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He submerges us, and the water comes alive with a swirl of colors. Magic encircles us, an intimate dance of light and shadow. He kisses me gently, sending a jolt through my being.
“Come back, Rayne. We're not done yet.”
That pull, that undeniable force, yanks me back into my body, and the connection between us resurges. I cling to him, whispering, “You kissed me.”
“More like CPR,” he deflects, carrying me towards the edge. “You need rest. Let’s get out of here.”
I rest against him, surrendering to his care. Physically spent but internally buzzing with a newfound energy. Details of our magical reunion begin to blur as exhaustion takes over. But one thing is clear—I'll navigate this path with Jaden, guarding my heart yet daring to hope. Tomorrow, I’ll piece it all together.
27
JADEN
Two nights later, the scene is set with meticulous precision in my private dining room. Low lighting casts soft shadows, enhancing the intimate atmosphere. The table is elegantly laid out, a blend of refinement and subtle sensuality. Understanding the terms that suit me, we can proceed. A plan to protect myself while confronting my demons with Rayne at the forefront. Yes, I'm using her, and the absence of guilt about it is a shadow I deliberately ignore. To stay with me, it’s my way or no way.
Rayne enters the room, halting momentarily at the threshold. She looks every bit the scared child trying to behave like a sophisticated woman. Her attire—a dark navy sheath, cut on the bias with a Mandarin collar—clings to her form, accentuating her delicate curves. The dress sways gently with each step, hinting at the garter beneath. My breath halts at the sight; she's stunning.
I pour two glasses of wine and move toward her. I rarely drink the stuff, but it gives me something to do with my hands. She steps slowly, weaving slightly in black heels, giving me time to study her. My cock pokes his head out of his cave. I keep my breathing steady, something I pride myself on. Only my unexpected hard-on can give me away, but this little one doesn’t seem to notice.
I almost laugh as I see the pad and pen she holds at her side. Placing my wineglass on the table, I pluck the paper and pen from her hand and set them next to my glass then turn back to Rayne with her glass of wine. Her hand shakes a little as she wraps a tiny hand around the bowl of the glass. The intensity of those dark eyes is a little disconcerting. This woman makes me feel self-aware . . . and aware of my shortcomings . . . like no one else ever has.
I hold my glass by the stem and examine the color and legs of the Ornellaia Archivio Storico wine, watching Rayne surreptitiously through my peripheral vision. She watches intently and mimics my every move. There will be enough time later for a wine tasting and many other lessons.
Tonight, we are here for one purpose. To cement our agreement. Much as I won’t admit it, the thought that nothing is holding her to me unsettles me. People make commitments like throwing confetti at weddings, with just as much intention of cleaning up after themselves. Somehow, I know with her it’s different. Somehow, I know her integrity is her bond.
Our server delivers something called love dumplings. I pause for an inward smile as I remember the discussion Kat and I had about the menu. As always, Kat won the day. According to her, Rayne loves shrimp and would get a kick out of the name. Sure enough, she oohs and aahs over the smell, an instant saliva trigger, then pops one in her mouth.
“Will there be more wine?" she asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
"No one will bother us unless I give a signal."
Well then, give the damn signal. Her inner voice snaps through our connection.
"I actually have to use the can.” She stands up.
Without thinking, I grab her hand and pull her towards me. Our bodies are so close that I can feel her warmth radiating off her. I brush my lips against hers again, savoring the slight heat that builds between us. But even as she moans softly, a nagging thought creeps into my mind—is this all she wants from me? Just physical pleasure? I immediately chide myself for the thought. **Why do you care, asshole?** This is about sex, that’s all this is pure and simple.
"I want you to be relaxed, not drunk," I whisper against her lips. "Maybe a little high, but not completely out of it."
Her response is barely audible, but I hear it loud and clear. My grip on her tightens as I fight off my own insecurities. How can someone like her possibly want someone like me? But for now, all I can do is hold onto her and hope that these moments together mean something more than just fleeting passion.
In a few weeks, Rayne’s managed to put cracks in the impenetrable walls I’ve built around myself. After the “event,” I spent years in a state of unbearable sexual need but was rarely able to satisfy it. I learned quickly to act like the arrogant playboy society expected me to be. The ruder and more offensive I behaved within limits, the happier everyone seemed to be.
I’d gotten to a point where my PTSD was at bay, which was a fucking miracle. Because despite my best attempts to avoid the truth, the physician in me knows I’m suffering from a severe case. Then Rayne came along, and I fantasized about a life where I could have sex like a normal person and have my version of the white picket fence. But Sasha’s attack is a wake-up call that puts things in perspective. Yet I want Rayne with every fiber of my being. I’m fifty-eight degrees of fucked up.
I’ve ignored her since the night I took her without her explicit consent, something I’d sworn never to do. Consumed by guilt, I hadn’t known just how to approach her and I’d waited for her reproach. I thanked the gods when our connection went live after the coma or whatever we’re calling the state she fell into. Through it, I can tell that she’s confused, but I get no sense that she’s ready to leave . . . yet.
While she’s in the washroom, staff replaces the dining table and chairs with a luxurious Tantra sofa. A wine glass and a joint are beckoning to her on the coffee table. With no other option for seating, she cautiously sits beside me, perching on the very edge of the cushion as if trying to distance herself from me. She lights the joint and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in before exhaling in an attempt to create fanciful designs. Then she reaches for the wine glass, taking it by its stem and examining it just as I had done moments before. Taking a sip, she lets out a contented sigh.
I clear my throat and take the plunge. “Where do you see this thing happening between us going?”
She leans against my chest, seeking stability in our physical closeness. We sit there together for several minutes, enveloped in silence before she finally speaks.
"I haven't really thought about it," she says quietly.
Using the nickname I've given her, I say, "Little Dragon." My tone holds a hint of warning, conveying my refusal to be played with. Emotions flicker across our bond as Rayne flips through a Rolodex of emotion, finally settling on determination. I brace myself. Here it comes. The moment I’ve been hoping to avoid for the last two days. The moment she kicks me to the curb for being a drunken asshole taking her without her consent.
Her words are hesitant but determined as she continues, "Okay, that's not entirely true. We’ll be friends.” She stops. I hold my breath but don’t break the silence. She has to be the one to take the first step. I try to read the myriad of emotions flickering through our bond, but nothing lands long enough for me to identify it. When she speaks, it’s a whisper of need and apprehension. “You'll teach me how to have amazing sex."
