AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Kaden waits ’til she’s waltzed off before he glares at me. “What the hell was that? Do you plan on eating two orders worth of pancakes?”
“One is for you, Kaden.”
His dark eyes narrow. “I know what you’re doing Lyra, and I’m not amused.”
“You made some decisions for me. I’m making some decisions for you. It’s only fair, right?” I ask. He doesn’t refute me, but the ever-increasing narrowing of his eyes tells me how he feels on the matter. A rebellious smirk tugs at my lips and I fold my hands, leaning partially over the table. “I can see it in your gaze. What are you thinking, Kaden? How much you want to punish me? Play another round of nipple clamps and electric zapper? Guess what? Ilikedit.”
So I may or may not be pushing my luck.
I’m taunting him, openly challenging him as I sit back in the booth and watch in amusement as he restrains himself. A difficult feat for him considering he has little ground to stand on—I caught him red-handed orchestrating what’s happened between us. How can he punish me when he’s the one who fucked up?
Though I’m not so sure that’ll stop him. He seems to stand firm in his rules once they’re established.
Still, as Mama delivers our food, setting down large plates of pancakes in front us, Kaden swallows down his urge for payback. He unfurls his knife and fork from the paper napkin on the table and slices into his hot cakes.
“Chocolate chips,” he says dryly. “Delicious.”
“Aren’t they?”
“Yes, almost as enjoyable as other things I’m thinking of. But those will come later.”
I bring my fork to my smirking lips. “You should probably finish your pancakes first, before talking a big game.”
I’m not imagining things. As I swallow my first bite of blueberry hot cakes, Kaden watches me, and for the briefest blink of an eye, he smirks too.
* * *
My ass is sore by the end of the afternoon. Kaden held up his end of the bargain. He finished every bite of Mama’s triple stack chocolate chip pancakes—and then he promptly exacted revenge the second we returned to his penthouse.
He brought out a different pair of clamps and bent me over the bench, but he didn’t use the electric zapper. This time, I was paddled. I was made to count aloud with him as he alternated between stroking my ass and playing with my pussy and slamming down the wooden paddle on various parts of my backside.
I came twice, though I’m certain I won’t sit down normally for a week.
I regret nothing—Grady’s never made me come, and Kaden practically hands out orgasms like Oprah did cars that one time.
The issues between us aren’t resolved. I’m still not sold on trusting him. I’m not sure how I feel about his deception. He’s lied to me for two weeks, letting me believe he happened to bump into me when he planned it in advance.
But I rationalize it by telling myself our relationship’s not serious. We’re not even officially exclusive. Whatever we’ve developed is more like some thrilling, explosive sex arrangement, where we occasionally act more coupley and do coupley things.
I can ride the orgasm train around the block a few times and then end it once I’m ready to close this chapter of my life.
His association with the Midnight Society is still cause for concern. He didn’t give his input about the incident on stage other than to say the guy deserved for his dick to be bit off.
Then there’s the matter of Celeste.
The lady has a few screws loose, and that’s putting it mildly. She seems obsessed with Kaden. And she mentioned the guy whose penis I chewed up was her cousin and he’s pissed.
Does that mean he knows who I am? Where I am?
I throw a paranoid look over my shoulder on my subway ride home. Kaden had offered to drive me, but I insisted on going by myself. I needed the time amid the repugnant stench of BO and the sticky wads of gum on the metal poles to think on everything.
Could it be possible I’m missing a piece of the puzzle? Did Kaden tell me the truth when he said I was interesting and he pursued me for that reason?
Celeste had mentioned something about bad habits—
“Lyra!”
I’m pulled from my thoughts at the sound of my name. I turn around to find a slim, red-eyed man jogging toward me. It takes me a second to recognize him, because his normal pompadour hair lays flat and lifeless, and he’s in a dowdy sweatsuit.
