“Tell me about your mom,” he asks quietly.“What was she like?”
The question knocks the air from me. No one asks that. People usually stop atShe died, toss out an“I’m sorry,” and move on. Or worse, Mark telling me I should be over it by now.
But Cas… Cas wants to know her. Wants to knowme.
So I tell him, how she’d wake us by blasting the radio and dancing into our rooms, how she sang off-key in the car and didn’t care who heard, how she played board games like her life depended on it. How she cheered football louder than the whole neighborhood, inviting everyone over for barbecue and games in the garden.
And then I tell him about the hole she left behind. My father’s absence. My sister’s slow unraveling.
Through it all, Cas holds my hand, steady and sure. My chest aches, but also warms.
“I wish I could have met her,” he says at last.
Tears prick my eyes. He understands. He sees me.“She would have loved this night. And she would have loved you.”
He bows his head and presses a soft kiss to my hand. Silence wraps around us, saying more than words ever could.
We share tiramisu, the sweetness lingering on my tongue. Cas watches me closely, his gaze burning hotter than the candles flickering between us.
When a smudge of cocoa dusts the corner of my mouth, his thumb brushes against my lip, slow, deliberate. My breath catches, my body going rigid at the intimate touch.
Instead of wiping it away, he holds my eyes as he brings that thumb to his mouth. His tongue flicks out, tasting the cocoa… tastingme.
My pulse slams. Heat floods every inch of me as his lips close around his finger, sucking it clean with a low, satisfied hum.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Watching him do it, so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, undoes me completely.
He leans back in his chair, dimples flashing, I’m molten. His eyes never leave mine, dark and hungry, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I grab my wine glass just to have something to hold, but my hands tremble as I lift it to my lips. The wine is cool, but I’m burning. Cas knows it too, his smirk says he’s enjoying every second of my unraveling.
When he finally reaches across the table to lace his fingers through mine, my heart skips. The world around us disappears. It’s just his hand, his heat, his eyes that promise so much more.
Later, we walk the lakeshore. Stars glimmer through rust-colored leaves, wind lifting my hair.
“Cold?” he asks when I shiver.
“A little.”
“Come here.”
He pulls me against his chest. His body is warm, solid, steady, the safest place I’ve ever been. Music drifts from the restaurant, and he starts to sway us, slow, like we’re the only two people in the world.
His thumb grazes my lip, and my pulse hammers.
Take your power back. Live your life.
I’m braver than I thought. I rise on my toes and press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck, sweet, testing.
But Cas doesn’t let it stay that way.
A low growl vibrates in his chest as he catches my mouth fully, deepening the kiss. His lips crash against mine, hungry, urgent, tasting me like fine wine he’s craved for too long.
His tongue teases, coaxing mine into a slow, sensual dance. My knees weaken, my body melting against him as the world falls away. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place, while the other anchors at my waist, pulling me closer still.
The taste of him, warm, wine-sweet, dizzying, steals every thought. I moan softly into his mouth, and he groans in response, the sound raw and guttural.
Cas walks me backward until my spine hits a tree trunk. His mouth leaves mine to trail along my jaw, then down the sensitive skin of my throat. My breasts ache, my pulse hammering everywhere his lips touch. I moan again.
