Page 169 of Fractured Devotion
By the time I reach Kade’s apartment building, the sky has turned completely black, the air thick with that particular stillness that comes before something irreversible.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, counting each step like a prayer.
When I reach his floor, I pause outside his door, my hand hovering just above the wood.
My chest tightens, not with fear, but with certainty.
I knock, slow and steady.
Seconds later, the door opens, and Kade stands there, looking every bit the predator I know him to be—relaxed, amused, and dangerously in control.
“Right on time,” he says, stepping aside to let me in.
I enter without a word, the door clicking shut behind me.
His apartment is dimly lit, the air laced with the scent of something sharp and metallic beneath his cologne.
He watches me cross the room, his gaze trailing me like a physical touch.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he murmurs.
“I said I would,” I reply, my voice cool, but inside, everything tightens.
He steps closer, closing the distance with a pace meant to make me feel every inch of the closing gap. “And you always keep your word,” he says softly, tilting his head to study me.
“Tonight,” I whisper, meeting his gaze without flinching, “we both get what we want.”
He smiles at that—dark, knowing, and dangerous. “Then let’s not waste time,” he says.
And neither of us does.
The air in his apartment thickens as he closes the space between us completely. I don’t retreat. I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze with steady defiance.
He raises a hand, his fingers brushing lightly along my jaw, his touch an intentional taunt.
“Still fearless,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the corner of my mouth. “Still dangerous.”
I let him touch, let him savor it. Let him believe he still has the upper hand.
“You like dangerous things,” I remind him, my voice a soft sting.
He smiles, wicked and dark. “I do. Especially when they come looking for me.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me in close. His breath is warm against my lips.
“Why now, Celeste?” he asks, the question sinking deeper than the words themselves.
I know what he wants.
To hear me say it.
To hear me name the hunger that’s been building between us since the moment I first let him close.
But I don’t give him what he wants.
Instead, I reach up, curling my fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth to mine.
The kiss isn’t soft.
