I see it in his eyes.
When the shirt finally gives, Cassian’s growl breaks the quiet. His gaze drags over the scratches down my side like they’re sacrilege.
“Be careful,” he warns Nathaniel. “Don’t touch where it hurts.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Cassian doesn’t look convinced, but he stays back. His jaw is tight enough to crack a tooth, and I swear to god, I want to kiss it loose. He’s jealous.Sojealous. Possessive. Strong. The kind of man who could fight the other two right here, just to have me all to himself.
And yet he swallows it down. For me.
Goosebumps ripple down my arms, my chest, my breasts. My nipples turn to tiny pebbles, and every part of me wants to bend, to preen, to provoke.
The water heats in the pipes. Steam spills from the showerhead, ghosting through the air.
Nathaniel rises from where he’s been kneeling and cups my jaw with a hand so cold it burns. His thumb skims beneath the scratch on my cheek, feather-light, like he’s memorizing where I hurt. His mismatched eyes drag over me.
In one move, he takes off his shirt. The fabric slides over his pale chest and shoulders, revealing skin that looks like it’s been starved of sunlight but carved out of marble.
And my god.
He has piercings in his nipples.
My breath hitches before I can stop it.
The steam clings to him instantly, curling through his hair, dripping down the long lines of his throat. He doesn’t look like a man at all. He’s a temptation in human form.
“The feeling goes both ways, Skye,” he says.
I didn’t even speak, but apparently my face did.
He’s far too perceptive sometimes.
Behind him, Talon lets out a low whistle.
“Mm, isn’t this nice?” he drawls, tugging his shirt off in one fluid motion. His body’s golden, tight with lean muscle, a trail of hair leading down his abdomen exactly the way I remember it. “How’s this, baby? Like what you see? Told you, you could be fucked senseless anytime with us. Get up and show us your pretty pussy.”
My legs feel shaky when I stand, but it’s not exhaustion this time. It’s want. Pure, pounding want.
I hate feeling weak. But maybe this kind of weak is an exception.
Cassian steps forward, closing the distance. The heat from his bare chest rolls into me. Steam has seeped into his pants, dampening the fabric, but he doesn’t care. He takes my hand and presses it against the bulge there.
Thick. Hot. Twitching.
He’s absolutely into this.
“You let Talon fuck you outside, in the dirt,” he growls. “Do what Talon said, and let us clean that dirty pussy of yours.”
My pulse hammers in my throat.
Steam curls around Cassian’s shoulders, sliding down the ridges of his chest. His eyes pin me, sharp as knives.
So I do.
My fingers hook into the waistband of my sweatpants, tugging them down slow, inch by inch. The fabric slides over my thighs, then my calves. I’m not wearing underwear, so that’s all it takes to get bare for them.
The damp sweatpants pool at my ankles until I step out of them, leaving only my skull socks. I don’t take them off. If anything, the absurdity of it makes me stand taller.
