Page 45 of Watching You
Sixteen
Kane
We take the back exit, slipping past the crowd and the noise. I toss her the helmet, and she catches it with a grin that’s all nerves and adrenaline.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods, curls bouncing. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” I smile. We mount the bike, her arms wrapping tight around my waist, her cheek pressed to my back like she’s trying to memorize the shape of me. I rev the engine, and we take off—fast, reckless, free.
Halfway there, the sky cracks open.
Rain hits hard, sudden and cold, soaking through our clothes in seconds. I don’t slow down. She doesn’t ask me to. The road blurs, headlights smear, and the world narrows to the roar of the engine and the rhythm of her breath against my spine.
By the time we pull up to my off-campus apartment, we’re drenched. Water drips from her hair, her jerseyclings like a second skin, and her eyes are wide with something electric.
I kill the engine and turn to her. She’s already pulling off the helmet, shaking out her hair, laughing under her breath like she can’t believe we just did that.
“You’re soaked,” I say.
“So are you,” she fires back.
I grab her hand and lead her inside, boots squelching against the floor, clothes sticking to skin. The apartment’s quiet, dim, the hum of the rain outside wrapping around us like a dare.
She looks at me, breathless. “Now what?”
I step closer, water dripping from my hoodie, heart pounding like it’s still game time.
“Now,” I begin, “I show you what winning really feels like.” A shiver runs through her body, making her tremble. I need to get her heated up first.
I take her hand and pull her toward the bathroom, our soaked clothes leaving a trail of water across the floor. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t hesitate. Just follows, eyes locked on mine like she already knows what I’m about to do.
I twist the shower knob to hot, steam rising instantly, fogging the mirror and curling around us like a promise. Then I step in, pulling her with me, clothes and all.
The water hits hard, scalding, cleansing, real. Her jersey clings tighter, her curls flatten, and her breath catches as the heat wraps around us.
She laughs, startled. “We’re still dressed.”
I press her gently against the tile, hands braced on either side of her. “Not for long.”
She reaches for me, fingers curling into my hoodie, pulling me closer until the space between us disappears. The water pounds around us, but all I feel is her, soft, soaked, trembling with something deeper than adrenaline.
I pull my hoodie over my head, relishing the hot water hitting my back.
Her lips find mine, tentative at first, then deeper, more certain, and I kiss her back like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the taste of her surrender, the way she melts when I claim her.
My hands find the hem of her jersey, dragging it upward, slow and deliberate, and she raises her arms without breaking the kiss, letting me peel it away. It drops to the floor with a wet thud, and then it’s just skin against skin, her body pressed to mine, heart hammering against my ribs, breath mingling with the steam.
She’s beautiful. More beautiful than I let myself imagine. Not because of her curves or the pale skin that flushes under the heat, but because she’s here. Because she chose this. Because she’s letting me see the parts of her she’s kept locked away from everyone else.
My fingers trail down her spine, and she shivers, arching into me like she’s been waiting for this touch her whole life. I lower my mouth to her neck, tasting the water, tasting her, and she gasps, head falling back, exposing the delicate line of her throat like an offering.
I want to bite her. To mark her. To leave a trail of possession that she’ll feel for days. But I hold back. Because this isn’t just about taking. It’s about keeping.
My hands grip her hips, lifting her slightly, and she wraps her legs around my waist, trusting me to hold her. To keep her safe. To keep her here. I press her against the tile, the cool surface a shock against her heated skin, and she cries out, a sound that’s half pain, half pleasure.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, more demanding, and she meets me with a matching intensity, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her body moving against mine in a rhythm that’s both familiar and new. It’s like we’ve been doing this for lifetimes, and yet every touch feels like a revelation.
