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“Yeah, yeah, YEAH,” she says, her voice rising with each word while waving a dismissive hand. “You’re allowed to have your cake and eat it, too. I’d just like to walk into work all bow-legged with a fuck-you smile for once.”
“I don’t have a fuck-you smile.”
“You sure do. And I certainly would if I was being ruined by Kane Alexander. I’d be wearing a fuck-you smile loud and proud.”
Perhaps I am wearing somewhat of a grin. Not a fuck-you smile, but more of a ‘yes, please, I’ll have some more’ smirk.
“So, tell me… is a man as sexy as Kane Alexander also a douche? They tend to go hand-in-hand.”
I lean back in my chair eyeing the framed photo of Shawn and me sitting on the shelf across the room. If anyone’s a douche, it’s Shawn and his year-long lie.
“So far, he seems the perfect gentleman.”
“Even in the bedroom?”
“He’s the devil in the bedroom but still very much a gentleman.” I bite my lip thinking of how he ensured I came multiple times before he allowed himself to find his release.
“Did he stay the night?”
I think back to how I was so mentally and physically fucked over that I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Mentally fucked by Shawn and everything to do with his lies and separation, and physically because of every heavenly, punishing second Kane delivered. “No, but… after we finished, I was so tired, I collapsed on the bed. I remember the feeling of being carried and then lowered into a warm bath.”
“He bathed you?” Amanda asked, her voice rising an octave. “You mean to tell me that after Kane finished, he didn’t just roll over to sleep or up and leave, but the man actually freakin’ bathed you?”
I nod. “Yep. I know.” I decide to withhold the part of how my lady parts stung when they hit the hot water, or how Kane gently massaged said lady parts until the sting was no more. Or how his rearing cock pressed between my ass cheeks as he dried me off, lips trailing a sensual path down my neck. He’d led me back to bed, tucked me in, and left. Or so I thought.
“That wasn’t all he did.” When Amanda raises her perfectly shaped brow, I continue, “When I woke up, I was making coffee and noticed all the artwork I had lining the walls ready to hung, had been hung. And all the empty storage boxes I haven’t had to time to remove had been removed.”
“He hung your artwork and removed your boxes?”
I nod again, thinking how my luck has taken such a drastic turn. While I suspected Kane to simply be seducing me for his own pleasure, it turns out the man also knows how to treat a woman in and outside of the bedroom.
Amanda leans back on the chair and sighs. “I can’t even get a boyfriend to put his dirty plate in the sink. You must have one magical pussy.”
I shift slightly in my chair, feeling the remaining ache. “It’s not feeling very magical at the moment.”
Amanda giggles before a sudden realization dawns. She slaps her palm on my table, eyes wide. “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Little Red.”
“What about it?”
She sighs in exasperation. “He did fuck you good. The original Red is not like the others. You became his original Red, Blythe. Stripped naked and eaten alive by the Big Bad Wolf.”
“I don’t think your version of ‘eaten alive’ equates to the original fairy-tale’s intention.”
She waves a hand in dismissal. “Semantics. It means exactly what Kane Alexander intended it to mean. You can’t sugarcoat that shit. That man had you in his sights long before you even knew his name.”
Maybe she’s right, except I can’t shake the feeling that last night was simply a taster of what to expect come the main meal.
“So, sex-god aside… how do you know the man isn’t some kind of psychopath?”
That’s an excellent question.
“I don’t.”
12
Dear Blythe,
I trust you slept well.
I would like to discuss a time suitable to preview your concepts.
Also, these are a replacement for the damage I caused.
Yours,
Kane
A replacement?
Damage?
What’s he talking about?
A knock at the door causes me to jump. It seems whenever I hear from Kane, I forget about the rest of the world.
“Blythe Blakely?” The delivery man stands at the door, a parcel in one hand and a clipboard tucked under his arm.
“That’s me,” I reply, curious as to how he got by Amanda.
The man walks in and hands me an inch-high square box wrapped in a beautiful dark purple bow. I sign the paperwork and stare at the gift as the delivery man leaves me be.
“What have you done, Kane?”
Pulling the ribbon, I push it aside and lift the white lid, a smile stretching across my face while the memories of last night come flooding back, along with the ache between my legs. A pair of black silk and lace panties stare up from the pink tissue paper. I touch the soft, fine fabric, recalling how my torn G lay discarded on the floor this morning after Kane had torn it from my body. Putting the lid back on and stowing the gift in my drawer, I compose a reply.
