Page 42 of Kane

He pulls me up, and I stumble forward, my legs still like Jell-O. I fall against him and he reaches one hand out, long, ink-kissed fingers running over the side of my cheek.

“You want to be my good boy?” he asks, his voice soft. Softer than it should be. Kane speaks like I’m fragile, and maybe I am.

But glass is so much prettier when it’s broken; when the shards bear rainbows and prisms you couldn’t see before.

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“Then wait, Ryder.” He says my name so smoothly, so warmly, I can’t help but think no one’s ever said my name so beautifully before. He leans his forehead against mine, and I see the angst, the turmoil etched in his forehead as his eyebrows furrow. I know he’s telling the truth, that he has some sort of meeting he’s missing right now, this is not how I pictured things going when I asked him to be friends, and if I could do the friendly thing and accompany him to his meeting.

Once again, I’ve let my selfish desires, my desperation, my cravings get the better of me. This…

This is why I need a master. Someone to tame me, keep me in line.

Keep me good. Because left to my own devices, this is who I am, this is what I do.

I know what the right thing to do, to say, is.

But for the first time in my life, I don’t want to do the right thing.

The words fall out without warning, a whisper of truth.

“I’m tired of waiting,” I say.

Kane closes his eyes, and I feel his breathing hitch. His cock remains solid against mine, but he doesn’t move, and neither do I.

“I know,” he whispers. “So am I.”

And just as I open my mouth to respond, the words are forgotten, because the moment he crushes his lips against mine, the world disappears.

Chapter Twelve

Kane

Fuck.

This… this is a bad idea. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in life, but this?

This is beyond even my comprehension.

I don’t know what possessed me, but it was like the moment I heard Ryder’s plea, it struck a chord inside of me that I couldn’t ignore.

I don’t want to wait.

Those five words echoed inside of me like a battle cry.

I’ve spent my life waiting for everything I want, and in most cases, I’ve got nothing to show for it.

Nothing but trauma, anxiety, guilt, a penchant for order and discipline, and an inability to get close to people. Even the people I like, and want to be close to.

I told Ryder he deserved more than a quick frotting in the elevator, and I meant that. Ryder deserves to be praised. Worshipped. Adored. He’s a bright light. The kind you can’t help but be drawn to, and he might be legitimately the only person I feel like I can let me guard down with, just enough to breathe. To feel something other than annoyance or remorse, or an unlimited amount of guilt.

Though I think my refusal may have come off wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to devour him in this elevator. It’s that I do. And for the sake of both of us, I need to make sure this doesn’t go sideways. I need to make sure he’s okay.

Because I know I’m not. Not with this aching cock, not with this racing heart, not with this overwhelming desire to loosen the chains I’ve bound myself in.

I want to lose control, and that is dangerous. On so many levels.

There is no satisfaction in urgency and haste. I know that better than most. The rush of instant gratification isn’t bad, but there’s something to be said about the intensity that comes from waiting. Holding out until you can’t even stand to be touched. Until every nerve comes alive from the uncertainty that relief is on the horizon.