Seventeen
1938 Words
Emma:
The moment stretches.
Like the entire world is holding its breath, waiting to see what we do next.
Kaden’s hand is still around mine—big, warm, steady—and I swear my pulse is trying to climb into his palm just to stay close to him. The cab is dim except for the glowing dashboard, and all I can see is him. The cut of his jaw. The shadow of stubble. The way his eyes are dark and too honest.
“Emma,” he whispers again, but it’s different this time.
Not a warning.
Not a plea.
A confession.
My voice barely works. “Yeah?”
He looks at me like he can’t decide whether to kiss me or pray for the strength not to.
“You should go inside,” he murmurs. “Before this gets… harder.”
My breath catches.
Before this gets harder.
Before I get harder.
Those words sit between us like a match on dry leaves.
I swallow. “Kaden…”
He still hasn’t let go of my hand. His thumb drags in one slow line across my knuckles—innocent, except absolutely not.
“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.
I don’t even realize I am until he says it. Just a faint tremor in my fingers, my breath, my voice. But it's there. Not fear. Never fear.
Want.
“You’re doing it too,” I whisper.
His eyes flick down to our joined hands.
Yeah. He’s shaking, too.
Snow whispers against the windshield, the heater hums, and some soft part of me—the part I pretend doesn’t exist, the part that hasn't been touched by a man in a very long time leans forward before I can talk myself out of it.
“Kaden,” I say, voice low, “if you want to go inside with me… You can.”
His inhale is sharp, almost like I knocked the air out of him.
“Emma,” he breathes, and my name on his tongue feels like its own kind of touch, “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
“I mean them,” I whisper. “All of them.”
That silence that follows? It doesn't feel quiet.
It feels like a fuse burning.
He shifts closer. Not touching—just near enough that the heat of him aches. His free hand lifts like he’s going to cup my jaw, then stops halfway, shaking, as if he’s holding himself back by sheer will.
“I can’t go inside with you like this,” he says, voice rough.
“Why not?” I whisper.
“Because Avery isn’t home,” he says softly. “She’s with her grandparents for the weekend. And if I go inside with you right now… There won’t be anything stopping this.”
Oh.
Oh.
Something deep and low curls in my stomach, hot enough to melt the snow outside.
“That’s why you’re hesitating?” I ask softly.
His jaw flexes. “You have no idea.”
I lean in just barely. “Then tell me.”
His eyes open, dark and unguarded.
“If I start wanting you out loud,” he says gently, “I don’t know how to stop.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper.
His breath stutters like he’s losing control, even sitting still.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
That heat in my stomach turns molten.
“Then show me.”
His hand tightens around mine instantly—reflexive, hungry—but he still holds himself back, muscles rigid, breath uneven.
“Emma,” he says, voice rough, “I am trying so damn hard to be good.”
“Don't,” I whisper. “Not with me.”
He closes his eyes, head tipping back against the seat like the last thread of restraint is fraying.
When he looks at me again, it’s finished.
The hesitation.
The distance.
The pretending.
It’s all gone.
He leans in—slow, deliberate, like giving me every chance to back out. I don’t. I can’t. I meet him halfway, my breath brushing his, our faces so close I can feel the heat of his lips without touching.
“Kaden,” I murmur, “do you want to kiss me?”
His answer is a broken, desperate sound. “God, yes.”
My throat goes tight.
My heart lifts.
My whole body sparks.
“Then kiss me,” I whisper.
He does.
And the world disappears.
His mouth is warm, firm, hungry in a way that steals every thought but one—more. His hand slides to my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth as he tilts my head and deepens the kiss like he’s been starving for it.
I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m leaning over the console, fingers in his jacket, pulling him closer because closer isn’t close enough.
He kisses like a man who’s been holding himself back for miles. For days. Maybe from the moment we met.
He breaks the kiss with a rough inhale, forehead pressed to mine, breath shaking.
“Inside,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Before I lose my mind out here.”
I nod, breathless. “Okay.”
We open our doors at the same time, snow swirling around us as we climb out. The walk to the house feels too long and too short all at once—my pulse pounding, his boots crunching beside me, the tension stretched so tight it’s barely holding on.
He unlocks the door with shaking hands.
I step inside.
He follows.
The click of the door closing behind us is soft.
But everything that comes after? Won’t be.
The door clicks shut.
Quiet. Soft.
But the silence that follows isn’t quiet at all.
It’s thick. Charged. Hot enough that I feel it prick across my skin like static before a lightning strike.
I barely have time to turn toward him before Kaden is there—crowding into my space, one hand sliding to the back of my neck, the other gripping my hip like he’s claiming it.
His voice drops to a growl so low it vibrates through me.
“Kitchen. Now.”
My breath stutters.
I don’t hesitate.
I don’t think.
I just moved.
He follows me down the hall, steps slow, heavy, predator-sure. By the time my hand touches the edge of the kitchen counter, he’s already behind me.
His fingers wrap around my wrist and flatten my palm to the cool marble.
“Good girl,” he murmurs against the back of my neck.
I almost collapse at the sound.
He presses into me from behind, chest to my spine, his breath hot against my ear.
“You have any idea what you did in that truck?” he asks, voice rough with restraint. “Sitting there looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you?”
“I—” My voice cracks. “I didn’t—”
He tilts my head to the side with a gentle grip on my jaw and speaks into my throat.
“Don’t lie to me,” he growls. “Not about this.”
I shiver—hard.
His hand clamps around my hip, fingers digging in, turning me to face him. He walks me backward until my lower back bumps the counter.
Then he cages me in—hands on either side, body crowding mine, eyes dark and hungry.
“You wanted this,” he says, voice low and steady. “Didn’t you?”
I nod because I can’t form words.
“Say it, Emma.”
My breath catches. “I want you.”
His jaw flexes as the words hit him somewhere deep.
Then his lips are on mine—hard, claiming, messy in a way that steals the air straight from my lungs. He kisses me like he’s tired of pretending, tired of holding back, tired of being good.
His hands move—one sliding into my hair, the other gripping the back of my thigh and lifting.
I gasp as he pulls my leg around his hip, pressing me flush against him.
“There you go,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Hold on.”
He lifts me onto the counter in one fluid motion—like I weigh nothing—his hands firm on my hips as he sets me down on the cold surface.
“Kaden—”
He shuts me up with his mouth again—hot, slow, then suddenly not sluggish at all. His tongue slides against mine, commanding, coaxing a soft sound from my throat that he swallows with a pleased growl.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
And God—he looks wrecked.
Hair mussed. Breath uneven. Eyes like fire.
“I’ve been trying to be careful with you,” he says, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Trying to be patient. Trying to take this slow.”
He leans in, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“But you keep looking at me like you want me to take you apart.”
My heart stutters in my chest.
“Kaden—”
His hand wraps around my waist, sliding under my shirt, palm dragging slowly up my stomach until I’m trembling.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “Are you scared?”
I shake my head fast. “No.”
“Good.” His thumb strokes my hip. “Because I’m not stopping.”
He kisses down my jaw, my throat, the hollow beneath my ear—each touch hotter, rougher, more sure.
Then he stands between my knees, spreading them with a firm, undeniable pressure of his hands.
“You want me rough?” His breath hits my mouth. “Or do you want me gentle?”
I meet his eyes, pulse pounding so hard it aches.
“Rough.”
Something inside him snaps.
In the best possible way.
“Good,” he growls, dragging me to the edge of the counter with both hands. “Because I’ve been holding that back all damn night.”
His mouth crashes into mine again, hungrier than before, and his hands—
God, his hands.
They settle on my hips, intense and unforgiving, fingers digging in like he’s staking a claim.
He kisses me breathless, ruined, dizzy.
Then he pulls back just enough to speak against my lips.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
His hand slides to my jaw, thumb pushing gently into my cheek, tilting my face up to his.
“You will if I ask,” he corrects, voice low and iron-solid. “Because you’re safe with me. Even when I’m like this.”
The way he says like this sends heat straight through me.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
The words are so soft. So dangerous. So perfect.
His grip tightens.
“Now,” he breathes, dragging his mouth down my neck, “I’m going to ruin this pretty mouth on my name—and then I’m going to bend you over this counter.”
My breath leaves my lungs entirely.
“Kaden—”
He smiles against my throat, slow and wicked.
“Say you want it.”
“I want it,” I whisper, shaking. “I want you.”
His hands slide up my thighs.
And then he pulls me forward, lips a breath from mine—
“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Because you’re about to get it.”
- Writer
