Page 13 of Things We Burn

In short, even in that moment, I knew Kane Rhodes had ruined me for all men.

Three

That wasthe best sex I’d had in my life.

Not that I’d had particularly mind-blowing sex in my life.

I hadn’t thought I wascapableof having mind-blowing sex. I was always too in my head, too particular, not sexual enough.

Or so I’d thought.

I’d just never been with someone who could take me out of my head, show me what I didn’t know I wanted, somehow who knew my body, knew how to make it sing. Make me scream.

Scream his name.

I’d done that.

My throat even felt hoarse.

I might’ve felt ashamed if it were with anyone else. But Kane was so wild, he was so free, confident with his pleasure, being in an animal state with him felt completely natural.

Even though we were practically strangers.

Maybe because wewerepractically strangers.

There was a freedom in that.

He didn’t know me. Hadn’t slogged through the required amount of dates I required before I slept with someone. Hadn’t formed the idea of me as being maybe conventionally prettybut also somewhat cold and unemotional as many of my old boyfriends had.

“I feel like I have to fuck you politely,”one had said.

Kane most definitely didn’t fuck me politely.

“I feel like you’re grading me and making me a failure at having sex,”another had told me.

If Kane thought I was grading him, he didn’t make it known. And he sure as hell didn’t fail.

We hadn’t spoken. Not apart from the name screaming, and his exceptional dirty talk that made my toes blush.

The sex had concluded. At least I thought it had. But then we’d done it again. And again.

Once on the floor of the entryway, once on the floor of his bedroom and once in the actual bed.

My body was incapable of producing more orgasms, I was sure. And as impressive as Kane was, I assumed he’d need a cooldown period of some sort.

We were both fully naked, both flat on our backs, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

I wasn’t self-conscious about my perspiration. Kane’s tongue had already tasted it, and it hadn’t seemed to put him off. The opposite really; he’d loved the carnal act of licking my sweat, and despite my penchant for cleanliness in all areas of my life, I’d loved it too. It felt lascivious and dirty andright.

Nor was I self-conscious about the long period of silence we enjoyed as the dust settled. It was nice. I didn’t feel the need to stroke his ego, to tell him how amazing he was, didn’t feel insecure about my performance since he’d made it abundantly clear he’d enjoyed himself. He obviously didn’t feel the need to talk either.

Until now.

“Do you like fettuccine?”

I opened my mouth, searching for a response.

Though it stood to reason Kane would speak eventually, that was most definitely not what I thought he’d say.

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