Alpha's Dark Desires
Chapter 46: Need Some Clothes

Chapter 46: Need Some Clothes

ELENA’S POV:

By the time Kane carried my sobbing self back to the house, I hated myself for breaking down in front of him. I wanted to be strong, to hold onto my anger, but the moment the tears started, there was no stopping them.

He didn’t say much, just murmured softly as he held me, something about being sorry. And he should be sorry. Sorry for cheating—or whatever his excuse was. Sorry for putting me through this emotional wringer. Sorry for making me care about him when he clearly didn’t deserve it.

Still, as I sat curled on his lap in the living room, his arms wrapped protectively around me, I felt my walls cracking. The pent-up rage and hurt I’d been clinging to were draining out of me, leaving exhaustion in their place.

After a while, when I’d finally calmed down, Kane asked if I wanted to take a shower before we left for the shopping trip he’d insisted on earlier. I gave him a stiff nod, still refusing to talk to him. Talking meant giving him an inch, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

He carried me up the stairs again—because apparently, the man doesn’t believe in letting me walk anywhere—and brought me to his bathroom. Gently, he sat me on the counter like I was some fragile piece of porcelain. Then, to my surprise, he started preparing a bath.

I hated how sweet the gesture was. I hated that it made my heart do a stupid little flutter in my chest. Was this his way of making up for everything? Because I wasn’t about to forgive him just because he drew me a bath.

He moved around the bathroom with calm efficiency, testing the water temperature and adding something that smelled faintly of lavender. He even grabbed a soft robe and set it beside the tub before turning back to me.

That’s when he did it—the audacity of this man. He reached for me like he intended to undress me himself.

"Okay, that’s far enough," I snapped, clutching at the hem of the shirt I was wearing—his shirt. "I can do it on my own."

There. I spoke. Dammit, I wasn’t supposed to, but he’d left me no choice.

Kane raised his hands in surrender, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, and walked out of the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, and I let out a shaky breath.

Finally, some peace.

I slid off the counter and pulled off the wrinkled, tear-soaked shirt, tossing it to the side. The warm, fragrant water in the tub called to me, and as soon as I sank into it, I felt the tension begin to melt away.

The bath was heavenly, the hot water soothing every sore muscle and frayed nerve. For a few minutes, I allowed myself to relax, closing my eyes and letting the lavender scent lull me into a rare moment of calm.

But, of course, my peace didn’t last long.

"Have you drowned in there, or are you planning to come out sometime today?" Kane’s voice called from outside the door, a teasing edge to his tone.

My eyes flew open, and my moment of serenity shattered. Of course, he’s still here.

I sat up with a scowl, glaring at the door as though he could feel my annoyance through it. "Fuck him," I muttered under my breath, though the words didn’t hold much venom.

And maybe I was lying to myself when I said I’d almost forgotten he was out there. Because the truth was, I hadn’t. Not for a second.

As much as I hated him right now, my traitorous brain kept flashing back to the sight of him earlier, standing in this very bathroom with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. Those abs—goddess help me, those abs—were a problem. A serious problem.

I wanted to hate him, to focus on how furious I was. But instead, I kept replaying the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the sharp lines of his jaw, the heat in his eyes when he looked at me.

Stop it, I told myself. You’re angry at him. Stay angry. Remember, he’s a cheating bastard.

But my stupid, traitorous hormones weren’t listening. They were too busy fantasizing about what it would feel like to run my hands over that chest or trace the lines of those abs with my fingers.

I groaned, sinking deeper into the water as if I could drown my wayward thoughts. "You need a vacation," I muttered to my body. "A long, cold vacation far away from this man."

Eventually, I gave up trying to stay in the bath forever and climbed out, wrapping the soft robe around myself. It felt luxurious against my skin, but I refused to let it distract me from my mission: staying angry.

Because no matter how much my body betrayed me, my heart knew the truth. Kane might be a hunk of a man, but he was also my arrogant, insufferable, infuriating mate.

And I wasn’t letting him off the hook. Not yet.

Walking out of the bathroom, I froze for a moment when I saw Kane. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. Just... casual. And for a split second, he didn’t look like the ruthless, possessive Alpha who’d been driving me insane for the past couple of days.

No, like this, he looked... normal. Like a laid-back, ridiculously handsome boyfriend.

Boyfriend? Absolutely not, Elena. Stop. I mentally smacked myself back into focus. We’re angry at him, remember? Still furious.

I noticed he’d laid out some clothes for me on the bed: a pair of his long socks, another oversized t-shirt, and the hoodie of the sweatpants he was currently wearing. The hoodie looked massive, long enough to swallow me up and turn into a makeshift dress.

"Get dressed in this so we can go get you some decent clothes," he said casually, motioning toward the pile. Then remained standing their like a handsome statue.

The audacity.

He didn’t even move, just stood there like he had all the time in the world. His arms were crossed, and his eyes flicked between me and the window, clearly still paranoid that I’d make another escape attempt.

I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to take the hint.

But nope. The man really didn’t get it.

"Get out so I can get dressed," I said, not bothering to sound polite.

He tilted his head, studying me with that infuriating calmness of his. Then his eyes darted to the window again. Seriously?

"As much as I would love to climb out the window again," I deadpanned, "I’d like to get some real clothes. And maybe some actual underwear. So rest assured, I won’t be escaping before I at least have those."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a moment, I thought he might laugh. Instead, he smirked—that cocky, maddeningly attractive smirk that made me want to throw something at him—and said, "I’ll be waiting for you downstairs."

Finally.

He walked out of the room, but not before casting one last look at the window, as if to silently warn me not to try anything.

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, "Paranoid much?"

Once the door clicked shut, I let out a breath and turned to the clothes he’d left. They were huge, of course. The hoodie alone could double as a tent, and the socks reached halfway up my thighs. I’d never felt more ridiculous—and yet, strangely comfortable.

Still, I couldn’t help but smile a little as I pulled the hoodie over my head. Maybe I’d play along, just for now. Get my clothes. Get some space. And then figure out what to do with my infuriating, possessive, stupidly attractive mate.

But one thing was certain: he wasn’t getting forgiven anytime soon.