Page 8 of November's Bad Boy: Kacen
"Yes," I whisper, and it feels like the truest thing I've said all night. "I'm sure."
He studies my face for a moment longer, as if memorizing it, then lowers his mouth to mine again. This kiss is different—slower, deeper, filled with purpose. His hands slide up my sides, taking the fabric of my costume dress with them.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "Always have been."
I should tell him to stop talking. That I don't want to hear sweet words from the mouth that once cut me down. But something in his voice—raw honesty, maybe—makes me believe him.
I tug at his shirt until he pulls it over his head, revealing a chest more defined than I'd imagined. My fingers trace the dark ink that curls around his shoulder and down his arm. A design I can't quite make out in the dim light.
"When did you get this?" I ask, following the pattern with my fingertips.
"After I left," he says, his breath catching when my nails graze his skin. "Needed something permanent when everything else felt temporary."
I want to ask more, but then his mouth is on my collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of my breast. I arch against him, a soft moan escaping my lips. His hands slide beneath me, finding the zipper of my dress and drawing it down with agonizing slowness.
"I've been thinking about this since I saw you tonight," he confesses, his voice rough against my skin. "Since before that, if I'm honest."
I should tell him I don't care about his honesty right now. That this is just physical—a decade of tension finally breaking. But the words won't come as he peels the dress from my body, leaving me in my underwear.
I reach for his belt, needing to level the playing field. "Your turn," I whisper.
He stands, unbuckling his belt while I watch, my breath shallow. When he's down to his boxers, he returns to me, his body hovering over mine, the heat between us palpable.
"Last chance to run," he says, brushing hair from my face with surprising tenderness.
I answer by pulling him down to me, skin against skin, the weight of him both familiar and foreign. His hand slides between us, finding the lace of my underwear, teasing me through the fabric until I'm writhing beneath him.
"Kacen," I gasp, arching into his touch. "Please."
He smiles against my neck, that cocky smile I remember from high school, but there's something different about it now—something hungrier, more desperate. "Please, what?"
I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Don't tease me. Not now."
Something flashes in his eyes—understanding, maybe even remorse—and then his hand slips beneath the fabric, finding me wet and ready. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as his fingers stroke me, working me into a frenzy.
"I want to hear you," he whispers, his voice rough. "Don't hold back."
I shake my head, still too proud to give him everything, even as my body betrays me, responding to his touch as if he's the only one who knows how to play me.
He lowers his head, trailing kisses down my stomach until he reaches the edge of my underwear. His eyes meet mine, asking permission.
I stop him. “No, come here,” I say, pulling him back up to me because that act is too intimate.
His eyes search my face, filled with questions, but he doesn't push. Instead, he moves back up my body, his chest pressing against mine. I feel his hardness against my thigh, and my breath catches.
"I want you," I admit, voice barely above a whisper. "But this means nothing."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but it's safer than the truth.
He nods, but something flickers across his face—disappointment, maybe. "Whatever you need this to be."
I reach between us, pushing his boxers down his hips and my panties down mine. He kicks them off and reaches for his jeans on the floor, pulling out his wallet. The foil packet catches the dim light as he tears it open.
"Let me," I say, taking the condom from his fingers.
Our eyes lock as I roll it onto him. His breathing grows ragged, muscles tensing beneath my touch. When I'm done, he settles between my thighs.
"Are you sure?" he asks again, hesitating at my entrance.
