Wanting Mr. Cane (Cane 1)

She was going to be in the same beach house with me for five whole days. Was I ready for that shit? Could I handle it? Seeing her in bathing suits, shorts that revealed too much leg, and crop tops? Skin, ass, and tits?

After what had happened in Derek and Mindy’s living room, I couldn’t get her out of my head to save my fucking life. Drinking at night during some of my free time, and even on flights around the country, didn’t help. I thought it would help me escape the godawful shit I did, but it only intensified the urges—made the cravings vicious and demanding.

I couldn’t get over the way she looked at me, like a good girl begging to be turned bad. She stared up with wide, brown eyes, and when her pouty lips sealed around my cock, I lost it.

I should have stopped her as soon as I saw her walking toward me, but having her on my lap felt good. Having her lips on mine was intoxicating…and extremely fucked up.

I was a complicated man, and she needed to know that. Even if I was several years younger and Kandy wasn’t my best friend’s daughter, I still wouldn’t be the man she needed.

She thought I was a good person, but she had no idea who I really was. She only saw what was on the surface—Mr. Cane, her dad’s friend. Anyone who was a friend of Derek’s was supposed to be good because he was a good man, but I was nothing like him.

I’d done things—been through so much shit—that Derek would have arrested me for himself if he’d been around. He never would have let me set foot around his daughter. Though she knew what she wanted, she was still innocent—too innocent for me.

I’d had time to think about what I said to her that day in the living room, and I don’t know what the hell came over me. Why did I tell her to only use her lips on me? I was being stupid, trapped in a thick, impenetrable moment—a moment that I was never going to forget.

“Mr. Cane,” my secretary’s voice cut through the speaker, interrupting my toxic thoughts.

I fixed my tie as if she were in the same room and could hear everything I was thinking. I cleared my throat before pressing the intercom button. “Yes, Cora?”

“Ms. Hugo is in the lobby with dinner. Would you like security to send her up?”

My throat worked hard at the mention of Kelly. Kelly Hugo. My…whatever she is to me. The woman I should have been thinking about, instead of an eighteen-year-old girl. Everyone considered Kelly my girlfriend, but I wasn’t so sure I could call her that. We met up a maximum of two times per week. She liked me, and I fancied her but had never called her my girlfriend. She was more of a friend with benefits, if you will, and I suspected that she wanted more. I never knew how to respond to the “more” option, so instead I did what kept her content.

I pressed the speaker button. “Sure. Send her up.” I pushed out of my chair, sliding my hands into my pockets as I walked toward the wide window.

It didn’t take long for me to hear Kelly’s voice. “How are you, Cora?” she greeted.

“I’m great, Ms. Hugo. I hope you are doing well. He’s inside.”

The door lightly creaked on its hinges when it opened, and I peered over my shoulder as Kelly came into the room. She was stunning. No, really. Absolutely fucking gorgeous.

Her skin was tan and flawless, her legs as smooth as silk. She had her hair tied up in a tight bun and was wearing a sky-blue dress that made her skin appear a little darker. She’d always bragged about how she didn’t need to tan much—that she had a natural glow, thanks to her mother falling in love with her Latino father.

She had a Bobby’s Steakhouse paper bag in her hands, the dinner tucked away inside it. I could smell it from where I stood. Her eyes lit up when she spotted me. As soon as she placed the bag on top of my desk, she rushed my way. I turned and she walked right into my arms before I could fully open them, kissing me softly on the lips.

“So nice to finally see you,” she sighed.

“I could say the same.” I smiled down at her. Though she didn’t have to while wearing heels, she pushed up on her toes anyway, and gave me another peck on the lips.

I didn’t give much effort—couldn’t, really. My mind was somewhere else, thinking about some fucked-up shit. As if she noticed, her brows drew together, and she gripped my shoulders, putting a little distance between us.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, squeezing my shoulders. “You feel tense, Quinton.”