Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(83)

A flicker of amusement touches his Cain’s lips before disappearing. Stretching his arms out on either side of him along the curved wall, he tips his head back and closes his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not a pervert.”

His Adam’s apple is jutting out at a sexy sharp angle and I can’t help myself. I reach up and slowly drag my finger along the bump, feeling it move with his hard swallow. When I reach the base of his throat, I don’t stop, continuing down to begin tracing his hard muscles and the patterned tattoos adorning his chest.

I fight the urge to slide my hand farther down, to see how much this is affecting him. Knowing I can elicit such a reaction from a man like Cain is as much a turn-on as having him actually touch me.

His eyes open to watch me as I quietly study him. “I’m glad you came today, Charlie. I thought maybe . . . ” His voice drifts off for a moment as I see his jaw clench. “ . . . that was it.” There’s that look—the same one I saw last night, when he asked me if I was sure. If I was sure of being with him. As if there were any possible reason anyone wouldn’t be over-the-moon thrilled to have Cain’s affections.

His words feel like a punch to my stomach as a conflicting swirl of emotions slams into me. Guilt because he’s right; that was supposed to be it! Anguish that I may have wounded him. Bitterness for the looming expiration date hanging over our heads. Overwhelming desire to erase his doubts right here, right now.

Selfishness.

Pure, raw selfishness to grab hold of him and never let go, despite knowing I shouldn’t. It’s churning deep within my belly and it is impossible to resist.

How did this happen so fast?

My situation is impossible and, worse, I can’t explain it to him. I wish I could, though. I wish I were confident that he wouldn’t think less of me.

“Hey.” One of Cain’s hands lifts to close over the side of my neck, his thumb grazing my jawline soothingly. “Is everything okay?”

No, Cain. It’s not okay. I’m hanging from a pendulum as it swings back and forth between a nightmare and a dream. Only the nightmare is real! When I’m with Cain, nothing else matters. And when I’m not with him, I’m acutely aware of how stupid I am for being here. How I’m so close to being free of Sam and the drugs forever, if I’d just let go.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Cain.” The painful lump forms in my throat again. I duck my head because I’m afraid he’ll see the lie in my eyes. I’m finding it harder to pretend around Cain. Taking a few deep breaths, I struggle to pull on a mask of calm. Or of playfulness. I settle on a mask of emptiness. I doubt it’s a convincing one at that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, evidently not buying my words.

I absently trace over the design decorating his shoulder, as a “no” flees from my tongue in a whisper. There’s not much I can say without raising Cain’s suspicion, and so I need to remain quiet.

Like the quiet little mouse that Sam taught me to be.

I’m surprised he hasn’t asked about Bob. He hasn’t even mentioned the other night, though my gut tells me it’s on his mind. It’s as if he’s biding his time before bringing it up.

With a heavy sigh, Cain’s head and arms falls back once again. This time his eyes remain open and I see the frustration in them. “Why do I feel like you don’t really want to be here, Charlie?” I can sense rather than feel the tension suddenly channeling through his body.

“I do. Believe me.”

There’s a long pause. “You do realize that the things I told you last night I don’t admit to just anyone, right?” He lifts his head again, his eyes pleading with me.

I can manage only shallow, ragged breaths. I want to be thrilled by Cain’s words right now. So very happy that Cain is being so open with me, so honest. But I can’t, and it’s constricting my lungs painfully. I don’t know how to answer, so I settle on, “Yes. I’m glad I’m here, too,” because there’s nothing more true than that.

That naturally furrowed brow creases further. “Did what happened last night bother you? Look . . .” I see the muscles in his jaw tense as he breaks eye contact, his gaze searching the water in front of us. “I know I can be really intense sometimes. And impatient. And maybe letting that happen out on a pier was less than ideal for you.” Dark eyes flash to me. “Sometimes I’m less inhibited, when I’m not thinking straight.” A hand lifts to play with a strand of my hair. “Maybe we should dial things back.”

What? I feel the scowl form on my face. No! Slow things down? When that damn clock keeps ticking away? No! No! No!

He goes on, seemingly unaware of my internal panic. “I warned you that I don’t know how to do this. Still—”

Cain’s words die with a hiss the second I peel down the front of his trunks and grasp him tightly. He was already hard. “I have no desire to slow things down,” I say evenly, holding his gaze as I begin stroking him.

He locks a steely gaze on me and I start to think I might have gone too far. But I don’t stop. “Thank f*cking God,” he finally mutters, reaching down to pull my hand away from him with a chuckle. “But I don’t think Storm will appreciate that in here.” After a pause, he adds with mock seriousness, “Besides, I thought you preferred privacy.”