Wanting Mr. Cane (Cane 1)

He looked at me again, and though my tears flowed abundantly and my heart was crumbling into pieces, I told him what I wanted.

“I want you to make love to me.” Those words—all I’d ever wanted.

He watched my face for several seconds. “Kandy…” His voice broke, but I shook my head and kissed him. I needed this. I didn’t want him to speak anymore. This was hurting enough. My chest ached and my mind raced and buzzed. With a grunt, he entered me, so deliberately that I had no choice but to whisper his name and beg him to complete the stroke.

His thrusts were full and deep. So deep that I was sure I’d feel his imprint days after, and yet he was so gentle that my heart and belly fluttered.

“Don’t ever think I don’t love you,” he said in my ear. A full thrust. More tears. “I fucking love you, Kandy. Love you more than words.”

But this had to happen.

Letting go had to happen.

So I cherished this moment, right in his office, beneath the beating, yellow sun, surrounded by papers and leather. I ignored the burn of the leather on my backside, focusing on the strokes he provided. This was his final parting gift. With our tongues tangled and tied, and his body conjoined with mine, I knew he was telling the truth.

He loved me.

He was making love to me.

I cried.

I came.

Euphoria and heartbreak. It was a strange combination, one I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Knowing this person could make you feel so amazing, but also knowing this same person held the power to break your heart.

If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. I was young and naive, yes, but my heart knew what she wanted. She’d known it for the past nine years. I was in love with Quinton Cane, and that was never, ever going to change.

Cane held me tight when he released, and even after, when the rest of his body had gone lax. He ran his fingers through my hair, panting rapidly as he tried catching his breath. Lines of liquid fire ran down to my ears.

“This hurts,” I sobbed. “It fucking hurts, Cane.”

“I know,” he breathed. “Fuck, I know, Kandy. I’m so fucking sorry. I told you I’ll fix this. I swear—just give me time. Things will go back to normal when I—”

I shook my head, forcing my hands between us to push against his chest. He had no choice but to lift up and when he did, I slid from beneath him and grabbed my jeans. I tugged them on and then slid my feet into my flip-flops. Cane picked up his pants as well, pulling them over each leg.

“Kandy,” he persisted.

“I have to go,” I muttered.

I grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head. Before I could get to the door, he caught my hand and whirled me around. He didn’t leave time for me to protest. His mouth claimed mine and our bodies connected again. Molded. A perfect match. A match that would never be.

“Don’t forget me,” he begged.

Begged.

Cane had begged, probably for the first time in his life. I met his eyes and the rims of them were red and glistening. “Don’t walk out like this. Let me at least take you to dinner, a movie?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s okay. I have to get home and finish packing. Dad should be there soon. Besides, I don’t want you to get into any more trouble than you’re already in.”

He blinked, lowering his gaze. He grabbed my hand and clutched it, and for a moment we stood there just breathing. Thinking. Breaking.

I really had to go. I couldn’t do this—stand here and hurt. I couldn’t have him, and the sooner I let this go, the better off we both would be.

Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away. He was hesitant to let go too, but he did. I had so much to say to him as I walked to the door, but none of the words were willing to come out. All of them became lodged in my throat, so I forced a smile at him instead—smile that cut me up inside like jagged edges of broken glass.

“Don’t forget me, Kandy,” he said again, taking a step toward me, but I had already turned my back to him and walked out of the office.

The door closed…

Cane and I were no more.

47

KELLY

I hated that sneaky bitch.

I hated everything about her. I’d known for a while that he was messing with her. His odd and overprotective behavior made it so damn obvious, but I kept a level head and considered it a phase.

Surely, he will get over it and realize he needs a real woman, I thought. He’s just having fun. Remember he told you that he didn’t get to have a lot of fun as a teenager? My nice side pleaded with me, begging me to show sympathy and mercy. She was fucking wrong, and I will never listen to that side of me again.