Page 51

Nic

I wake up aching.

Not the delicious soreness after Kai has spent hours taking me apart. No, this is an emptiness that's been building for fourteen days.

Not that I'm counting.

Fourteen days since Kai killed David. And fourteen days since he's been inside me.

The space beside me is cold, the sheets rumpled but long abandoned. My fingers drift to his pillow, inhaling his scent— that addictive mix of summer grass after rain. My body reacts instantly, a Pavlovian response I can't control.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

This is getting ridiculous.

Every morning for two weeks, I've woken up wet and wanting, and every morning, Kai has given me just enough to keep me desperate.

He kisses me until I can't breathe, then gets me off with just his fingers, sometimes barely touching me—a brush against my nipples, his palm on my ass, his breath between my thighs. Then he showers and leaves me trembling, half-satisfied and utterly confused.

It feels like punishment. But for what? For making him kill a man? For almost getting raped?

Beside the bed, a note sits propped against the lamp in Kai's precise handwriting:

Making breakfast. Take your time. -K

I snort. Like hell I will. If he thinks I'm going to take another day of this torturous half-intimacy, he's out of his goddamn mind.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and stand, stretching muscles that feel both tense and liquid. The house hums with morning activity—cabinet doors opening downstairs, the twins' voices, a burst of laughter that sounds like Bea.

My sister has been staying for the weekend, another piece in this strange domestic puzzle we've constructed in the aftermath.

The aftermath. Such a clean word for such a bloody mess.

Sometimes I still can't believe it. Kai killed his childhood friend and his sister's fiancé with his bare hands. And yet the world has moved on as if David Frayne simply evaporated. No media circus. No police investigation.

I understand why, of course. The Bratva’s involvement with CX3 means discretion benefits everyone who wants to keep their heads.

I think of it as a three-way gang bang of the Valencia police. Between Kai’s legal team, the Aldridges, and the Bratva, there was no way the police or media could even try to launch an investigation, let alone breathe David Frayne’s name. He vanished without a fucking trace.

The police got their drug bust without the messy PR of a serial killer.

The Aldridges and the Bratva got their Joystick line out of scrutiny.

Lana was spared the public humiliation of having loved a monster.

Kai wasn’t arrested or even questioned.

And I didn’t have to testify to my attempted rape and murder.

Everyone won.

So why does it feel like something fundamental has shifted beneath our feet?

I catch sight of myself in the mirror—hair a mess, eyes too bright, cheeks flushed. I look feverish. Hungry. My fingers trace the faint marks on my throat, almost completely faded now. The physical evidence is disappearing.

But inside my head, it’s all still there.

David’s hands around my neck. The smell of sweat and rage and helplessness. The way my body locked up—not from pain, but from the awful certainty that I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

And Kai.

Kai’s eyes—empty, animal, terrifying. His hands drenched in blood. I should be horrified. I should be sickened by all of it. Instead, I just want him to ruin me.

What does that say about me? Yep. I’m infinitely more fucked up than I thought.

I ought to stop feeling sorry for Lana and check myself into therapy. Maybe drag Bea along too while I’m at it—she might be messed up, too. After all, I did to her exactly what Kai did to Lana. At this rate, Barry Thorne might be the only sane person in my circle. Which is saying a lot.

I shake my head, pushing away the spiraling thoughts. Kai leaves tonight for his book tour in Chicago, and I’ll be damned if I let him go without claiming what’s mine.

I head to his closet instead of mine, drawn to the row of crisp shirts he never wears hanging in perfect order. I pull off my sleep shirt and shrug on a white one.

My fingers drift along the shelves, touching his things, taking small pleasures in these intimate invasions of his space. He'd call it bratty. I call it necessary.

At the back of his closet, behind a stack of sweaters, my fingers brush against something metallic. A small black box. My breath catches as I flip it open.

The nipple clamps from Gstaad. The ones I told him I wasn’t ready for.

I swallow hard. Am I ready for them now? Or just desperate enough to force his hand?

Before I can second-guess myself, I strip off my sleep shirt and fasten them in place. A sharp breath—then a slow exhale as the pain melts into something else, something deeper. The chain between them sways lightly, teasing with each movement.

I pull on Kai’s shirt, leaving the top buttons undone, the fabric brushing against the sensitive peaks. The dull ache thrums through me, an exquisite reminder of what I need.

What I need him to take.

A final glance in the mirror. I look normal. But if he knows what to look for, he’ll see.

Let’s see him ignore me now.

Gritting my teeth, I head down the stairs with each step sending a jolt through my sensitized breasts. The chain between the clamps sways gently, creating a rhythm of pleasure-pain that makes it hard to focus on anything but the space between my thighs.

The house is alive with morning sounds—the twins arguing over something in the living room, the clatter of plates, and beneath it all, Kai's low voice giving instructions.

Lana's home has become a sanctuary of support since everything happened. Manny has refused to go back to Auckland, preferring to miss another round of radiotherapy. The twins are being homeschooled for the rest of the term.

Nobody said it aloud, but it made sense—Lana has a deep-seated fear of being alone. We figured the best way to reassure her is to keep everyone close to her. And pretend everything's normal.

I pause at the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene. Kai stands at the stove, his back to me, spatula in hand as he flips what looks like perfectly golden French toast. He's wearing a simple gray t-shirt that clings to the muscles of his shoulders and back, paired with dark jeans that hang just right on his hips. Just looking at him makes my mouth water.

At the kitchen island, Manny—Professor Keoni—sits with his newspaper spread out before him, tiny reading glasses perched on his nose. Probably the most surprising thing about the last few weeks has been getting to know him.

He’s an odd fixture in our lives—Kai’s father’s brother, who moved in from Auckland one day with no explanation and simply . . . stayed. He adopted Lana. Took on the role of father. And yet, for all his quiet wisdom, he remains something of a mystery.

"The stock market is being pessimistic again,” he announces to no one in particular. "Always thinking the worst will happen. But the worst is rarely what we expect."

Kai responds with a grunt that says he's heard enough cryptic observations for one morning.

"Good morning,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

Kai turns, spatula still in hand, and his eyes find mine instantly. They drop to take in his shirt on my body, and something dark and possessive flashes across his face. He knows exactly what message I'm sending.

"Morning,” he says, voice low and controlled. Too controlled.

Manny glances between us, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, Nic. You look . . . energetic this morning."

I swear the man can see through walls. Can probably see the nipple clamps beneath my shirt.

“Hey, Manny!” I beam at him.

"Coffee?” Kai asks, already reaching for a mug.

"Please.” I move into the kitchen, careful to keep my posture relaxed despite the constant stimulation with every movement. As I pass Kai to reach for the cream, I deliberately run my fingertips along his forearm.

His hand catches my wrist but as if realizing what he’s done, instantly drops it. "Careful,” he murmurs, so softly only I can hear.

Something hot and desperate claws at my throat. Why is does he doing this?

He knows I like to be touched. And he always gives me what I need. Except these past two weeks.

Maybe that’s his own way of dealing with things: control.

He passes a steaming mug to me, careful not to let our fingers touch, and a sick wave of panic rises in my chest. If I can’t have those grounding, reassuring touches or be with him fully in bed . . . how the hell am I supposed drown this constant restlessness?

I take a breath, then slide into my seat next to Bea. The chains between my breasts jostle as I sit, and bolts of pleasure-pain shoots into my nipples. I take a gulp of coffee to hide my moan, but my hands are trembling.

Manny makes a small sound that might be a chuckle. "The air is very charged today. Like before a storm."

"It's perfectly clear outside,” Kai says flatly.

"Not all storms are in the sky, nephew."

Okay. Teasing him in front of his friends worked a treat in Gstaad. Why the fuck did I think it was a good idea to try this in front of family?

The twins burst into the kitchen before Kai can respond, both talking over each other in that special way only siblings can manage.

"Uncle Kai, can we use the pool after breakfast?” Lucas asks.

"Ask your mother,” Kai says, smoothly transferring the last piece of French toast to a platter.

"Ask me what?” Lana glides into the kitchen, followed by Bea.

My sister is in weekend mode, her purple streaked waves hair piled on top of her head. She’s wearing one of my old college sweatshirts. My heart breaks at the sight of Lana, in white linen pants, a pale blue blouse, her dark hair swept into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She’s trying too hard to hold herself together.

"Mom, can we swim after breakfast?” the twins ask in unison.

Lana's smile is picture-perfect. "Of course, but only if you eat everything on your plates.” She crosses to the refrigerator, extracting a pitcher of orange juice. "Good morning, everyone. Nic, I see you've joined the land of the living."

There's the faintest edge to her voice, so subtle I might be imagining it. But I've noticed it more and more lately—tiny barbs wrapped in cotton.

"Barely,” I say, lifting my coffee cup in salute. "But your brother's coffee might just save me."

"His coffee is what people in Auckland would call dishwater,” Manny says solemnly.

Kai rolls his eyes. "If you don't like it, make your own."

"And deny myself the pleasure of criticism? Never."

Bea laughs, dropping into a seat at the table. "Mealtime in this house is like a sitcom, but with better looking people."

"And more intriguing backstories,” Manny adds with a secret smile.

I catch a flicker of tension in Lana's shoulders before she turns, all sunshine again.

"Let's eat while it's hot,” she says. "Boys, sit. Bea, would you mind pouring the juice?"

We settle around the table—a strange family tableau. Lana at one end, Kai at the other, the twins on one side, Bea, Manny and me on the other.

It would look normal to anyone peering through the window. It almost feels normal, until I remember that two weeks ago, Lana was planning a wedding to a man her brother beat to death, and she, in return, gifted him a wound that needed four stitches to close.

The conversation flows around me as I try to focus on anything but the pressure on my nipples. Each movement sends shocks through my system—and not entirely pleasurable. I shift in my seat, catching Kai's eye across the table. He raises an eyebrow, the smallest acknowledgment.

"Nic, you've barely touched your food,” Lana observes, passing the syrup. "Aren't you hungry?"

I spear a piece of French toast, trying to maintain my composure even as I feel a sheen of sweat dot my upper lip. Shit. It’s starting to hurt. "Ravenous."

The first bite hits my stomach with an unexpected wave of nausea. I manage to swallow, but it's a close thing.

"You’re all flushed, Nicole,” Kai raises a teasing eyebrow. “Sure you’re okay?”

I take a sip of coffee, trying to settle my stomach, and to my horror, I retch.

Managing to catch it in time before bathing the table in vomit, I take another large sip. "I'm . . . fine."

"Or maybe just a little . . .” Bea coughs, “. . . pregnant?” Bea continues ripping into her French toast as if she hasn't just dropped a nuclear bomb into the middle of breakfast.

The silence is deafening. Then—

"WHAT?” everyone shouts in unison.

I glare at my sister, who has the audacity to look confused by our reaction.

"What? Oh, you haven’t told anyone yet?” she asks innocently. “Oops.”

The twins begin bouncing in their seats and chanting, "Uncle Kai's having a baby! Uncle Kai's having a baby!” clearly missing the biological impossibility of their statement.

Lana's face has gone completely still, her coffee cup frozen halfway to her lips. The look in her eyes—I can't quite place it. Shock, certainly. But something else . . . hurt?

"Guys, guys. Bea’s just stirring an empty pot. I'm not pregnant,” I say firmly, but my mind is racing.

When was my last period? I've been so caught up in everything that's happened, I've lost track. And yes, I've missed pills here and there. And we haven’t always used condoms—much less in recent times. Not that he's fucked me in sixteen days, so there’s that.

"You sure about that?” Bea asks, studying my face. "Because you've got that queasy, glowy thing going on."

"Beatrice,” I hiss, "wind your neck in. I am not pregnant."

Kai hasn't said a word. He's watching me across the table like I'm naked and spread out before him—intense, focused, assessing.

Manny clears his throat. "Life has its own timing. It creates when creation is necessary."

"So not helping, Manny,” I mutter and he beams as if I just paid him a compliment.

I try another bite of food, forcing it down past the knot in my throat. The too-tight nipple clamps shift with my movement, sending another wave of nausea through my already overwhelmed system. Between the possibility of pregnancy and Kai's scorching gaze, I'm losing my grip on composure.

"Excuse me,” I say, pushing back from the table. "I need a minute."

I practically flee the kitchen, feeling Kai's eyes on my back the whole way.

I’m in the bathroom, head spinning, needing to take off the clamps but also too keyed up—too afraid to touch it. I feel like my breasts might explode with the lightest touch

But pregnant? That’s . . . impossible

The door opens behind me. I turn to see Kai framed in the doorway, his expression unreadable. In one hand, he holds a small box.

"Lana had a spare,” he says, holding up what I now recognize as a pregnancy test.

Of course she did. Perfect Lana, prepared for every eventuality.

"I don't need that,” I say automatically, but we both know it's a lie.

He enters the bathroom fully, closing the door behind him. "Take it anyway."

“I’m busy. Give me a minute”

“Now.”

It's not a request. It's pure dom voice, the one that expects immediate compliance. After two weeks of distance, the sudden shift in his demeanor makes me shiver.

"Kai—"

"We both need to know,” he says, softer now. "Take the test, Nicole."

I take the box from him, our fingers brushing. Even that small contact sends electricity through me. "Fine. Give me a minute.

Kai laughs as if I just cracked a joke, then shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m good right here.”

“What, you’re going to watch me pee?” I demand, glaring at Kai as I clutch the test in one hand.

“Yep.” Kai leans against the bathroom counter, arms crossed, his smirk infuriatingly calm.

“What am I going to do, doctor the results?”

I huff but relent, the pain in my breasts winning out. The sooner I do the test, the sooner he can leave and I can take off my failed attempt to seduce him.

Red-faced, I do what I need to, my mortification only growing when Kai takes the stick from me, then sets the test on the counter. Kai leans against the vanity, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that same intense focus from the breakfast table.

He nods, eyes traveling over me. "You're wearing my shirt."

"Great. You noticed."

"I notice everything about you.” His voice drops lower. "Including how you've been squirming all morning."

"I haven't been—"

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist and pulling me toward him. I collide with his chest, gasping as the impact sends another wave of pain and pleasure through me.

"What are you hiding, Nic?” His fingers move to the buttons of the shirt, methodically undoing them one by one. "What's got you so worked up you can't even eat breakfast?"

I should push his hands away. We're waiting on a pregnancy test, for god's sake. But I've been starving for his touch for sixteen days, and I'm beyond rational thought.

"Take it off, please,” I whisper.

He opens the shirt, spreading it wide, and freezes.

The silver chain gleams against my skin, connecting the two clamps that have turned my nipples into hard, red, aching points. His breathing changes, becoming deeper, more controlled.

"You put these on yourself.” It's not a question.

I nod, unable to form words under the intensity of his gaze.

"Do you have any idea,” he says slowly, one finger tracing the chain, "how fucking dangerous these can be if you don't know what you're doing?"

A thrill runs through me—fear and arousal tangled together. "I got clued up pretty quickly."

Something snaps in his control. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and fierce. His hands cup my breasts, the unbearable pressure on the clamps making me cry out against his lips.

"Is this what you need?” he growls, gently tugging the chain, and I want to scream. "To push me? To make me lose control?"

"Yes,” I gasp. "You've been keeping me at arm's length for weeks. I can't—I need—"

He silences me with another kiss, deep and consuming. His hands move to my hips, lifting me onto the counter beside the sink. My legs part automatically, and he steps between them, pressing against my core.

"I've been giving you time to heal,” he says against my throat. "Time to process what happened. What I did."

"I don't need time. I need you.”

His hands slide up my thighs, finding me bare beneath his shirt. "Fuck, Nicole,” he groans, fingers stroking through my wetness. "You're soaked."

"I've been like this all morning,” I confess, arching into his touch. "The clamps—every movement—"

He slips two fingers inside me, his thumb circling my clit. "You think I didn't notice? You think I couldn't tell exactly what was happening under my shirt?” His voice is dark velvet. "I could smell you clear across the table."

I should be embarrassed, but I'm too far gone. His fingers move inside me, curling to hit that perfect spot while his thumb draws tight circles. It's too much and not enough.

"Kai, please take it off—"

“Trust me.”

His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. He sucks hard at the pulse point, marking me, while his fingers work faster, deeper.

"You want me?” he asks roughly. ” After what you saw me do to David?"

There it is—the real issue. Not my injuries. Not giving me time. He thinks I'm afraid of him.

"I want all of you,” I say, clutching at his shoulders. "The man who makes breakfast for his baby sister. The man who makes me come with his voice alone. And yes, the man who would kill to protect what's his."

Something breaks in his expression. He withdraws his fingers, unfastening his jeans with urgent movements, and then he's positioning himself at my entrance.

"Trust me,” he says, again, tracing the chain of the clamps.

I bite my lip and meet his gaze and nod.

He thrusts home in one powerful stroke, filling me completely. The sensation after so long without him is overwhelming—pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I cry out, my inner walls clenching around him.

"Fuck,” he growls, forehead pressed to mine. "So tight. So perfect."

He begins to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has me clinging to him, gasping with each thrust as the chain swings between my breasts, the pleasure pain sending bolts of pure sensation straight to my core. I'm already close, teetering on the edge after hours of arousal.

"Kai—I'm going to—"

"Not yet,” he commands, slowing his thrusts. "Look at me."

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze. What I see there steals my breath—hunger, yes, but also raw vulnerability.

He seats himself fully inside me and stills. "I would kill for you again. I would burn the world down for you. Nothing changes that."

"I know,” I whisper.

Suddenly, he takes off the clamps. I scream at the sensation returning to my nipples, shooting straight to where he’s filling me. That's all it takes. I shatter around him, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cry out his name again and again.

He follows moments later, his release triggering aftershocks in my own body. We cling to each other, sweaty and breathless, as reality slowly filters back in.

I turn my head slightly and see the pregnancy test on the counter beside us.

One line.

Negative.

I don’t realize I’m crying until Kai’s thumb brushes a tear from my cheek.

"Hey,” he murmurs. "What’s this?"

"I—” My voice breaks. "I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s negative. That’s good, right? We’re not ready. We haven’t even talked about—"

Still deep inside me, his hands frame my face, thumbs stroking gently over my cheeks. "You wanted it to be positive."

The words settle between us, unspoken truth made real. I open my mouth—to deny it, to explain it—but nothing comes out.

"I don’t know,” I whisper finally. "Maybe. I just—I want you so much."

"You have me,” he chuckles, still holding my face. "All of me."

I let out a shaky breath. "Not these past two weeks."

Kai closes his eyes for a brief second, then shakes his head. "I was worried you’d look at me and see a monster. That you’d realize what I’m capable of and want to run."

I take his face in my hands. "I’ve seen you, Kai. And I’m staying."

Something in him unravels. His forehead drops to mine. "I wanted you even while you were living with another man.” His voice turns rough as he starts to move again. "I won’t let you go, Nicole. Not even if you wanted someone else."

"I don’t want anyone else,” I gasp as the pleasure builds again. "It’s only ever been you."

We move together, the second time slower, deeper—like sealing something unspoken between us. And when we shatter this time, it’s not just an orgasm. It’s a promise.

After, Kai holds me against him, his heartbeat steady under my ear. He strokes my hair tenderly. "We’ll try again, soon."

My chest tightens. "You mean that?"

He tilts my chin up, eyes locked on mine. "Of course.” His hand presses against my lower belly, warm and grounding. "Whenever you’re ready."

A lump forms in my throat, but this time, the tears don’t fall. I no longer feel empty.

Kai helps me off the counter, steadies me when my legs wobble. We clean up in silence, fixing our clothes. Before we leave the bathroom, Kai pauses, his hand on the doorknob.

"Do you want to go home?"

I blink up at him. "What?"

"I can get you away from all of this,” he repeats, searching my face. "I’ll ditch the book tour and take you home. Surely you can take a few weeks off school. You could even finish your degree online. Or fly in every other week . . . Whatever you want, it's up to you."

I shake my head as if to get rid of the cobwebs. “Wait, are you asking me to . . . move in with you? To Gstaad?”

Kai leans against the door and drags me into him. “When I took you there weeks ago, did you think you were just visiting?” He murmurs against my temple. “That is your home. Those are your friends. This is your man. Everything I have . . . it would be my honor to give to you, Nicole. If you want it.”

I suck in a sharp breath. The idea of escaping the ghosts, of deepening real, wholesome connections, of being wrapped in nothing but him, of being his partner, not his dirty little secret—the offer is tempting, so tempting.

But Lana needs us.

I bite my lip, shaking my head. "I do. God, I’d love that. But we can’t. Not yet."

Kai doesn’t push. He just nods, understanding without needing me to explain. He opens the door, and leads me back into the world.

As we head down the hall toward the chaos of family breakfast, I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve turned some kind of corner. That after all the blood and wreckage, we might actually have a future.