I clear my throat, trying to remember what he just showed. I adjust my fingers, mimicking the interlock, and apply what I hope is the right amount of pressure.
“Better,” he nods. “Now add some movement.”
Hesitantly, I move my thumb, tracing the edge of his hand in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation of his skin beneath my finger is distracting, making it difficult to focus on what I’m supposed to be learning.
“Good,” he murmurs. “But don’t overthink it. It should feel natural.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m certain he can hear it. I try to dismiss these reactions as normal nervousness—after all, physical contact with anyone after a long dry spell would feel intense—but my body isn’t buying that explanation.
A visible shiver runs through me when his thumb traces a particular spot on my palm.
Kade notices. His eyes flick up to mine. “Sensitive?” he asks, his voice rougher than before.
“Just wasn’t expecting it,” I manage.
A slow smile spreads across his face. “That’s the point. You want to keep her guessing, create moments of surprise. It builds anticipation.”
I nod stiffly, hoping he attributes the flush creeping up my neck to embarrassment rather than the way my body is responding to his touch.
“Let’s move on,” Kade says, releasing my hand. The loss of contact leaves an emptiness that confuses me. “Hand-holding is basic. Face touching is the next level.”
My heart skips a beat. “Face touching?”
“Yeah. It’s more intimate, more direct.” He shifts closer, our knees now pressed together. “But you have to do it right. Too soon, and it’s creepy. Too rough, and it’s threatening. Too soft, and it’s forgettable.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Kade leans into my personal space. His lip ring catches the light as he smirks at me. “Relax, Golden Boy,” he says, cupping my jaw with unexpected gentleness.
My breath hitches as his thumb traces my cheekbone, then slides down to brush against my lower lip. The contact sends a jolt through me I feel all the way to my toes.
“See how I’m cupping your jaw? Firm enough to guide, gentle enough not to intimidate. It creates a feeling of control without force.”
I try to nod, but his grip makes it difficult. All I can do is stare at him, aware of every point of contact between us—his hand on my face, our knees pressed together, the faint brush of his breath against my cheek.
Something shifts in Kade’s demeanor as he watches me. His pupils dilate, and a flush spreads across his neck and chest. He seems as surprised by his reaction as I am by mine.
Wait, what is happening here?
I’m clearly affected by Kade’s touch—just as I was affected by his words the other day—but it seems that Kade is affected, too. The realization sends another wave of heat through me.
His grip on my jaw tightens, and he tilts my face up. “Sometimes,” he says, “taking control like this can be…effective.”
To my horror, I realize I enjoy it—the firm pressure of his fingers, the way he’s directing me, the subtle display of dominance. I struggle to maintain my aloof facade while my body responds to each touch.
For a few long moments, we both seem to forget where we are, who we are. The air between us grows thick with something dangerous. Kade’s gaze drops to my mouth, and for one wild, impossible second, I think he might—
“Kade! Where’d you go? We’re waiting for you!”
The female voice calling through the doorway shatters the moment. Kade blinks, as if waking from a trance, and drops his hand from my face. He stands up, creating distance between us.
“We’ll continue tomorrow. Same time?” There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, masked by his typical cockiness.
I manage a curt nod, not trusting my voice. As soon as he turns to leave, I stand and make a beeline for my bedroom, closing the door behind me.
Alone in my room, I press my palms against my face, trying to regain control of my racing thoughts and my body’s lingering response to Kade’s touch. What the hell was that? I should be learning how to seduce Serena, not…whatever just happened with Kade.
I drop my hands and catch sight of myself in the mirror mounted on my closet door. Flushed cheeks. Dilated pupils. Parted lips. The evidence of my reaction is undeniable.
“Fuck,” I whisper to my reflection.
