Chapter 15 15
POV Katherine
"Stop," I thought, but my body didn't obey; a familiar heat ignited in my belly, a rumble of something forbidden.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories flooded my mind. Sharp fragments, vivid, loaded with sensations that cut off my breath.
The party. The packed bar, the bass of the music vibrating in my bones. His hands—God, his hands—on my ass, squeezing with a possession that had made me gasp against his chest. It wasn't an accidental touch; it was deliberate, his fingers digging into the soft flesh under my skirt, pulling me closer until I felt the hardness of his arousal pressing against my belly, the brush of his thigh between my legs sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core. Sweat mingled, breaths ragged, his lips grazing my ear as he whispered things I didn't fully remember, but my body did: the liquid heat pooling between my thighs, my nipples hardening against the lace of my bra, begging for his mouth.
Then, the car. His hand on my thigh, rising, exploring the sensitive skin just below the hem of the skirt. The brush of his knuckles against my underwear, a touch that didn't go further, but left me throbbing, wet and desperate. "You're trembling," he'd said, and I'd lied, but my body screamed the truth: I wanted him to touch me, to slide those fingers inside me, to fuck me with the same intensity he drove.
Fuck. I was going crazy.
And the viewpoint. Oh, God, the viewpoint. The night wind whipping my hair as he held me on the edge, his arms encircling me like silk chains. His chest pressed to my back, the evidence of his desire hard and hot against my ass, moving subtly in a grind that made me arch toward him. His hands on my waist, one rising to brush the side of my breast, his thumb grazing the nipple through the fabric until I moaned softly.
"I can take you to the edge," he'd whispered, his hot breath on my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a promise of bites. The city at our feet, but I only felt his heat, his control, the way his hand slid over my abdomen, stopping just above my mound, pressing enough for me to imagine his fingers buried in my wetness, curling to find that spot that would make me scream his name.
But it didn't stop there. The memories accelerated: the drive back, my head in his lap as he drove with one hand, the other caressing my hair, my shoulders, descending to the valley between my breasts. We arrived at my house—my house, not his—and he carried me in his arms as if I weighed nothing, his muscles flexing under my body, my skirt riding up to expose my thighs. He took me up the stairs, his mouth grazing my temple, my jaw, a phantom kiss that left me craving more.
In my bedroom, he laid me on the bed with gentleness, but his eyes burned.
"Let me help you," he'd murmured, and his hands—those damn hands—unbuttoned my dress, sliding it off my shoulders, exposing my skin to the cool air. The bra followed, his fingers brushing my nipples as he freed them, a touch that made me arch my back, a moan escaping my lips. The skirt, the panties—wet, traitorous—everything fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric.
Naked before him, exposed, and he just looked at me, his breathing heavy, the bulge in his pants screaming his desire.
He gave me water from a bottle, holding it to my lips, his thumb wiping a drop that slid down my chin, trailing down my neck to the hollow of my collarbone. And then, the kiss. Not a chaste kiss: his lips capturing mine in a deep brush, tongue grazing mine in a slow, erotic dance, his hand on my nape holding me as he devoured my mouth like it was his last breath of oxygen.
"Sleep, Katherine," he'd whispered against my swollen lips, before covering me with the sheets and leaving, leaving the memory of his touch on every inch of my skin.
The memory hit me hard, stealing my air. My cheeks burned, my body responding despite the pain: nipples hardening under the robe, a traitorous pulse between my legs. He'd seen everything. He'd touched me, undressed me, kissed me. And I... I'd let him.
Without thinking, I slammed the door in his face, the sound reverberating in my skull like thunder. I heard his muffled voice on the other side—"Katherine, wait..."—but I didn't stop. I ran up the stairs, ignoring the fire in my knee, the throb in my head, the sash of the robe coming undone and letting the silk fall open, exposing my breasts to the air as I climbed. I burst into the bedroom, threw myself onto the rumpled bed—the same one where he'd laid me down, naked and wanting—and buried my face in the pillow, screaming with all my strength.
A primal wail, muffled but fierce, that tore through the silence of the house.
"It can't be! It can't be real!" The tears came, hot and furious, as my body trembled. The scrape on my knee bled again, staining the sheets, but it was insignificant. The headache, which had paralyzed me moments before, faded to a distant hum. Because now, the real chaos roared inside me: burning shame mixed with a residual desire that made me clench my thighs, erotic memories I couldn't erase. He'd crossed the line. I'd invited him. And now, with his half-smile etched in my mind and the ghost of his kiss on my lips, nothing would ever be the same.
I curled up on the bed, my heart pounding like a war drum, wondering if the doorbell would ring again. If he'd come in. If I'd let him. Panic and excitement tangled in my belly, an impossible knot to untie. Suddenly, the headache wasn't my biggest problem anymore. It was him. Now it had been him.