I shook my head.
"Then I'll go make one for myself. Let me know if you change your mind." He walked away, glancing back once at me. I dropped my chin on top of my knees, staring ahead, into nothingness.
All I could think about was my daddy in pain—or worse, him not making it out of that hospital alive. I could picture Mom's reaction when they told her the bad news. She'd sob and cry and break down, fall to her knees and cry into her palms. I prayed he would pull through.
I was pissed now, but I knew they were right. They were so right. I wouldn't have been able to handle waiting at the hospital. Every ticking second would have felt like centuries. Plus, I hated hospitals. I didn't like being surrounded by pain and misery.
The sound of ice clanking in a glass a short distance away pulled me from my trance and I heard Cane talking.
"Yeah, I picked her up already. It's fine. Take your time. She can crash here for as long as you need her to." He was probably talking to Mom.
Cane stepped around the corner moments later. He sat beside me again with a short tumbler in hand and a half-empty decanter of amber liquid in the other. He placed the decanter down in the table and then swirled the ice in his cup, causing it to rattle in the glass.
Taking a small sip, he let out a long, weary sigh. "He'll be okay," I heard him say. It seemed he was trying to convince himself of that more than me.
I looked up at him, a sudden thought crossing my mind that escaped me vocally before I could stop myself. "You love my dad?" I asked, but it was a juvenile question. Men like Cane didn't tell other men he loved them, even if it were true. It was just...not in his nature.
But, his response took me by surprise. "He's my best friend. Of course I love him. Love him like a brother."
"How long have you known him again?"
"Since I was twenty-one. He saved my mother's life."
"How?" I asked, more than intrigued now.
He side-eyed me, probably debating whether to tell me or not. "From a domestic abuse dispute. He got a call about it, showed up in less than five minutes since he was nearby. I was on my way home from college and an hour away."
"Domestic abuse?"
His lips pressed thin. "Between my mother and my father."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
His nostrils flared, head dropping, eyes focused on his lap. "Thanks to Derek, my mother wasn't killed that night. My father had pulled a gun on her. He was drunk and accused her of cheating, but he was the cheater. We all knew it. Derek came at the right time and took care of it, sent my sorry-ass father to jail and I haven't seen him since. I was only twenty-one then. Derek was twenty-eight and new to the job. I haven't been able to thank Derek enough for it. He put his life on the line for hers. He considered it his duty—said he was just doing his job—but I respect that much more than he will ever be able to imagine. She could have been seriously hurt if he hadn't shown up when he did. After that, I told him to meet me every week when he was free so I could repay him with cheap beers and hot wings at a bar. As we got older, when I finally kick-started Tempt, we got a little busier. We still kept in touch with phone calls and texts, but didn't get to see each other as often. He was raising a child, taking care of his family, and I was building my career."
"That's cool," I said softly. "I'm glad he saved your mom."
"Me too."
I dropped my gaze to his glass. "What are you drinking?"
"Macallan Scotch. Strong stuff."
"Can I try it?"
He cocked a brow, looking from me to the glass. I could tell he wanted to say no, but instead he lifted it up and handed it to me. This was my pity drink. From him to me. I didn't care. I wanted it.
"A little," he said, "and only because I don't know how else to make you feel better right now."
I accepted it, taking a sip. It was strong, burning my throat, but soothing the fire in my veins all at once. I took another big sip. And then two more big gulps.
"Kandy, come on," he grumbled, taking the glass away from me. He looked at the nearly empty glass, sighing and picking up the decanter of scotch from the table. He topped of his glass again, keeping it to himself this time.
"I'm scared, Cane," I confessed after a brief silence. "I don't want him to die."
"He won't," he said, cut and dry.
I laughed a little, but it hurt and my eyes welled up.
"What?" he asked softly.
"I don't know. It's just funny. I always saw my dad as this hero, you know? Like a man who could take on anything, even bullets? Kind of like my own super hero. Nothing is ever supposed to hurt him. In my mind, he's this indestructible man who will always protect and save me. Live forever."
Cane huffed a small laugh. "Yep. I know."
We both became quiet. It was a long silence, but far from uncomfortable. I dropped my legs and pressed my back into the cushion, shutting my eyes. I felt the tears building back up again, burning behind my eyelids.
"Can you distract me, please?" I begged, voice cracking. "I can't—I mean, I just don't know what else to do—shit." The tears fell and Cane leaned forward, getting a better look at me.
"Stop crying, Kandy. Please," he pleaded when I pressed my palms to my face. "I'm not good with tears. Never have been."
"Yeah," I scoffed, swiping hard at my face, "I can see that."
He reached up and ran the pad of his thumb over my cheek, wiping a teardrop away. I avoided his eyes.
"Look at me," he murmured.
But I couldn't. Looking at him would have only made me cry even harder.
"Look at me, little one."
I swallowed hard, pulling my gaze up, and locking eyes with him. His hand was still on my cheek, his eyes sincere and understanding. He stroked the apple of my cheek.
"What do you want me to do to make you feel better?" he asked, voice low, deep, and husky. He studied my face, like he really wanted to know what could help.
I couldn't speak as he looked at me. Couldn't breathe. I smashed my lips together, my eyes dropping down to his hands. I knew exactly what I wanted.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted him to keep telling me everything was going to be okay while he stroked my hair and held me close, wrapping me up in his big, strong arms.
But I knew he couldn't do that, so instead I said, "Just . . . hold me, I guess."
He didn't hesitate much. He wrapped his arm around me as I hooked one of mine behind his back. He pulled me into him until my cheek was on his chest. It was now when I noticed he wasn't wearing a suit or dressy clothes. He wore a solid gray T-shirt and jeans. It was the most casual thing I'd seen him wear.
His chin dropped down on the top of my head and a hard sigh escaped him. I rested my other arm on top of his lap to get more comfortable, sighing by how comforting this actually was. I was wrapped around him, the left half of my face on his chest. He smelled so good. Manly and delicious. I wanted to bury my face into his hard, chiseled body and breathe him in forever.
He lifted his glass and sipped, longer this time.
All I heard was his throat working with each sip he took. The ice clinking around in the glass. I stared at the fireplace to distract myself.
When his glass was empty, he sat forward a bit to place it down on the coffee table, but kept me secure in his arms. When he sat back, I tilted my head up to look at him.
"Are you scared?" I asked in a whisper, catching his eyes.
"Yes."
"You don't seem like the type to get scared."
"When it comes to the people I care about being hurt, I do."
"Do you care about a lot of people?"
"I can count on one hand how many people I truly care about."
"And who are those people?"
"My mother. Your father, of course. Mindy, your mom. My sister, Lorelei . . ." He paused, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at me. "And you."
I was relieved when he didn't say Kelly's name. More than relieved actually. Apparently I was more i
mportant to him than her. Or maybe he didn't love her. Still a good sign to me.
It was now when I realized how close our faces were, how hard I was pressed against his solid body. My arm was still on his lap, and I noticed my hand was close to his groin. He looked down at where my hand was, like he'd noticed too.
I squeezed the hem of his shirt, my head still tilted up. I wanted to move away, but I couldn't. That drink was chasing away all of my morals now, making me want to try something and be bold. Making me want to sin with him.
"I'm glad to know you care about me," I whispered. I leaned in more, until our lips were a hairsbreadth away. His eyes were on my mouth, his grip tightening on my waist, probably without even realizing it. My pulse skittered, but I leaned in more, until his lips created a feathery-light sensation on mine.
"Kandy," he warned.
"What?"
"No."
I never liked being told no. Maybe he was right about the whole me being a brat thing. I could act like a spoiled little girl when I wanted to. I liked things to go my way and sometimes that made me pesky and infuriating.
I slid my hand down, running it over the bulge in his pants anyway. I moved it over the jean fabric, shifting it back up gradually. I felt him getting harder, his breaths unsteady now, body tensing.
"Kandy," he said, but this time it wasn't a warning. It was a plea.
"Should I stop?" I asked, my voice so low I could hardly hear it myself.
He didn't answer. Only stared down at me with intense, hungry, smoky eyes. I kept moving my hand up and down on his groin, pressing in more and more, making sure my breasts were completely pressed on him.
"You know damn well you should stop," he mumbled on my lips, but I felt his grip get even tighter around me, like he was saying one thing, but thinking the complete opposite.
I pressed my hand down into the jean fabric again, getting a better feel of the thick, hard ridge resting on the inside of his thigh.
I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stop. I couldn't believe this was happening and I refused to pass this chance up.
He was hard for me.
Quinton Cane was so damn hard for me and I wanted him. Bad.
FIVE
KANDY
Without giving it much thought at all, I pressed my lips on his, climbing on his lap, and kissing him. His lips were soft, just like I imagined they would be. He tensed up again, and I heard a groan fill the back of this throat. He was straining in his jeans now, rock solid.
He broke the kiss, pressing a hand against my shoulder to lightly push me back, frowning at me. His eyes were hard as he tore himself away, his lips parted and damp. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he snapped through a raspy voice.
"Nothing is wrong with me," I answered. I meshed my lips together, focused on his mouth, wanting another illicit taste.
"Fuck," he cursed. He watched me longer. "Why are you doing this to me, Kandy?"
"What am I doing?" I asked with a gentle moan.
"You're making me want you."
"You want me?"
"Yes, I fucking want you and I hate that I'm even admitting it."
My heart caught speed and I got off his lap, but fisted his shirt in my hands. "Cane, please. Just...don't treat me like a kid tonight, okay?"
His head shook, his self-control slowly but surely slipping away. I slid close to him again, running my hand over the hard rock in his pants like I did before. His eyes fell down, locking on my mouth. I kept rubbing him, feeling his cock twitch beneath my palm. Our lips were close again. My breasts were pressed on his chest. I wanted him so bad I couldn't even think clearly.
Grabbing my face between his hands, he tilted my chin, looking me all over with a searing hot gaze. He exhaled raggedly, the tip of his nose running down my jawline and then back up, over my cheek and then the arch of my nose. He sighed and groaned, bringing his mouth down, closer to mine.
He paused, hesitated, hardly breathing.
I wasn't breathing either. Not much.
Just when I thought he would pull away, he brought my face closer to his, doing exactly what I wanted him to do. He crushed my lips with his, pressing his body to mine.
I sighed when his tongue traced the line between my lips, demanding that I give him access. I parted them, and his tongue slid through, dancing and playing with mine.
I could taste the scotch on his breath, the cigarettes he'd probably smoked before picking me up. His breathing was harsher, more ragged, like he couldn't control himself. Like he wanted to stop, but wasn't strong enough to pull away.
I tore at his belt buckle then, unzipping his pants blindly. I wasn't an amateur at this. I'd made out with a lot of boys at parties I wasn't supposed to attend with Frankie. I'd lie to my parents and said I was just having a sleepover at her place, when really I was planning on going to a party with her and then crashing at her place afterwards.
It was in that moment, when his jeans were unzipped and my moan filled him up, that Cane took full control. He gripped my shoulders and forced my back down on the couch. I shoved his jeans down with my hands and feet and then pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his upper body.
His body was just as I'd imagined. Strong. Broad. Solid. Tan, smooth, and toned in all the beautiful places. He had even more tattoos, so many different and creative works of art on his body. He was a work of art himself. He lowered himself, meshing his groin between my legs, kissing my neck as my fingers ran over the dips in his muscular back, sinking deeper with each fluid motion.
His lips trailed downward until he reached my collarbone. I could feel him grinding between my legs. He was so damn hard.
"Goddamn it, Kandy. What the hell is wrong with you?" he rasped again, coming back up and sucking on my bottom lip, still grinding his cock on me. He sat up a bit and I moved my arms.
He pulled my sweatpants down in a flash, revealing my yellow panties. I was glad I wore my good panties, the lace ones I bought at Victoria's Secret with Mom during our rare shopping dates. His eyes blazed with hunger and lust, like he loved what he was seeing.
"Look at you," he groaned, scanning me with his eyes. "Fucking look at you."
Gripping my hips and hauling me closer, he pressed the hard ridge of his cock on my lace-clad pussy, grinding up and down, making me ache and sigh.
"I can't do this with you, Bits," he groaned, craning his neck when I tried to kiss him again.
"I want it," I said on his mouth. "I want you. Please, don't stop."
He cupped the back of my head, tangling rough fingers in my hair. He tugged on it, just enough to crane my neck and expose it.
"I know you want me," he growled. His tongue swirled on the bend of my neck, and then he sucked, still thrusting his cock between my legs, the thick weight of it still on my pussy. "You feel how hard I am for you," he panted. "You make me so fucking hard and I can't stand myself for it."
One of his hands slid down and he shifted his hips sideways so he could push my panties aside. Oh, God. It was happening. It was really happening.
His fingers dipped between the slit of my pussy and then glided up to my clit. I gasped when he slid his finger back down and gently, slowly plunged into me.
"So tight and wet, little one." His voice was heavy, filled with desire. He stroked his finger in and out, his thumb resting gently on my clit.
"Oh, God," I whimpered as he swirled his thumb on the aching bundle of nerves. I had no idea how he was playing with both areas, and I didn't care to question it. He had obviously done this many, many times before and it felt amazing.
My back arched and I heard him breathing harder. I could still feel his cock on my thigh, heavy and long in his jeans, straining, dying to be set free.
This was so wrong—doing this with him. My father was in the hospital. He could have been dying, yet here we were, like careless fools, doing things we shouldn't have been doing. Doing things that my father would have killed him for.
And then he had Kelly. I hadn't seen her
in a while, so I didn't know if they were still together, but I assumed they were in some fashion.
Cane hovered above me, still making magic happen with his finger, pulling me from reality. His mouth landed on mine again and he sucked hard on my bottom lip.
"You're so pretty like this," he groaned on my mouth, breath warm and caressing my skin. "When I play with your innocent, virgin pussy."
"Ohh," I moaned, squeezing my eyes tighter.
"Cum for me, my pretty little Kandy." He kissed his way down my throat again, and in my ear he said, "Fuck my fingers, little one. Make them yours."
And I did. I rotated my hips in full, round circles, wanting him deeper, aching for more. For it all. I
He added another finger willingly, and I gasped from the sudden pressure, but adjusted to it, and it felt even better than before. I shifted up and he curled the tips o his fingers just enough for me to feel them. He kissed me over and over again with warm, damp lips. He was so hard. I could feel him on my leg.
I wanted his cock, but was lost with his fingers inside me. My body was swirling with desire and that splash of liquor. He kept going, in and out, kiss after kiss, until I had finally let it all go.
My body locked up. I was so tense, paralyzed for a fleeting moment, before crying out in ecstasy. I shattered into a million tiny pieces, holding him tight, slowly but surely being pieced back together again somehow.
I sucked in a breath, my entire body feeling weak now.
That was amazing—and he did that with only his fingers. I couldn't imagine what his cock could do.
When I opened my eyes, his gray-green eyes were locked on me. "You happy?" he asked. His face was serious and hard, jaw locked. He gripped my face between his fingers, eyebrows stitched. "I had a weak moment, and I cared enough about you to let that happen, but it will never happen again. Do you understand?"
I swallowed the thick knot that's formed in my throat. "D-did I do something wrong?"
Forever, Mr. Black (Tainted Black #3) Page 28