Things We Burn Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports, Virgin Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement1

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This didn’t feel like the sex we’d had before—hot, animalistic, carnal. No, sex after learning personal details was intimate in a way that felt terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

“Chef, open your eyes.”

I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed them shut.

Slowly, I heeded his request.

Kane was hovering above me, taking in all the details of my face. “I like you, Avery Hart,” he whispered. “And I consider it a great fucking honor to have my cock inside of you.”

Though the admission was tender, serious, I couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

A giggle.

I didn’t giggle.

I rarely laughed.

But a giggle was something that feminine, carefree women did. I was not that.

Yet there I was, giggling with Kane inside me.

Not likely to be good for his ego.

I waited for his eyes to shutter, his body to tense as he lashed out at me for the giggle.

But instead, his lips stretched into a large grin.

“Like that.” He nuzzled my neck. “Hearing you happy like that while I’m inside you.”

He moved, and my giggle was gone, replaced by a moan of pleasure.

“Yeah,” he said, more seriously. “Like the laughter, but I’m gonna aim for the screaming of my name now.”

And he got it.

I screamed his name, but it also felt imprinted on my insides.

Kane turned up at the restaurant again the following night. After dinner service. He just sauntered in the back entrance as though he owned the place, had every right to be there and had done it a million times before.

It wasn’t easy to just walk in the back door, or the side door that led to the dumpsters and the alley. I’d ensured that, for the safety of my staff. There was a keypad on the exterior door, and there were security cameras and multiple people whose job it was to notice if there was someone at the back of house who wasn’t supposed to be there.

Kane had, apparently, charmed his way back there.

I wanted to be mad about it. I really did. Except the vision of him watching me go about my end of night chores as if I was performing a strip tease sent all logical thought from my head.

“Hey, Chef,” he murmured when I looked up to see him standing there.

And there went my cool. The greeting sent fire into my veins.

His hair was long enough to be pulled back into a man bun. I hadn’t liked that kind of thing. But pulled back, it showed off his angular chin, clean shaven this time. His heavy brow, contrasted by those electric-blue eyes. The crooked nose, and the scar on his lip was more prominent somehow.

He managed to look menacing, mysterious and mischievous all at once. Oh, and masculine. Hugely masculine. I noted his tattooed hands had nails that were painted black. Something unexpected, yet he pulled it off, and it only added to his appeal. His effortless style.

Meanwhile, I was in my chef’s whites. My face was likely flushed from the heat and the business of the kitchen. No gloss on my lips, no mascara to help make my brown eyes ‘pop’ as Kiera said. But Kane was looking at me as if I were dressed to the nines.

I bit my lip and finished my chores in record time. We didn’t have sex in the kitchen again. It felt like a one-off. A sacred memory. A pivotal one.

I walked with him to his bike as if it were a foregone conclusion we were going home together. All of the dating advice from people like Kiera would go against this. Play hard to get, establish space, boundaries, independence. Don’t make yourself too available for him. She’d drilled such things into me many times.

But I didn’t want to play games with Kane. He seemed unflinchingly honest with me. Treating this, us, like it was natural. As easy as breathing.

And nothing came easy to me before, most especially relationships.

So I was going for it.

“What’s your address?” he asked, leaning me against the bike. He’d kissed me senseless prior to this, so I didn’t have the wherewithal to do anything but rattle off my address, let him put a helmet on me and get us on the bike.

Riding through the city on Kane’s bike had quickly become my favorite thing in the entire world. The cool breeze, the lights flashing by, the roar of the bike. I had no responsibilities but to hold on to Kane and let him take the wheel. It was thrilling.

Peaceful.

Peace…

Something I’d never known until I met Kane “The Devil” Rhodes.

“This is your place, huh?” He had walked inside, doing a slow spin to take in the entire area. It didn’t take more than a spin. And it didn’t need to be a slow one either.

My studio apartment was big by Manhattan studio apartment standards. The sleeping area held enough space for a queen bed, two side tables, a trunk at the end and even a set of drawers stacked neatly underneath the large window that looked out at the skyline.


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