I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I know.”
His forehead touched the back of my head. “You want me to step back?”
The question was quiet and so heavily loaded.
Because even with his erection hard behind me and his hands on my hips and the whole room vibrating with the kind of tension that made breathing feel impossible, he still asked.
Luke never asked.
The thought shot through me so fast it almost hurt.
Cade would always ask.
I lifted my eyes to the mirror. His were already there, locked on mine, dark and intense and barely restrained.
“No,” I whispered.
That word changed everything.
Cade’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed once, not pulling me closer, just holding on like the answer had gone through him physically.
“No?” he repeated.
“No.”
The air between us turned molten.
His hand slid back to my hip, slow enough to give me every chance to stop him, and when I didn’t, his palm settled there with more intent than before. His thumb brushed the exposed skin above my waistband, one careful stroke that made my knees go weak.
“This is a bad idea,” he said against my neck.
I let out a breath that was almost a laugh and almost a plea. “Then why are your hands still on me?”
His mouth hovered near my ear, so close I could feel the fucking shape of his words when he answered. “Because you haven’t told me to move them.”
Holy fuck.
My lips parted, and the mirror gave me no mercy. I saw every bit of myself there. The flushed cheeks. The parted mouth. The eyes too wide and too hungry. I saw Cade behind me, huge and controlled and barely holding himself still, his body wrapped around mine without actually taking a single thing I had not given.
“You’re very good at pretending this is still training,” I said, breathy enough to humiliate me.
His low laugh brushed across my throat. “You’re very bad at pretending you want it to be.”
My pulse kicked hard beneath my skin. “Cade.”
“I know.” His thumb stroked my hip again. “I’m doing it again.”
My breath caught.
His smile touched the side of my neck without quite becoming a kiss. “You keep looking back, Pip.”
The words should have made me pull away.
They didn’t.
They made me remember my kitchen. Sugar glaze. His mouth on my thumb. That slow, deliberate smile when I told him he was doing it again and he answered like he had never once been sorry for wanting me.
The room tilted.
