Page 11 of Kept
"Then tell me." Kade's touch on his face stayed achingly gentle, but his voice carried command. "Tell me all the reasons I should throw you out."
"I'm weak." The words poured out like a confession. "I can't fight. I'm too soft. Too emotional. Too needy. I want—" He broke off.
"You want what?"
Eli's eyes squeezed shut. "Things I shouldn't."
"Like what?" Kade's voice was dark, knowing. His thumb stroked Eli's cheek, the gesture tender even as his body vibrated with barely contained violence—not toward Eli, never toward Eli, but toward anyone who'd ever made him feel like his needs were too much. "You want to be kept? Owned? Used?"
"Yes," Eli breathed, unconsciously swaying toward Kade even though they were barely touching. "Please, yes."
The boy was offering everything, laid bare and vulnerable and so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at. Kade’s wolf was going mad with the need to claim, to mark, to possess. But the human part, the part that could see how fragile Eli was, how much trust this took—that part kept his hand gentle on Eli's face.
"What if I'm too much?" Eli asked, his eyes fluttering shut. One last barrier to set aside. "What if I need too much?"
Kade’s inner wolf howled. “Then I'll give you what you need."
5
Eli knew the stories.Everyone did. Wolves could hear your pulse stutter from across a room. They could smell arousal like rain, track fear like blood. A growl that put you on your knees. A bite that marked. A knot that locked you full. Possessive of what was theirs.
When Kade had first stepped into the doorway, those rumors rose like a tide. Eli’s first thought was treasonous:let it all be true.
Outside, somewhere far—then not far—a howl rolled up the street.
Eli went rigid, every line of him tight.
Kade crossed to the window. Big hands tested each latch—soft clicks, metal on metal. The pads of his fingers were rough; Eli could imagine the rasp of them, the way those calluses would feel on softer skin.
“Fucking idiots,” was all Kade said, low enough the window heard it more than Eli.
The cut of it made Eli flinch—then settle.Not at me. Right.
Kade’s back stayed to him. Atlas shoulders under a thin shirt, neck muscles drawing tight. He scented the air, nostrils flaring. The line of his waistband caught the light when he shifted.
So did the shape in front of it. Unmistakable. Bold beneath dark fabric.
He was hard.
It should have scared Eli. It didn’t. Heat flashed low and clean through him.
Kade turned. Gold eyes found him and held. His pupils ate the room. Hunger lived there, yes, but something steadier too. “You’re shaking.”
Eli hadn’t noticed until then. Not just his hands—all of him. A fine, high tremor like a guitar string tuned too tight. He tried to stop it. It sang instead. Under the fear, under the habit of being small, something else burned.
Desire. The word he’d made himself swallow for years. Don’t look. Don’t linger. Don’t get caught wanting. Scott had laughed it out of him and smacked the rest into hiding. Be louder. Be meaner.
Be anything but who you are, because that's not good enough.
Kade walked toward him. Slow. Silent. He stopped when his thighs met the mattress. Those eyes dipped once, hungry, then his hand came up.
He didn’t grab. He waited. His fingers curled like they knew exactly how to hold and exactly how to break—and were waiting on a yes.
Eli froze. Then tipped his face into the heat.
Skin on skin. A rasp of callus along his jaw. It burned and steadied at once. Kade’s hand smelled faintly of cedar and machine oil and the sweet-gone-sour tang of sweat dried on cotton.
“You’re cold,” Kade said. He took Eli’s hands, those warm palms closing around cold fingers.
