“Why?”
I met his gaze.
“Because I don’t want to.”
The honesty of it settled between us, quiet and undeniable.
He didn’t respond right away.
He didn’t need to.
Because the shift was already there.
In the way I stayed.
In the way he held me—not tighter, not looser. Just … there.
19
The admission hung between us, simple and profound, like the snow falling silently outside the window.
I didn’t pull away, and neither did he. Instead, I let my body settle against his, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine, chasing away the last remnants of chill from the drive home.
The fire in the hearth had dimmed to embers, casting a soft, flickering glow across the bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a world of pristine white—snow-laden pines standing sentinel under a moonless sky, the night so still it seemed to hold its breath.
Inside, the air was thick with woodsmoke, cedar, and the unmistakable scent of us.
Cassian’s hand remained over mine on his chest, his thumb tracing lazy circles that sent subtle sparks through me. I watched his face in the low light, the sharp lines softened just enough to reveal the man beneath the hunter.
“You’re still watching me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into my palm.
“I am,” I admitted, my fingers flexing slightly against him. “Is that a problem?”
His mouth curved faintly. “No.”
Good. Because I wasn’t done. Not with looking. Not with touching. Not with this pull that had started as a fantasy and morphed into something I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—define yet.
I shifted, propping myself up on one elbow, my hair falling over my shoulder like a dark curtain as I looked down at him. His eyes tracked the movement, dark and steady, but there was a heat there now, banked like the fire, waiting to be stirred.
My body, still humming from earlier, responded instinctively, a slow ache building low in my belly. We’d crossed that threshold once tonight, slow and savoring, him guiding us with that deliberate control. But now … now, I wanted something different. I wanted to lead. To tease. To see what happened when I pushed him, even if just a little.
Without breaking eye contact, I let my hand slide down his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, the faint trail of hair that led lower. His breath hitched—just barely—but I caught it. Felt the subtle tension coil in his muscles beneath my fingertips.
“You’re not the only one with intentions,” I said softly, my voice laced with a challenge I hadn’t planned.
His gaze sharpened. “Show me.”
Those words sent a thrill racing down my spine. Permission. Or maybe invitation. Either way, he was letting me take this.
I leaned down, brushing my lips against his in a kiss that was light, teasing, barely there. He responded immediately, his mouth opening under mine, hungry for more, but I pulled back before it could deepen, nipping at his lower lip instead. A low sound escaped him—not quite a groan, but close enough to make my pulse quicken.
“Lia,” he warned, his hand tightening on my waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh.
I smiled against his skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, along the strong column of his neck, tasting the salt and warmth of him. “Patience,” I whispered, echoing the restraint he’d shown me so many times before.
His chuckle was rough, edged with something darker, more primal. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Good.” I moved lower, my mouth exploring the broad expanse of his chest, my tongue flicking over one flat nipple. He inhaled sharply, his body arching just a fraction toward me.
