Page 81 of Faking the Shot
Kaden’s lips curl into a wicked smile. “One more round, and then we’re out of here,” he whispers. “I’ll make it quick,” he promises, backing away slowly, his eyes raking over me one last time.
Chapter Forty-One
Kaden
The Play Beyond the Whistle
I force a polite smile as my dad pulls me into a brief, firm hug, the scent of his aftershave lingering in the air between us. “You handled yourself well tonight, son,” he says.
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, stepping back and shoving my hands into my pockets. Pop gives me a solid clap on the shoulder, hisusual way of showing approval. No fuss, no over-the-top words. Just action. That’s how we work.
“You’ll visit soon, right?” Dad asks.
“Of course,” I lie, knowing full well soon could mean weeks or months. I’m already itching to get out of this hotel lobby and back to somewhere less . . . crowded.
We head for the exit after a few more pleasantries. Valentina’s heels echo against the glossy floor as we walk side by side. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Even now, after hours of playing nice for the cameras and dodging endless small talk, she looks composed. Calm. Like the chaos of the night didn’t even touch her. How does she do that?
The driver stands by the car, his face a mask of polite professionalism. “Mr. Crawford, Miss,” he greets us, opening the door with a practiced smile. “Will this be to your residence, sir, or . . .”
“Mine,” I say before she can say a word. My voice comes out rougher than I intended, and I catch her tilting her head at me, one eyebrow raised. Her look says it all: What’s your problem? But she doesn’t say anything, just slides into the car with her usual grace. I follow, letting the door shut behind me.
The interior feels like a different world—quiet, insulated, private. She settles into her seat, her posture as flawless as always, while I stare straight ahead, my jaw tight. I should explain why I answered for her. I should say something, anything.
Instead, I act. My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers skimming the curve of her skin, and I pull her toward me. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, just the pull of something I can’t hold back anymore.
Her lips meet mine, and it’s like striking a match. It’s not soft or careful; it’s a rush of everything I’ve been holding inside. Myheart thuds in my chest as her lips part slightly, and for a split second, she stills—caught off guard.
But then, she moves. Her hands grip my shirt, her nails digging in as if she’s bracing herself. I tangle my fingers in her hair, ruining whatever perfect style she had earlier. My other hand slides to her waist, pulling her against me until there’s no room left between us.
The kiss is fierce, consuming, her breath mingling with mine in the close space of the car. It’s like the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving just this—her, me, and the electricity crackling between us.
And for once, I don’t fight it. I just let myself feel.
Our kiss deepens, and I can taste the sweetness of champagne on her tongue, mingling with something purely her—intoxicating and addictive. My pulse pounds in my ears, my head spinning as her nails scrape lightly against my chest. Every nerve in my body feels alive, raw with need.
When we finally pull apart, gasping for air, I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling in the charged silence. Her eyes meet mine, dark with desire, and for a moment, it’s like the world narrows to just us, the heat humming between our bodies.
“I’ve wanted this all night,” I rasp, my voice rough with need. “You have no idea what you do to me, Valentina.”
Her lips curl into a small, wicked smile, and she leans in just enough to whisper against my mouth, “Oh, I think I do.”
Before I can respond, she claims my lips again, her kiss hungry and demanding. A soft moan escapes her as my hands skim her thighs, sliding beneath the hem of her dress. The warmth of her skin against my palms drives me closer to the edge, and when she shifts onto my lap, grinding against me, I groan low in my throat.
The private screen slides up with a soft hum, sealing us away from the rest of the world. My hand brushes the fabric pooled at her hips, and I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.
Her fingers fumble with my belt, then my trousers, freeing me with an urgency that matches the fire in my chest. When she wraps her hand around me, I hiss, my head falling back against the seat. The sensation is almost too much, and I struggle to hold on to the last threads of control.
“Condom,” she murmurs, fishing one out of her purse. Okay, so we both learned to be ready. Her hands tremble slightly as she tears the wrapper, sliding it onto me with a touch that nearly undoes me.
“Are you sure?” I manage to ask, my voice rough, my restraint hanging by a thread.
Her answer is a look—a smoldering, deliberate glance as she positions herself above me. Slowly, agonizingly, she sinks down, taking me in completely. A ragged groan tears from my throat as her warmth envelops me, and for a heartbeat, we stay still, breathing heavily, savoring the electric connection.
Then she moves. The rhythm she sets is intoxicating, her hips rolling in a way that has me gripping her thighs for dear life. Her silk dress spills over us like a curtain, brushing against my skin as she rides me. She throws her head back, exposing the elegant curve of her throat, her lips parted in bliss.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur, my voice thick with awe and desire. “So fucking perfect for me, Valentina.”
My hands roam her body, tracing every curve, committing every detail to memory. When I tug the neckline of her dress down, baring her to me, I can’t hold back a low groan. “Beautiful,” I whisper, leaning forward to take her peaked nipple into my mouth. She gasps, her inner muscles clenching around me, the sensation drawing a deep, guttural sound from my chest.
