Page 108 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Do something.

Because it’s on a mission to ruin me, my body complies. But it does the opposite of what I had in mind. Like a fucking monster took hold of my senses, I start to rub my ass against him.

The pressure is subtle but definitely noticeable because a sharp breath hisses between his teeth.

His fingers begin slithering up the bottom of my stomach, and while his hands are warmer than before, they’re still ice-cold and torturous as they draw little circles on my skin.

I continue to rock against him, owning it, and the blaring voices in my head call me every name in the book.

He answers by shifting his hips, pushing into me, and I gasp, his cock driving forward until I feel it swell against my ass.

I almost think I’m going to realize my mind concocted the whole thing and none of this is real until he puts his mouth to my ear.

“Hads…” He sounds like he’s mad at me, his voice thick with anger and repressed urges. His mouth grazes my neck, ever so slowly and delicately.

That’s when I do the one thing I shouldn’t.

I angle my head back to look at him over my shoulder, our gazes locking with so much force it’s paralyzing. Kane’s eyes immediately dart to my mouth, and I swear something unnatural is at play here. I don’t know how else to explain how quickly we both lean in.

Kane’s hand jumps to the back of my head, his fingers sliding into my hair and gripping my scalp so that he can tilt my chin back. He stares at my face for long seconds, the low grunt he expels fanning my lips.

He makes a play for my mouth, inching forward.

Then the fire alarm goes off.

You’d think a powerful entity just yanked us apart.

“Fuck,” Kane blurts at the smoking omelet on the stove.

It’s completely ruined, both sides blackened and carbonized.

The alarm kicks me into action, and I grab the drying towel by the sink. I hop onto a kitchen chair and wave the towel in front of the fire detector before it wakes up the whole house.

There’s no way Mom, Evie, Sue, Scar, and Drea don’t hear that. And it shouldn’t be too long before they roll out of bed to make sure the house isn’t burning down.

Meanwhile, Kane takes the pan to the trash, dumping the charred omelet into it before twisting the water tap to soak the pan.

A sigh of relief escapes me when the alarm stops, but the one in my head isn’t going away anytime soon.

I almost kissed Kane.

Not once, but twice in the same night.

His eyes find me across the room, and we exchange a look that can only mean one thing.

What. Just. Happened.

“I, um… I’ll just make myself some toast or something,” I choke out.

He seems to pick up on my panic because he clenches his jaw, barely saying, “That’s probably a good idea.”

More silence.

I think I see his Adam’s apple bob before he gives me a final glance. “Anyway, good night.”

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