“Fuck,” he snarls, his breath ragged now. His head tips back, exposing the sharp line of his throat, the tendons pulled taut, a bead of sweat tracing down the side of his neck.
Was he always this beautiful? Unfortunately, yes. Yes, he was. I just didn’t want to see it.
Even though he's a big man, there’s not a single wasted inch of him. Every part of him looks like it was sculpted with intent. Like some higher power carved him like this—to look like a warrior, a man honed by violence and sharpened by the darkness inside him.
There’s a dark line of hair trailing down his stomach, a sharp triangle disappearing beneath his fingers as he works himself over, thick thighs twitching as his body locks up.
I have never seen a man like him up this close. Not naked. Not this fucking close to—
“You're such a weird fucking thing, Skye,” he breathes.
And… that’s the first time he’s ever said my name.
NotGrim Reaper.
Nota wisp of nothing.
Notyou absolute pest.
Skye.
“You need to—” My voice falters. I don’t even know what I want to say. Stop? Finish? Forget this ever happened?
Cassian exhales sharply, his body wound tight, poised on the edge of something devastating. His lips part like he’s about to say something else, something worse, something that might actually ruin me—
And then.
He comes.
The moment it happens, my entire body locks up together with him.
I should leave. Ishouldleave.
I do not leave.
I just stand there, bearing witness to the absoluteobscene majestyof it all. Cassian’s muscles go taut, his chest rising and falling in jagged breaths, his hand still wrapped around himselfas he spills over his fingers, flushed and completely fucking wrecked.
And God save me.
Ifeelit.
Not just the heat pooling between my thighs, not just the way my pulse hammers in my throat.
I feel his release like it’s my own, a phantom pleasure tearing through me, something I should not—cannot—be feeling.
My knees nearly buckle.
Cassian drags in a breath, slow and deep, his head rolling against the pillow. His eyes open, still hazy, still dangerous, but laced with something else now—something more like satisfaction.
And me?
I feel like I've just been undone.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Then, finally, Cassian reaches over, grabs a tissue, and wipes himself off like it’s nothing. The moment it’s done, it’s like flipping a goddamn switch. His expression hardens, that same cold indifference snapping back into place like a mask he never truly takes off.
“Get out,” he says flatly.
Like I’m the one who just did something obscene. Like I’m the problem here.
