Chapter 23: Twenty-Three

Vivian's Pov

The ride back was silent.

Not quiet—silent.

That kind of thick, heavy silence that weighed on my skin like heat, like tension that never got to explode. I sat with my legs clenched tight, body aching in every spot Kade touched and every place he hadn’t.

My lips were sore from his kiss, my thighs sticky and desperate, and he—he just gripped the wheel like he hadn’t wrecked me from the inside out.

His knuckles were still white.

So were mine.

We didn’t look at each other. Not once.

When the car finally rolled up to the house, headlights slicing through the darkness, I unbuckled and jumped out before the engine even stopped. I heard the door slam behind me. Heard Finn’s voice first:

“Yo—why was she with you?”

Then Sebastian. Sharper. Closer.

“Kade, what the fuck happened?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t care what story he told them. I didn’t care if he lied. All I cared about was the heat between my thighs that hadn’t gone away. Not even a little.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, yanked open my bedroom door, and slammed it shut behind me.

Locked it.

Leaned against it, heart pounding. My breathing was shallow—needy. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. But I was drenched. Ruined. Still aching from the denial he left me with. Like he’d etched the orgasm into my body and stolen it right before it could take over.

My hoodie was too hot. My jeans were suffocating. My skin burned.

I tugged everything off in seconds—hoodie, tank, bra. Everything. My nipples were hard, sensitive, almost painful. I cupped one in my palm and whimpered at the feel.

Then I slid a hand down between my legs.

My pussy was soaked. Slick. My folds sticky and swollen. I was sensitive as hell—just one drag of my finger down my slit made my knees buckle. I staggered back onto the bed, sprawling across it like I couldn’t take another second of not being touched.

I dragged two fingers up and down, slow, then faster. Pressed into my clit and nearly cried.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

I imagined it was him.

His voice in my ear. “You’re shaking. You’re dripping. Say it.”

My fingers pumped faster, messier, circling and teasing and pressing deep. I twisted them the way he had—just like he’d done in the car, curling and rubbing that spot inside me that made my back arch off the sheets.

My free hand found my breast and squeezed, pinched my nipple hard—hard enough to make my hips buck.

I moaned. My thighs started to tremble. I spread them wider and imagined him there, on his knees, watching me fall apart. Smirking while I writhed for him.

“Good girl. Keep going. Don’t stop unless I say so.”

My fingers worked harder, wetter sounds filling the room. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. My stomach clenched, my legs locked up—

And then I came.

Hard.

The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. My whole body convulsed. My fingers didn’t stop moving, milking it out as wave after wave tore through me. My toes curled. My eyes rolled back. And when it was finally over, I let out a long, broken breath.

My chest heaved. My skin was flushed. And my pussy was still twitching.

I blinked up at the ceiling, dazed.

Holy. Shit.

I came to the thought of him.

I hadn’t even said a word. Just imagined his voice. His hands. His command.

And it destroyed me.

I lay there a minute longer, skin tingling, mind foggy. My legs were still a little open, thighs slick with arousal and release, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips.

He said he’d make me beg.

But I’d already given him more than that.

I rolled onto my side and grabbed my phone. My fingers trembled slightly as I tapped out a call. It rang once. Twice.

Then:

“Viv?” Sarah’s voice crackled on the other end.

I didn't wait. I opened my Notes app, typed fast, and read aloud in a whisper, voice still hoarse:

“I met him.”

There was a pause.

“Wait. Who—? Vivian… Oh my God. Him?”

I smiled faintly, even as heat surged again low in my belly.

She had no idea.

But I did.

I met him.

My skin still hummed. Every nerve felt like it had been kissed awake by him.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Even after the orgasm faded, I felt strung out, stretched thin, like I’d been pulled apart and left that way—undone, unmade, and not even sorry about it. My thighs still twitched. My fingers were slick. I could taste him in my imagination, on my tongue, as if I had sucked him down and swallowed his growl whole.

God.

I shouldn’t have wanted him like this.

But I did. So fucking bad, it scared me.

I reached down again, tentative at first. My fingers brushed the swollen mess between my legs and I whimpered. Sensitive. Raw. But still—wanting.

I imagined his teeth on my neck. His breath hot against my skin. His voice, velvet-wrapped filth, saying things that made my spine curl and my cunt clench.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

I moaned out loud. A shaky, desperate sound I couldn’t hold back.

What was this? Obsession? Madness? Lust? It didn’t matter. I was possessed. Fully and completely. Not just by his hands or his voice, but by the space he now occupied in my head. Like he’d carved out a throne and settled in.

I hadn’t even seen his face properly when he dropped me off. Hadn’t spoken a word to him. But my body remembered. My body fucking ached.

And it wasn’t just the orgasm. It was the denial. The fact that he had taken me right to the edge and stopped. Like he knew I’d fall apart without him. Like he wanted me ruined.

And he got exactly what he wanted.

I wanted to call him. Text him. March into his room and make him finish what he started.

Would he let me?

Would he pin me down and fuck me until I forgot my own name?

Would he whisper those same filthy promises in my ear while using my body like it belonged to him?

A part of me hoped not.

A bigger part hoped yes.

I dragged the edge of my blanket over my body, the fabric coarse against my bare skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was. I closed my eyes and replayed every second of that car ride—the way his fingers moved inside me, the dominance in his grip, the way he never even looked ashamed of what he was doing.

The way I wasn’t, either.

Shame didn’t belong in this. It was too late for that. I was already corrupted.

And he was the only one who could touch me now.

No one else would ever be enough.

Not after him.

I curled in on myself, hand resting low on my stomach, heat still bloom

ing under my skin like a bruise.

I didn’t know what was happening.

But I knew this much:

Kade touched me once.

And now I was completely, helplessly, fucked.