That was a dangerous, sinful fire ignited by a single touch. A fire that keeps growing…
Even his simple text this morning:
Kane: I’ll come for you at 8am.
Reignited the flames immediately. The speed at which I flew out of bed and into the shower was... embarrassing to say the least.
So when he arrives five minutes early—his coolness sweeping over me, urging me closer—I’ve only seconds to shove all those thoughts deep down. I can’t risk them escaping. No way. Not if I want to continue ourfriendship.
I smirk, remembering their reactions, the thoughts they didn’t know I could hear.
I hop off the stool, brushing down the skirt of my dress. The clothes I’ve no doubt Julien bought were—once again, frustratingly perfect. Fit, colour, style. It’s infuriating how well he knows my preferences, and my body… and yet, my darkness flares with pride.
It’s a casual, dark green dress. Not overly fitted, pulled in at the waist by a thin belt, with a soft scoop neck. Paired with black tights and heeled ankle boots. Very work appropriate.Nothing like last night’s ‘business attire’, and nowhere near the outfits I wore at The Inferno.
So why, when I open the door for Kane before he even knocks, do I feel like I’m wearing nothing at all?
I look down at myself, checking that I did indeed put clothes on, then back up. Which is a mistake, because now I’m staring at him.
The enforcer uniform.
My nemesis.
Has it always fitted him this well? Were his arms always that hard? Who decided this was appropriate for them to wear? Unless they want to cause a distraction, because I completely understand how you could become hypnotised by the heavy chest plate emphasising his—
“How did you sleep?” he asks, his voice slightly gruff.
“Really well.” When I wasn’t imagining your brother storming into my room and ravag—“How did you sleep?” I squeeze my eyes shut.
Why did I ask that? How many times has he told me he doesn’t sleep? Not unless it’s with me...
“I mean, how was your night?” I attempt a smile, but I’m sure it looks pathetic.
The corner of his mouth ticks up, barely noticeable, but it might as well be a full grin by the way my darkness coils around me.
“Dull,” Kane replies, his dark eyes scaling me.
Dull. What does that even mean?
But as I study his face for clues, I become entranced.
His hair is back to its regular style, but a couple of strands have escaped—teasing me, tempting me, reminding me that I had touched that very hair. The hair of this terrifying demon. How it was soft and silky, and all I want to do is—
I look away.
What is wrong with me? When did I become such a horny mess? Where the fuck is my restraint?
“This is for you.”
And how have I only just noticed the bag in his hand?
He holds it out further, and I lean forwards to peer into the opening. There’s something black and soft inside... I brush it with my fingertips.
Coolness and recognition flood me.
It’s a black hoodie. But not just any black hoodie. No.
Theblack hoodie.
