Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Another wave of his hand has everyone quickly saying goodbye and thanking Keiran and me for our time. But when I try to stand up—-
"Not so fast."
His hands settle on my waist, and before I can blink, I’m no longer on his lap—I’m seated on the edge of the table, legs dangling, Keiran standing between them.
“You did very well today, Cadence.”
My heart pounds as his fingers press lightly against my inner thighs.
“But it’s not enough.”
I forget how to breathe at his words, and my senses reel as his hands slide higher—slow, steady.
"I want you to touch yourself."
My eyes widen.
"W-What?"
His expression doesn’t change.
"You heard me.”
"But—here?”
He takes his seat like he's about to get a show.
Gulp.
"Have you changed your mind about wanting to earn me back?"
I start to shake my head, but he cuts me off.
"Then prove it."
My fingers tremble as I reach beneath my skirt. Heat rushes through me before I even find what I’m looking for.
Keiran's eyes never leave mine. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
Just watches as I touch myself.
Tentatively at first. Then with more confidence when I see the way his gaze tracks every movement.
I want him to tell me I’m doing good.
I want him to touch me himself.
But Keiran remains frustratingly silent and still, his gaze hooded.
My breath turns into short little gasps as I get close.
So close.
But just as I'm about to fall over that edge, Keiran's fingers suddenly close around my wrist.
"Stop.”
My entire body freezes.
“You don’t get to come until I say so,” he says curtly.
Did he j-just say what I thought he said?
"Do you understand?"
I want to shake my head. Tell him this is too much. But when I catch a glimpse of something sharp, vulnerable, and furious in the smoky-gray depths of his gaze—-
Oh Keiran.
It's been three years, but for both of us, it still feels like yesterday that I had chosen my parents over him, and he had walked out on our marriage.
And that's why he wants to hurt me.
Because he's hurting.
And he will never stop hurting me...even if it means hurting himself in the process.
Keiran
THREE YEARS AGO
She was wearing his hoodie. Again.
The sleeves were too long, the hood too big, and she looked like something he should've locked away from the world.
Keiran watched her tiptoe barefoot across the marble floor, muttering to herself while holding a giant mixing bowl like it could explode at any moment. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head, a few caramel strands escaping to frame her face. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek, and he found himself staring at it, wondering when this – her – had become so fucking important to him.
"You're going to make a mess," he warned, stepping into the kitchen.
Cadence turned. "I measured this time."
"Last time, the flour exploded."
"That was your fault," she said piously. "You startled me."
Her eyes lit up despite her accusation, and that thing in his chest twisted again – that uncomfortable, unwelcome feeling that made him want to simultaneously shield her from the world and show her every dark corner of it.
He crossed the room slowly, until her back was pressed against the counter.
"And if I do it again?"
His wife gasped when he reached past her to take the bowl. "Keiran!"
"Hmm?" He set it aside.
"You're ruining the batter—"
He kissed her, and the way she melted instantly in his arms...
Fuck.
That was what always got to him.
Her complete and instant surrender, with the way Cadence's fingers were now clutching his shirt as her hips arched eagerly toward him.
"I w-was trying to bake," his Cadence gasped when he moved to her neck.
"You're sweet enough."
Keiran's heart clenched as he felt her smile against his skin. He'd never known what peace felt like before her. Never expected to find it in a girl who baked cookies at midnight and tripped over her own feet when she saw him without a shirt.
He lifted her onto the counter, slid between her thighs, and kissed her until her laughter turned to gasps.
She was soft. Willing. And deliciously bare and irresistibly wet under the hoodie.
"No underwear, Mrs. de Laigny?" he purred against her ear.
His Cadence's blush deepened, but her eyes held his without shame. "I was waiting for you to come home."
Ah, fuck.
His wife killed him every time she said things like that.
"Do you know what you do to me?" Keiran growled.
His Cadence shook her head, eyes wide with that intoxicating mix of desire and innocence.
"You make me forget, Cadence. Every damn time," he gritted out while pushing the hoodie higher.
"F-Forget what?"
That I don't deserve you.
That being with you is a mistake.
That if I ever lose you, it's for the better.
All of it was the truth.
But because he was a selfish bastard who could no longer imagine a life without her—-
I love you.
And this, too, was true.
He loved her to the point of madness. And it was this madness that could no longer be satisfied. Madness that kept him from reaching the bedroom.