Page 68 of Pack Owned
The ghost of her touch burns me from the inside out, the echo of her voice in my ears, her scent. I know this waiting game is one I have to win. For her. For us.
But fuck, it’s the worst torture.
CHAPTER 22
KAYLA
Dane’s left me alone in my bedroom, but his scent of cedar and cinnamon fills me, and I wish I’d asked him to stay.
The dream still lingers in my mind, vivid and tantalizing, where my lips touched theirs—Dane’s, Liam’s, Ryker’s. It felt so real, the heat of their mouths, the press of their strong bodies.
A shiver runs through me as I remember the weight of Dane’s gaze as he handed me the breakfast tray. When his fingers brushed against my bare leg, it was a simple accident, nothing like the sickening touches from my stepdad—no flinching, no clenching stomach. Instead, there was this odd flutter inside me.
I’m perched on the bed, knees hugged to my chest, arms locked around them. God, I’m pathetic. But that touch... it wasn’t just skin on skin. Nuh-uh. There was that moment when I grabbed Dane’s hand to steady the tray, his skin against mine. Boom. Fireworks. His warmth seeped into me, alive and electric, zinging up my arm and settling low in my gut.
How the hell can something so tiny flip my world upside down? It’s absurd. Ridiculous. Terrifying.
I should be wary, guarded—I know that much—but with Dane, it’s different. The way he looks at me doesn’t set off alarms; it sets off fireworks, and I can’t decide if I want to run toward them or bolt in the opposite direction.
My gaze drifts to the door. I could walk out right now, march down those stupidly grand stairs, and... what? Face Dane? Face all three of them?
The thought hits me like a sucker punch, leaving me breathless with both a thrill and dread. I flop back, sprawling across the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling’s intricate moldings. This place is a freaking mausoleum of silence, but my brain? It’s a mosh pit of chaos.
My nails dig into my palms as I wrestle with indecision.
“You’re not some scared little girl anymore, Kayla.” Who am I kidding? I’m terrified—of these feelings, of what they might do to me if I let them loose.
The mattress dips underneath me as I squirm, restless. Dane’s scent clings to the sheets and smells divine. It wraps around me like an embrace I didn’t know I wanted, and it’s intoxicating—more than any drink I’ve ever knocked back in a desperate attempt to forget.
I bite my lip hard to stamp out the rebellious urge that crawls up my skin. Yet, my hand dips under the flimsy lace of my nightgown, fingers skimming my skin, ghosting along the path his touch might’ve traced if I hadn’t stopped him.
The what-ifs gnaw at me. What if I’d thrown caution to the wind and kissed him? Would his lips taste like he smells, all earthy comfort and dangerous promises?
A ragged breath escapes me as my other hand wanders south, sneaking past the elastic of my underwear. My fingers slide over my clit, tingles spreading through me as I touch myself.
My thoughts spiral into a Dane-shaped vortex, his image burned into my thoughts. I’m imagining the warmth of himtouching me. My heart’s a jackhammer, threatening to burst through my ribs.
His scent seems to spike somehow, mingling with a wave of heat washing over me and settling in my belly. It’s intoxicating and has me stifling a whimper as I stroke myself, my fingers dipping in and out.
Tension coils tighter, winding up inside me until I’m afraid it’ll snap, but I don’t stop—can’t stop. A ragged gasp tears out of me, raw and needy. I picture him here, his hands on me, bringing me to the edge.
Then… holy crap!
A climax rips through me, fierce as hell. I bury my face in the sheets, biting down to muffle the sounds clawing their way out of my throat. My whole body’s on fire. My back arches off the mattress, and I gasp for air between moans that rattle my throat. Pleasure crashes over me in waves.
It’s too much. Not enough. I want to run from it. Chase it. Make it stop. Make it last forever.
“Dane.” His name bursts out on a broken whisper. It tastes bittersweet on my tongue, like the last bite of chocolate you’re trying to savor. For a second, I let myself imagine his arms around me, steadying me as I fall apart, but he’s not here. I’m alone in the tangled sheets.
Gasping between ragged breaths, my body trembling in aftershocks, I’m left with a raw need that claws at me. A frustrated groan escapes me; I’ve never felt so incomplete. With shaky hands, I push the thought aside and stumble to the bathroom, desperate for a distraction.
The shower’s knob feels cool against my hand, but even as the water temperature drops, it’s not enough. Steam envelops me, but instead of soothing, it only reminds me of Liam. His strong silhouette behind the frosted glass of the shower door, water sluicing down over muscles and skin.
“Shit.” I press my palms against the cool tile, trying to erase the image of his bare chest, the way droplets clung to him like they couldn’t bear to fall away. The memory sends another rush of heat through me, scalding from the inside out. I twist the knob further until it can’t turn anymore, but it’s useless. My skin is hot, too hot, and no amount of cold water seems to reach the fever burning beneath.
As though teasing me, my mind conjures up the sight of Liam’s hands running through his hair, slicking back the locks. My own hand moves reflexively, mirroring the action, dragging through my wet hair. I trail my hand down my body, imagining it’s him doing it to me, but it’s not enough.
Stupid. It’s like trying to light a fire with wet matches. There’s a warmth for a second, but then it just feels… flat. Because it’s not him or Dane or Ryker; it’s just me craving more.
