I smiled against his mouth. "Make me."
He did. In one smooth motion, he lifted me, my back meeting the cool tile wall, legs wrapping around his waist. He positioned himself at my entrance, pausing there—eyes locked on mine, asking without words.
"Yes," I breathed.
He thrust in slowly, inch by inch, filling me with that exquisite stretch. We both groaned, the sound mingling with the water's rush. This was different from the lodge—less teasing, more urgent, the steam amplifying every sensation. He moved with deep, measured strokes, each one hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.
"You're mine," he said, voice rough, hips snapping harder now. "Not just fantasy."
"Yes." I arched into him, meeting every thrust. "And you're ... more than I asked for."
His pace quickened, water sluicing between us, our bodies slick and sliding. His mouth found my breast, tongue circling my nipple before sucking hard. Pleasure spiked, sharp and sweet. I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him there as the tension coiled tighter.
We talked in fragments between gasps—about how Alpha Mail was meant to be temporary, a service, no strings. "I didn't expect you," he admitted, thrusting deeper. "Didn't expect to want this."
"Me neither," I panted. "But I do. I want more. Us. Real."
He growled his agreement, his hand sliding between us to rub my clit again. The dual sensation pushed me over—orgasm crashing through me in waves, clenching around him, crying out his name. He followed, burying himself deep with a low, guttural sound, spilling inside me as he held me tight.
We stayed like that, panting, water cooling around us until he set me down gently. His forehead rested against mine, a rare moment of vulnerability in his eyes.
"I want this," he said quietly. "More than the rules.”
I kissed him softly. "Good."
We finished showering in comfortable silence, his hands gentle as he washed my hair, mine tracing scars on his back I'd ask about later. Dried off, dressed—me in a simple black dressthat hugged my curves, him in dark jeans and a button-down that made him look effortlessly commanding.
Downstairs, I texted Harper the address for a nearby restaurant. Her reply was swift:Be there at 7. Don't think you're getting out of explaining him.
Cassian drove us there, his hand on my thigh the whole way—a quiet claim that sent warmth through me. At the restaurant, Harper and Luca were already waiting, her sharp eyes lighting on us the second we walked in.
Harper was as vibrant as ever—hair wild, dress bold red, Luca beside her in his understated way, tall and lean with that easy smile.
"Lia," Harper said, hugging me tight before pulling back to eye Cassian. "And you must be the hunter."
Cassian shook her hand firmly. "Cassian."
Luca extended his. "Luca. Good to meet you."
We sat, ordered drinks, the tension palpable but not hostile. Harper dove in: "So, how did this happen? Lia doesn't do spontaneous."
I laughed. "It's not spontaneous."
Cassian glanced at me, his reserve cracking just enough for a small smile. "She chose."
Harper raised a brow. "And you?"
"The same."
Luca chuckled.
As the evening unfolded—stories shared, laughs exchanged—I felt the shift. This wasn't just fantasy anymore. It was real, messy, deepening. And as Cassian's hand found mine under the table, I knew we both wanted it that way.
24
The morning light came in thin and pale through the tall windows of Cassian’s house, turning the white walls almost silver.
I woke before him again, this time curled against his side in the master bed, one of his arms draped loosely across my waist like it belonged there. The sheets smelled of him, and for the first few seconds before full consciousness returned, I let myself feel it: safe, wanted, held.
