I whimpered, hips lifting uselessly.
He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glittering.
“Not yet,” he said.
Tears of frustration stung my eyes.
He leaned over me, caging me with his arms on either side of my head. His erection pressed hard against my bare thigh through denim—thick, insistent, proof he was suffering, too.
When he pulled back, I was shaking.
My lips tingled from the brutal claim of his mouth, my thighs still trembling from the denied release he’d so carefully built and then stolen away. I couldn’t think past the ache between my legs, the wet heat still pulsing there, the way my body felt branded even though he hadn’t entered me.
He stayed close, one hand braced on the table beside my hip, the other sliding up to cradle the side of my face. His thumb swept once across my swollen lower lip.
I opened my mouth on instinct, wanting anything he’d give.
His eyes darkened at the small, involuntary motion.
“You’re going to scream my name,” he repeated, slower this time, each word deliberate. “When the time comes. When I decide you’ve earned it.”
I swallowed, voice barely more than breath. “I don’t even know your name.”
A flicker crossed his face—something between amusement and dark satisfaction, like I’d just handed him another piece of leverage he hadn’t expected to receive so easily.
He leaned in again, mouth hovering so close I could feel the shape of his next words before I heard them.
“Cassian,” he said quietly. “Cassian Locke.”
The name landed like a key turning in a lock I hadn’t realized was there.
Cassian.
It fit him too well—sharp edges, old-world weight, the kind of name that belonged to men who carved their own rules out of wilderness and war. I tested it silently in my mind, tasting the syllables.
“Cassian,” I whispered, testing it aloud.
His pupils flared.
“Say it again.”
“Cassian.”
He exhaled roughly through his nose, the sound almost pained. His grip on my jaw tightened just enough to remind me he still held the reins.
“When I finally let you come,” he said, voice gravel-rough, “you’re going to screamCassianso loud the snow will shake off the branches. You’re going to beg with my name on your lips before I ever let you have the rest of me.”
Heat surged through me again, fresh and vicious. My clit throbbed in time with my heartbeat, still swollen and sensitive from his mouth. I shifted on the table, the denim still bunched around my thighs chafing against raw skin, and the small movement made me whimper.
He noticed.
His free hand slid down between us, palm flattening over my lower belly, fingers splaying wide enough that the heel of hishand pressed just above my mound—close enough to tease, far enough to torment.
“You’re dripping down your thighs,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “I can smell how badly you want it.”
I made a broken sound, hips lifting toward his hand before I could stop myself.
He didn’t pull away this time.
