I BOUGHT HIM IN HEAT

CHAPTER 8

Later that night, I opened the door to his room without knocking.

Kai was sitting on the edge of the bed, still in the oversized clothes, elbows on his knees. The second the door closed behind me, his head snapped up. Blue eyes locked onto mine — sharp, wary, already angry.

I didn’t speak at first. I just walked closer until I stood between his legs.

“Still awake,” I murmured.

He didn’t answer. His jaw was tight.

I reached down and slowly pushed his shirt up, exposing the hard lines of his stomach. He tensed but didn’t stop me. When my fingers slid under the waistband of the loose pants, his breath caught sharply.

“Don’t—” he started.

I ignored him and wrapped my hand around his c**k.

He was already hard. Hot. Thick. The moment my fingers closed around him, a rough sound escaped his throat before he could stop it. His hips jerked once, then he forced himself still.

I stroked him slowly, from base to tip, feeling him throb against my palm.

“You’re still this hard,” I said quietly, watching his face. “Even after the pill.”

His hands clenched into fists on the sheets. “Stop.”

I didn’t. I tightened my grip just enough to make his thighs tremble and dragged my thumb over the head, spreading the wetness that had already gathered there. His breathing turned uneven almost immediately.

“You can tell me to stop as many times as you want,” I said, voice calm. “Your body isn’t listening to you.”

He glared up at me, eyes burning. “I hate you.”

“I know.” I stroked him again, slower this time, twisting my wrist at the top the way that made his stomach tighten. “That’s what makes this interesting.”

His hips twitched against my hand despite himself. A low, frustrated sound left him. I could feel how close he already was — the heat still lingering under his skin made everything sharper.

I leaned in closer, lips near his ear while my hand kept working him.

“You’re leaking for me,” I whispered. “And you still think you can resist.”

He tried to push my wrist away. I simply tightened my hold and stroked him harder for a few seconds, enough to make his head drop forward and a broken breath leave his mouth. Then I slowed again, keeping him right on the edge.

His voice came out rough. “f**k… stop…”

I ignored the words and kept teasing him — long, deliberate strokes mixed with lighter ones that left him straining for more. Every time his hips started to move, I slowed down. Every time he tried to turn his face away, I made him look at me again with a quiet, “Eyes on me.”

After several minutes of this, his breathing was ragged and his thighs were shaking. He was right there — so close it hurt — and I could feel how desperately his body wanted release.

That was when I stopped completely.

I released him and stepped back.

Kai’s head snapped up, blue eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. His c**k twitched in the air, wet and neglected.

“What—” he started, voice hoarse.

I straightened my clothes and looked down at him calmly.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

His expression twisted. “You can’t just—”

“I can do whatever I want,” I said softly. “You’re mine, remember?”

I turned and walked toward the door.

“Get some rest, Kai.” I glanced back once. “Or try to.”

Then I left, closing the door quietly behind me.

(Kai’s POV)

The second the door shut, I stayed frozen on the edge of the bed, breathing hard.

My c**k was still painfully hard, throbbing, wet from her hand. The feeling of her fingers was burned into my skin. I could still feel the exact pressure of her grip.

“f**k,” I muttered under my breath.

I stood up too fast. My legs felt unsteady. I went straight to the bathroom and turned the shower on as cold as it would go. The icy water hit my skin and made me flinch, but I stayed under it, jaw clenched, forcing myself to endure it.

It didn’t help.

My body still burned. The heat the pill had only dulled was back, sharper now because of what she had done. I braced one hand against the tile and tried to ignore the way my c**k stayed hard no matter how cold the water was.

After a long time I gave up and shut the water off.

I dried off roughly, pulled the oversized pants back on, and returned to the bed. I lay down and stared at the ceiling, trying to force my breathing to slow.

It didn’t work.

Eventually I gave in. I shoved my hand into the pants and wrapped my fingers around myself, stroking hard and fast, chasing the release she had denied me. I bit down on my lip to stay quiet, hips jerking against my own hand.

It should have been easy. I was already so close.

But every time I got near the edge, my mind dragged me back to her — the calm way she had looked at me, the way her voice stayed steady while she played with me, the fact that she had stopped right when I needed it most.

My release never came.

I stopped, frustrated and aching worse than before. My hand was sticky. My body still felt restless and overheated. I got up again, went back to the bathroom, and washed my hands under cold water, then pressed a cold towel against the back of my neck.

Nothing helped.

I returned to the bed and lay down on my side, facing the wall that separated my room from hers.

I could still feel her.

And no matter what I did — cold water, my own hand, forcing my thoughts away — my body refused to calm down.

Sleep didn’t come for a long time.