Chapter 105: You Don’t Have To Sleep There Tonight

Kane’s heart did a small flip at the word "home." When had Cyrus’s penthouse started feeling like that?

"Yeah," he said, settling back into the leather seat. "Home sounds perfect."

Cyrus pulled out of the parking garage, the city lights streaming past the windows in golden streaks.

The silence between them felt comfortable now, charged with possibility rather than tension.

Kane studied Cyrus’s profile in the dashboard’s soft glow—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers drummed absently against the steering wheel.

"So," Kane said, unable to keep the teasing note from his voice. "Romance novels, huh?"

Cyrus’s grip tightened on the wheel, but his mouth quirked upward.

"You’re never going to let me live that down."

"Not a chance. I’m thinking we need to expand your research. Maybe some rom-coms next time?"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on. I bet you’d love the airport chase scenes."

Cyrus shot him a sideways look that was equal parts exasperated and fond.

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here we are."

The penthouse’s underground garage came into view, and Kane felt that flutter of anticipation again.

The elevator ride to the penthouse felt both endless and too short.

Kane bounced slightly on his toes, nervous energy crackling through him, while Cyrus stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back.

The doors slid open with their familiar soft chime.

Kane immediately kicked off his shoes, sending one skittering across the marble entryway.

"Forty dollars for popcorn," he grumbled, padding toward the living room in his socks.

"I could’ve bought groceries for a week with what we spent on snacks."

Cyrus hung his tailored coat with precise care, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles before adjusting his platinum cufflinks.

He cast Kane a look that could only be described as uncivilized fox.

"The truffle oil was imported from Italy."

"It’s still popcorn, Cyrus. Fancy corn kernels don’t justify highway robbery."

Kane flopped onto the couch, immediately regretting the casual movement when Cyrus’s gaze tracked his every motion with predatory focus.

The dragon approached with measured steps, loosening his tie with deliberate slowness.

"Would you prefer I take you to gas station convenience stores for all our dates?"

Kane’s brain short-circuited on the word "dates."

His mouth opened, then closed, his brain scrambling to catch up with the implications.

Dates. Plural.

Everything had happened so fast—the confession, the kissing, the casual way Cyrus now spoke about their future like it was already decided.

Kane ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling off-balance.

"It’s not that I don’t appreciate—" He gestured vaguely at the opulent penthouse around them.

"All of this. The fancy restaurants, the private theaters. It’s just..."

Cyrus paused in loosening his tie, red-gold eyes sharpening with attention.

"Just what?"

Kane struggled to find the words.

How could he explain that the five-hundred-dollar movie tickets made him feel like he was playing dress-up in someone else’s life?

That every expensive gesture reminded him of the vast gulf between their worlds?

"The movie was nice," he said finally, the words coming out stilted and awkward.

"Really nice. I had fun."

Cyrus’s expression didn’t change, but something cooled in his gaze.

Kane’s stomach chose that moment to emit a traitorous growl, and he seized the distraction like a lifeline.

"Actually, I’m still hungry. That popcorn was more oil than substance."

He practically bolted from the couch, padding quickly toward the kitchen before Cyrus could respond.

"I’ll just grab something from the fridge."

Behind him, he heard the soft whisper of expensive silk as Cyrus continued removing his tie, but no footsteps followed.

Kane yanked open the refrigerator door, grateful for the blast of cool air against his heated face.

"Kane."

Cyrus’s voice came from directly behind him, low and measured. Kane’s shoulders tensed.

"I’m going to shower first."

The simple statement hit Kane like a sledgehammer.

His face flamed crimson as his brain conjured entirely unhelpful images of water cascading over Cyrus’s bare skin, steam curling around those impossibly broad shoulders.

"Right," Kane squeaked, his voice cracking like a teenager’s. "Good. Yes. Shower. You do that."

He grabbed the first thing his fingers found—a bowl of fresh peaches—and clutched it against his chest like armor.

The soft pad of Cyrus’s footsteps retreated toward the master bedroom, followed by the quiet click of a door closing.

Kane sagged against the refrigerator, the cool metal doing nothing to ease the heat burning through his veins.

Shower first.

As if there was an implied second activity that Kane was apparently expected to prepare for.

He buried his face in his hands, the peach bowl balanced precariously on his forearm.

How had his life become a badly written romance novel?

And why was he suddenly looking forward to the next Chapter?

Kane yanked a peach from the bowl and bit into it with unnecessary aggression, juice running down his chin as he tried to banish the inappropriate thoughts swirling through his head.

Cyrus emerged from his shower twenty minutes later, hair still damp and combed back in precise lines. He’d changed into dark silk pajamas.

Kane tried not to stare as Cyrus disappeared into his bedroom.

"Your turn," Cyrus called out, his voice carrying that same careful neutrality from earlier.

Kane practically sprinted to the bathroom, grateful for the escape.

The shower still smelled like Cyrus—cedar and something darkly expensive that made Kane’s pulse quicken.

He scrubbed himself clean with probably unnecessary vigor, trying to wash away the nervous energy crackling under his skin.

Minutes later, Kane padded back to the living room in his silk pajamas, fox tail twitching with residual anxiety.

Through his peripheral vision, he caught Cyrus at the kitchen counter, pouring deep red wine into two crystal glasses.

The dragon’s movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, like he was preparing for something significant.

Kane’s stomach flipped.

He deliberately turned away, stretching his arms overhead with an exaggerated yawn that fooled absolutely no one.

"Man, what a day," he announced to the empty air, padding toward the couch that had become his unofficial bed.

"Think I’ll just crash here and—"

"You don’t have to sleep there tonight."