair and beard first and then I tie the towel around my waist.

When I get to my bed, I drop my clothes into the hamper, and set my phone down on the charger. I find a clean pair of underwear and get dressed quickly and get in bed. The light from the phone calls me like a beacon.

A soft meow pulls my attention, and I look to see Pumpkin looking up at me from the side of my bed with big, innocent eyes.

“What do you want, heathen?” I grumble.

Pumpkin only meows, his tail flicking up and down, and I sigh.

With one hand I scoop him up and plop him down on the pillow I never use, and then I turn out the light. I turn to face him, even though I can’t see him because it’s dark. I hear his purrs, and I know he’s asleep.

I reach one finger out and carefully stroke his fur.

“Good idea, Pumpkin,” I say as exhaustion hits me, and I submit to the darkness once more.

Chapter Thirteen

Ryder

I toss and turn in my bed; but no matter what, I can’t seem to get comfortable. I glance at the clock, noting it’s barely been five minutes since I looked last.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I sigh.

I did as Kane told me to. I came home, had something to eat, took a cold shower—which just made me more irritable, honestly.

Hell, I even ordered some take-out, but no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Kane.

Or more specifically the Kane I saw in the elevator. The one who sternly commanded I give him my phone, the bossy, dominant one who pressed all my buttons and then some.

I don’t regret what happened, but he might.

After all, he told me twice to simmer the fuck down, and did I listen? No.

I completely disobeyed him and steamrolled right over that like a zamboni.

Which is why I keep thinking about texting him. Apologizing.