Page 28 of Things We Burn

Then, after eating his—admittedly delicious—sandwich, I went upstairs and rode his cock.

I wasn’t practiced at ‘riding’ men.

Arguably, the act itself should’ve been part of my cache—it communicated control, agency, things I needed inside and outside the bedroom.

But it also required confidence.

Something I had plenty of outside the bedroom.

Inside, not so much.

My mother had more recently turned into someone who was ‘free’ in discussions of sex and anything else. But this identity was new. It had started after my father died, while I was starting to distance myself from her.

Before that, sex and even periods were something talked about in metaphors, with a heavy dose of embarrassment.

I’d therefore slunk away from sexuality, even though I got breasts early, which only made things more uncomfortable for me.

I’d focused on my goals, concentrated on my desire to be a world-renowned chef and hadn’t deviated. Losing my virginity had been awkward, painful and unpleasant.

Every dalliance afterward had been variations of the same. I’d let men take charge, hoping that one of them would clue me in as to why everyone seemed so obsessed with sex. None of them had.

Until Kane.

Now I got what all the fuss was about.

I didn’t feel self-conscious about my size and whether I’d be too heavy for him. Though for a second, I was concerned about my lack of experience and whether it would show. But Kane kissed those doubts right away. My body took over, my instincts. I reveled in watching the pleasure on Kane’s face as I moved up and down, the new angle a perfect fit for me and capable of giving me an orgasm within minutes. I’d raked my hands down his chest, covered his tattoos. He’d pulled my hair free from its bun so it had brushed his skin. Our lips crashed against each other’s, our damp skin grinding.

Yes, I was now a definite fan of this position. Though I suspected any position with Kane would be enjoyable.

I’d cleaned up then gone back to bed in nothing but my panties. Kane was naked. The second my knee had hit the mattress, he’d grabbed me by the waist and tugged me to him.

I was half splayed on top of him, his arms tight around me. Possessive. Warm.

Kane wasn’t so much of a cuddler but a claimer. Every inch of my skin felt like it belonged to him.

I liked it. It didn’t make me feel suffocated or submissive. It made me feel something else. Revered? Safe? I didn’t want to inspect the feelings a man I’d known for only two days was giving me.

It was late. I’d been up early, worked all day and barely had any sleep the night before. I’d had very athletic sex. Twice. Technically, I was exhausted. But my body also felt wired. I didn’t want to sleep. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? It wouldn’t bring Kane and me in this bed with the world ceasing to exist outside. Normally, I sank into bed, eager to go to sleep, then to get away from the quiet of the night and back into the bustle of my kitchen.

Not this night.

Kane was still awake too, if the tautness of his muscles and the way his grip around me hadn’t relaxed was anything to go by.

“What made you want to be a chef?” he asked, breaking the thick, comfortable silence between us. He’d obviously sensed I was awake too.

I looked up at him, resting my face in my hands.

“What made me want to be a chef?” I repeated.

“The way you move in that kitchen…” His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “It was magnificent to watch. It was like you were born to do it. Like it was effortless.”

I laughed. “No, I was just trained relentlessly in some of the toughest kitchens in the world, drilled to make it look effortless.”

“You can’t train that, the way you were,” Kane disagreed tenderly. “That’s something in your blood. Was one of your parents a chef?”

The mention of my parents gave me pause, momentarily shoving me back behind my shields, into the cool embrace of my ice queen persona.

But Kane’s warm body, his firm hold and the sincere curiosity behind his question gently coaxed me back.

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