Page 27 of Erotic Temptations 2

I flopped down, heart in my throat, feeling my pulse everywhere but where it belonged. The bed creaked but held steady. Kane scooted closer. I could smell his cologne now. Something green, fresh, and faintly sharp.

Boxes still crowded the walls, but the space felt smaller, more intimate, now that we’d conquered the main event.

Kane cracked his knuckles. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“I hope so,” I said. “Otherwise, those cookies are going to put me out of commission by New Year’s.”

He grinned, then rolled off the bed and pointed at the nearest box. “Books. You still good to help?”

“If I say no, do I lose my cookie privileges?”

“You’d lose a lot more than that.” His eyes sparkled, his voice lower.

That should not have short-circuited me as much as it did.

We dug into the rest of the boxes, side by side. Four, five, maybe a dozen cardboard cartons. Kane’s tastes ran to old books, art supplies, and a couple of baseball gloves that looked properly broken in.

There were photos, too. His granddad and a younger dude I figured was Kane, plus a few tacked together with magnets on the mini-fridge. Kane lined up the books by color, then by type, every now and then pausing to ask if I’d read anything by a particular author.

I always pretended I had.

He folded his things precisely but didn’t fuss if I jammed hangers or wrinkled a sleeve. He didn’t fill the silence. Just handed me shirts, pants, and random memorabilia.

Sometimes, Kane touched my arm. Once, our heads bumped reaching for the same lamp cord. Each time, the warmth lingered, traveling through me.

It became the most natural thing in the world to lean against him on the couch when we needed a break, legs tangled, sharing cookies straight from the plate.

He moved a box filled with more books with one arm, barely straining. I nearly threw my back out trying to get the same box across the carpet.

Kane didn’t make fun of me, just raised a brow and watched me struggle. When I dropped the box, he caught it before it hit my toes. His hand landed on my hip, steadying me.

“Careful,” he said, voice low. “Told you already you gotta be gentle with yourself.”

By the time the sun vanished behind a wall of slate-grey clouds, the place was transformed. Kane’s bed was made, books lined up, and art prints hung.

The only evidence of the earlier chaos was a stack of crushed boxes by the front door.

We stood there, side by side, admiring our work. Kane nudged my shoulder, eyes dark, smile lazy. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Says the guy who did all the heavy lifting.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You kept things fun.” His hand brushed the small of my back.

My heart hammered. For once, the urge to bolt didn’t win.

Kane bent, slow and unhurried, until our faces were inches apart. His hand found my jaw, thumb pressing under my chin.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t. His nose bumped mine.

Warm lips pressed against mine. The spark was real, electric, melting rational thought and leaving just need. I made a noise that sounded a lot like hunger.

He kissed me again, deeper now, tongue teasing the seam. I opened for him, hands braced on his shoulders, and let him take control.

The world narrowed to that moment. The taste of his mouth. The strength in his hands. I wanted more. I wanted everything.

Kane drew back, lips curving. “Been wanting to do that since I saw you that first night.”

“Yeah?” My voice came out ragged. “Since G-69?”