"Why?" I ask, needing to understand. My stomach knots as I try to reconcile this with the version of my husband I know, the man who kisses Liam goodnight and holds me when I can't sleep.
"Because I was better than them," he says simply, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. His eyes flash with something between pride and old pain. "Because I had a natural talent they could only dream of. And because I was always ten steps ahead at the table.” He delivers this without a hint of boasting—just stating facts in that slow, deliberate way of his that makes each word feel like a verdict.
I let out a small laugh, despite the gravity of the situation. "Tell me about it," I say, thinking of Reeves’s infamous temper—the way his face flushes crimson when he's frustrated, how he slams the butt of his pool cue against the floor when he misses a shot. "Emotionalregulation isn't exactly Reeves’s strong suit. One bad game and the whole hall knows it."
Caine laughs softly, the sound sending a ripple of warmth through my chest. His eyes crinkle at the corners, making my breath catch for just a moment. "Pool is like chess," he muses, tracing his long fingers along the edge of the table. "It's a sport, but also a strategic game. You need talent, discipline, and the ability to keep your cool under pressure. The moment you let emotion dictate your shot—" He snaps his fingers. “That's when you lose everything you've built."
And for a moment, as we stand there sharing this strange, intimate connection, I allow myself to forget the stakes, to forget the danger of this game we've been playing.
The way his eyes hold mine makes everything else fade away—Reeves, the failing pool hall, even my responsibilities waiting at home. It's just us, surrounded by the soft click of billiard balls and the amber glow of the overhead lights.
I picture Caine, younger, smaller, at the mercy of Reeves and Greg—their fists, their rage. My stomach hardens with anger.
How could Reeves be so nonchalant about something so brutal? How could he lie to me, dismiss it as if it were nothing? And how could he use me as a bargaining chip in this sick game?
I'm tired of pushing away my feelings for Caine, tired of denying the pull I feel towards him. It's a dangerous dance, but I'm done resisting.
My heart pounds hard as I grab Caine by the shirt, a fistful of fabric in my hand, and pull him closer.
His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't resist.
"Follow me," I whisper, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
I drag him towards the storage room, the heavy door slamming shut behind us with a satisfying thud.
The room is dim, filled with the musky antiseptic scent of cleaning supplies and inventory. It’s dark, save for the faint glow of a night light plugged into the wall.
He doesn’t waste a single second.
My breath hitches as he presses me against the shelving. As soon as his body moulds into mine, I melt and completely surrender. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing.
As soon as our lips meet, my whole core warms and drowns into him. His mouth is hot, his lips so soft. He tastes amazing, like mint. I melt further into him, my body aching for more. His hands roam my back, tracing the curve of my spine before sliding lower, cupping my ass and pulling me closer against him. He's hard. He wants this as much as I do.
I'm on fire, every nerve ending alive and tingling. His touch drives me wild, and I can't get enough. I grindagainst him, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my pussy. He groans into my mouth, a sound that sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. His hands find their way under my skirt, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties before slipping inside and stroking my ass.
"God, you're so soft," he breathes against my ear. "Your ass is perfection.”
His hand slides, and my pussy aches for his touch.
He doesn't leave me hanging. He slides a long finger down the front of my panties and finds my sweet spot. I melt into him, knowing this is so wrong, but it feels so fucking good.
I can't stop it. I can't push him away. I desperately want this. I don't let myself think of anything else. There is nothing else but this moment.
He rubs me softly, and it's like nothing I've ever felt before. His fingers are perfect, knowing exactly where to touch, how to stroke. I'm wet, so wet, and the sensation of his fingers sliding against me is almost too much to bear. I buckle against him as he rubs me harder, faster.
"That's it, baby," he whispers against my ear, breathless, his words heavy and ragged. "Come for me, baby. I want to hear you come hard in my hand."
I gasp, my head falling back as he keeps stroking me, as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. I brace myself against the flat steel shelving, holding on tight.
His hot mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his fingers work their magic.
I can't stop this. I don't want to. I'm a slave to the sensations coursing through my body, a captive to the pleasure he's giving me. His fingers move faster, his thumb circling my clit with a precision that leaves me breathless.
I'm so close, so close...
And then I'm falling, tumbling over the edge… and it's pure pleasure. My orgasm rips through me, and I cry out. He slams his free hand over my mouth.
"Quiet, my beautiful girl,” he whispers.
