Page 22 of Kane

She tilted her chin up, bold as ever. “Should I?”

“You should be begging to get out.”

“Then I guess you’ve made it too comfortable to get the reaction you want.”

A muscle ticked in my jaw. She was still in one of my shirts—even though she had her own clothes. That shouldn’t have made my gut tighten the way it did. But it fucking did. I liked how she looked in my clothes way too fucking much.

“You have a smart mouth,” I said, voice tight. “But you’re not saying anything useful.”

“Maybe I don’t know anything useful.” She leaned in, eyes burning into mine. “Or maybe I don’t feel like helping my kidnapper. Maybe I want you to leave me alone!”

I growled. “Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Her eyes were full of sass, making me as hard as a rock.

“As though you want me to kiss you again.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, then silence fell thick and hot between us. Her eyes flicked to my mouth, just for a second—but it was enough.

I growled low in my throat and yanked her up out of the chair, one arm banded around her waist as I crushed my mouth to hers.

There was no patience. No finesse. Just fire, need, and two days of wanting her so badly that I could barely think straight. She gasped against my lips, her fingers curling into my shirt. When I licked into her mouth, she opened for me like I fucking owned her.

And fuck, I wanted to.

My free hand buried in her hair, tilting her head back so I could devour her properly. Her body arched into mine as though she couldn’t get close enough. Her mouth was hot, wet, and so damn perfect.

She moaned—soft, high-pitched, helpless. It nearly snapped the frayed rope hanging onto my control.

I jerked back with a groan, and every muscle in my body coiled tight with restraint. Her lips were swollen, her breath came in ragged little pants, and her eyes—fuck, her eyes—were pure fire.

She made a little mewl of protest, and I firmly shook my head. “Told you, sugar,” I rasped, “not making that choice for you. When we fuck, it’ll be because you’re beggin’ for it. So you can’t pretend in the morning that I made you do something you didn’t want.”

She stared at me, chest heaving. And I knew—knew—if I stayed another second, I’d throw that shit out the window and take her right there.

So I tore myself away. Stalked to the door with every nerve in my body on fire. I slammed it behind me, locked it, and barreled down the hall, boots heavy on the hardwood, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

I couldn’t breathe. Could barely fucking think. She had me twisted up in knots. Me.

Son of a fucking bitch!

When I stormed into my office, Edge was there, booted feet up on my desk like he owned the fuckin’ place. Jackass.

He raised a brow. “Well, look who decided to stop brooding in his tower.”

“Fuck off. And feet off my desk before I rip ’em off and you have nothing to push a fucking gas pedal with.”

He grinned and dropped his boots to the floor. “You've been a moody bastard lately. Been wondering if someone keyed your bike. Or if you’re all twisted up over a blonde with a smart mouth.”

I threw myself into the chair behind my desk and dragged both hands down my face. “Not in the mood.”

“That’s the problem.” Edge leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “You’re all wound up. You’re gonna snap and put a hole in the wall. Or someone’s face.”

I didn’t respond. Just stared at the grain in the wood like it had answers. He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t gonna tell my brother that. He was already smug enough.

He let the silence hang for a minute before adding, “You either need to fuck her or you need to race.”

My head snapped up, eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk about her like that.”