Loving Mr. Cane (Cane 3)

“Kandy,” he warned.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. It’d been a little over a month since I returned, and I owed him this much. He needed me. I couldn’t be selfish anymore. I continued unzipping his pants, shoving them down his legs. I started to pull his briefs down, but he grabbed both of my hands, bringing them up so I’d have no choice but to follow the action.

He caught my eyes, and it was in that moment when I realized my vision was slightly blurry.

“Fuck, Kandy. Look at you.” His face softened, eyes swirling with a mixture of desperation and sadness. His voice was soft, and it made my chest ache. My heart was still drumming.

“I want it…I want you,” I told him, keeping my voice as steady as I possibly could. I tried pulling away, but he held on tighter.

“Stop, Kandy.” He brought my knuckles to his lips, kissing both hands. “This isn’t a race, all right? You don’t have to rush to get back to how you were before.”

“I’m not rushing, Cane. I do want you. I miss you so much. I’m just…” I inhaled sharply.

“Just what?”

“I don’t know…I mean, my doctor said I would be fine three more weeks after my appointment. I guess I’m just worried that it won’t feel the same.”

He sighed, nodding. “I get it.”

Releasing my hands, he laid flat on his back on the bed, then flicked his fingers, gesturing for me to come to him. I kicked off my shoes and went to him, resting my cheek on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, comforting. I closed my eyes, breathing as evenly as possible.

“Maybe if we go slow,” I suggested. “I mean…not our usual rough, dirty stuff.”

At that, he chuckled, and hearing it made me smile. “That’s going to be tough. Rough and dirty is all I know,” he teased, and I laughed. He placed a finger beneath my chin, tilting it up so I could look at him. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, Kandy. I told you I’ll be ready when you are.”

“I want it to be tonight. Today was so perfect. I want to end it that way too.”

He rubbed my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Having sex doesn’t make everything perfect, little one.”

“It will tonight, though.” I pushed up on my elbow, looking down at him. “If it becomes too much, or if I feel overwhelmed, I’ll tell you. I promise.” I cupped his face. “Please, Cane.”

He groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you, Kandy. What if you aren’t healed enough?”

I smiled down at him. “I think we’ve been through this already. You didn’t hurt me my first time. It was great…and I feel fine down there now. I trust my body…I’m just nervous…”

He dropped his hand, looking me in the eyes carefully. I guess he saw how serious I was, because he finally said, “Okay,” and then rolled on top of me. He pushed up on his knees, helping me take my jeans off. I kicked my way out of them, and he went for my long-sleeved shirt next. When it was off, his eyes traveled down. He focused on the scar, the dark brown line on my pelvis. It wasn’t directly in the middle, but more so to the right and in a long slant.

I hated looking at it because it always reminded me of where it came from and who did it. My body didn’t have many imperfections, other than childhood scars on my knees and legs, but this was one that I was going to have to look at and live with for the rest of my life.

“You’re beautiful,” Cane murmured, crouching down. His lips pressed to the crook of my neck, then my collarbone, and then traveled down my chest. “Lift up for me,” he rasped, and I sat up a bit while he reached under me to unhook my bra. When it was loose, he helped me out of it, then tossed it aside. He continued his way down my body, kissing the valley between my breasts and working his way over, sealing his mouth around my nipple and sucking until it became a pebble. My breath hitched when he let go and made his way over to the other one, sucking gently.

He kept making his way down more and more, until he was at my navel. He kissed me just below my belly button, then hovered over the scar. What is he doing?

“Your fear is rooted deep,” he finally said, and I glanced down while he held my hips. “You think that when I look at this scar, I’ll only think of her.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse whooshing in my ears.

“But that’s wrong, baby.” His breath was warm on my skin as he spoke. “Look at me,” he ordered, and I locked on his eyes. He lowered his face to kiss my scar. Not once, not twice, but three times. He kissed it like he was in love with it—like that scar was my lips, and he owned it. “From now on, when you see it, I want you to think of it as a victory. I want you to remember that you fought through it and you won. When you see it, I want you to remember that you conquered it. You understand?”