Page 77 of Kane

“Are you alright?” I ask, freeing his hands, then his ankles.

“Are you—”

Ryder’s lips crash against mine, and I fall into him like a star.

“I think I love you,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.

I want to tell him the same, but I can’t.

The words are stuck in my throat.

So I kiss him instead, hoping he understands.

I lie there in his arms, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, relishing in the softness of his skin, the warmth of his body against mine. I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted, and pull the warmth closer, hoping that I never wake up.

Because I am terrified I won’t remember this perfect moment.

And the last thought I have as I drift into the nothingness is that I wish I could preserve us like this forever, in a coffin made of glass.

Chapter Eighteen

Kane

I wake with an overbearing need to piss and a pounding headache. I shift, a low grunt sounding beside me and I freeze, realizing I am not at home.

I look to my side, noting Ryder is beside me.

Naked.

I glance at the clock. It’s not terribly late. Just after midnight.

I could easily slip out and go home, leave Ryder to his bed. Call him in the morning maybe, but I can’t deny I like the feeling of being next to him like this. Even if I have to pee something fierce.

I throw my legs over the side of the bed and find my underwear. I put them on, if only because I don’t want to deal with sticky sheets. Slipping through the door, I carefully pad into the hallway. His place is small, so it’s not hard to locate the bathroom, and I let out a sigh of relief as I take my piss.

My head is splitting. But I suppose that’s what I get for drinking wine.

This is why I stick to beer.

I finish up my business, wash my hands, and that’s when I hear them.

Voices.

Women.

Though I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Ryder didn’t mention any roommates, but this is New York, so it’s not unheard of. But now I feel awkward and guilty as hell, because if I would have known…

No, it wouldn’t have mattered. I know that.

I wait until I no longer hear anything to venture out into the hall, and that’s when the sharp pain hits me.

It’s like someone’s snapping the neurons in my skull, and I cry out.

“Fuck!”

“What was that?” a woman calls out. Her voice is high pitched, sweet.