Page 39 of Fool Me Twice

“So there’s nothing?” Hart asked after a time, giving another impatient wave of his hand. “You didn’t kill someone’s significant other for doing a bad job or miss someone’s birthday?”

Cane gave him a dry look. “Those are two extremely different things.”

“Some people take their birthdays very seriously.”

Cane rolled his eyes. “I pay my workers well. They fuck up, they reap the consequences, but I’m not a murderous tyrant. And I also don’t hire fuckups in the first place. Which is part of the reason I called you. When a well-oiled machine starts making noises, you pay attention.”

Hart sighed, perusing his carefully constructed notes. Cane flicked his spent cigarette into the ashtray and lit another one. Hart’s eyes darted to it, then shifted pointedly away, his leg beginning to jump up and down.

“What about competitors?” Hart said, trying to stay strong even though Cane knew his body was crying out for a hit. “I’m sure you have some competition in your…field.”

“Competition is a strong word.”

“Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues,” Hart said primly, in true Hart fashion.

“Humility can kiss my successful ass.”

Hart raised a brow. “And how successful are you feeling right now?”

It was a low blow. Purposefully placed. Cane ground his teeth as Hart looked at him in that smug, superior way that made Cane want to take him apart.

“How successful are you feeling?” Cane hit back, leaning into him and making sure it stung just right. He waved the lit cigarette under his nose. “Because to me it looks like you’re having a hard time.”

Hart scowled, trying to bat his hand away. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Really?” Cane asked, creeping his other hand along the sofa’s edge to stroke Hart’s neck.

Hart jerked at the soft touch, a gasp falling from his lips involuntarily until he swallowed it back. He turned furious, dark eyes on Cane, throwing his pen and notebook aside with a clatter. Cane lapped up every furious pulse of anger like a greedy beast.

There you are, sweetheart.

“I told you,” Hart said, pointing a finger under his nose. His hair had fallen even more from its casual style, disheveled and messy over his forehead and flicking into his eyes.

Cane wanted to run a hand through it and pull. Hard.

Instead, he grabbed Hart’s hand, encompassing the whole fist and squeezing. “Told me what? Repeat it.”

Hart jerked his hand to no avail. “Don’t touch me.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” Cane said. He could see the flush on Hart’s cheeks. The want in his eyes, even though his mouth protested. It was a familiar dance that never failed to get Cane hot. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

“I don’t need anything from you,” Hart growled, but Cane could feel his racing pulse under his fingers. The excitement turned his blood electric.

Cane took a deep inhale from his cigarette, still casually holding on to Hart. He made sure to fill his lungs completely, dragging as hard as he could and ditching the remains before yanking Hart forward and slamming their mouths together.

Hart gasped, and Cane used the opportunity to exhale, pushing that burning cloud of nicotine straight into Hart’s wanting mouth.

Hart moaned. Wantonly. Needily. Loudly. It was a sound Cane wanted to eat from his mouth, using his tongue to lick at it through the smoke. Hart’s free hand grasped desperately at Cane’s neck, fingernails biting into his flesh as he dragged him closer and harder because he needed it. Him. Hart needed him.

Cane felt the smoke curl around their faces, tendrils sneaking up their noses. He took hold of Hart’s neck and pressed him flat onto his back, feeding the last vestiges of smoke to him. Through his half-closed lids he could see the ecstasy on Hart’s face as he gave in to it and finally stopped fighting. Victory had never tasted so fucking sweet. Addiction had never tasted so good.

He slipped his leg between Hart’s, feeling his hardness and pressing his own to Hart’s hip. He ached to roll his hips but held himself back.

This wasn’t about getting off.

He wanted to take Hart apart piece by piece. It was easy to get lost in a moment. To fuck. That wasn’t what Cane wanted. Cane wanted to own Hart. He wanted him to beg for it. To be lost without him—an addiction he couldn’t quit.

He tightened his grip on Hart’s neck, pushing into the soft spot under his jaw to tip his chin up. Hart whimpered. Their lips moved together messily, damp and tasting of smoke, sending tingles of electricity through Cane.

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