But bringing Cassian into that? It felt like merging worlds that weren't meant to touch.
He must have seen the flicker of doubt on my face because his hand came up, cupping my jaw gently, his thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "You don't have to protect me."
"I'm not," I said, though we both knew that was a lie. "I'm protecting them from you."
His eyes darkened, but not with anger—with something deeper, more intimate. He leaned in, his mouth brushing mine in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, like we had all the time in the world. I melted into it, my hands finding his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath.
When he pulled back, his voice was low. "Shower. I'll join you."
Heat bloomed low in my belly at the implication. "Is that an order?"
"No." His gaze held mine. "A choice."
Always that. I nodded, slipping out of his hold and into the bathroom. The space was as luxurious as the rest of the house: double vanities in white marble, a deep soaking tub, and a walk-in shower enclosed in glass that could fit four people easily. I stripped out of my travel-worn clothes, folding them neatly on the counter—a habit from years of needing to control the small things.
The water came on hot and strong, steam filling the air as I stepped under the spray. It cascaded over me, washing away the airplane staleness, the tension from my mother's call, the uncertainty of what came next. I tilted my head back, letting it soak my hair, my eyes closed against the world.
I didn't hear him enter, but I felt him—the shift in the air, the subtle change in pressure as he stepped into the shower behind me. His hands settled on my hips, pulling me back against him,his body hard and warm. I leaned into him instinctively, my breath catching as his mouth found the curve of my neck.
"You're thinking again," he murmured against my skin, his voice a rumble that vibrated through me.
"Always." I turned in his arms, water streaming down both of us, my hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. He was beautiful like this—wet hair darkened, droplets tracing the lines of his muscles, eyes intense even in the steam. "About how this wasn't supposed to happen."
His brow furrowed slightly. "What wasn't?"
"This." I gestured vaguely between us, the house beyond the glass. "The Alpha Mail thing ... it was supposed to be anonymous. No names. No real life. Just a fantasy, fulfilled and forgotten."
He reached for the soap, lathering it between his hands before running them over my shoulders, down my arms—slow, deliberate touches that made my skin tingle. "It was."
"But it's not anymore." I watched his face, searching for cracks in that reserve.
His hands paused, then resumed, sliding to my waist. "Rules are flexible."
I laughed softly, the sound echoing off the tiles. "Not for you. You're all about control."
He met my eyes, water spiking his lashes. "Control isn't rigid. It's adaptive."
I took the soap from him, mirroring his movements—lathering, touching, exploring the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs. He let me, his breath deepening but his posture steady. "So, what changed for you? Why adapt now?"
His hands moved lower, cupping my ass, pulling me flush against him. I felt his cock hardening, the evidence of his want pressing against my thigh. "You."
One word. So Cassian. But it carried weight, like everything he said.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, rising on my toes to kiss him—deeper this time, tongues tangling as the water pounded around us. He responded immediately, one hand threading into my wet hair, the other sliding between my thighs. His fingers found me slick, ready, circling my clit with that unerring precision.
I gasped into his mouth. "Tell me more."
He nipped at my lower lip. "You challenged me. From the start."
His fingers dipped inside me, curling, stroking, building a rhythm that made my knees weaken. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders. "And you ... you didn't back down."
"No." He added a second finger, his thumb pressing against my clit, the pressure perfect. "I wanted more than the arrangement."
Heat built fast, coiling tight. I rocked against his hand, chasing it. "Me, too. God, Cassian?—"
He kissed me again, swallowing my moans as he worked me higher. But I wanted him undone, too. I reached down, wrapping my hand around his cock—thick, hard, pulsing in my grip. I stroked him in time with his fingers, feeling him tense, his control fraying just a little.
"Stop teasing," he growled, but there was no real command in it—just raw need.
