I did.
He guided me toward the wall opposite the desk. Stone. Cold. Solid.
He placed my palms against it. Spread them wider.
“Stay,” he said.
I obeyed.
I heard him move behind me. Felt his presence before his touch. When his hands settled on my hips, the contact felt earned.
“You’re not here to be ruined,” he murmured. “You’re here to be revealed.”
His mouth brushed the back of my neck. My knees nearly buckled.
Then—
His mouth brushed the back of my neck again, deliberate this time, lips parting just enough to let me feel the heat of his tongue tracing the sensitive line where shoulder met spine. My palms pressed harder against the cold stone, fingers splaying as if I could brace myself against what was coming.
Cassian’s hands slid from my hips to the hem of my sweater. He gathered the fabric slowly, inch by torturous inch, letting the wool drag across my skin like a deliberate tease. When he reached my ribs he paused, thumbs stroking the underside of my breasts through my bra—light enough to make my nipples tighten painfully, heavy enough to remind me he could take more whenever he chose.
“Arms up,” he said against my ear.
I lifted them. The sweater came off in one smooth pull. Cool air kissed my bare back, but his body heat followed immediately, chest pressing to my spine as he dropped the garment beside us.
His hands returned—palms flat against my stomach now, fingers splayed wide, possessive. He slid them upward until he cupped my breasts over the lace, thumbs circling my nipples through the fabric in slow, maddening spirals.
I bit my lip to keep from moaning.
“Don’t hide the sound,” he murmured. “I want to hear what this does to you.”
His fingers pinched—gentle at first, then firmer—rolling the tight peaks until my back arched, pressing my ass against the hard ridge of his erection trapped behind denim.
“Feel that?” he asked, voice low and rough. “That’s what denying you does to me. But I’m still in control. You’re still the one trembling.”
He released one breast and reached around to the clasp of my bra. One flick—open. The straps slid down my arms. He caught the lace before it fell, dragging it slowly over my skin as he pulled it away, letting the fabric tease my nipples one last time before dropping it to the floor.
Now I was bare from the waist up, palms still braced on stone, body exposed to the firelight and his gaze.
He stepped back just far enough to look.
I felt his eyes like touch—tracing the curve of my spine, the dip of my waist, the way my breasts rose and fell with every shallow breath.
“Beautiful,” he said quietly. Not flattery. Statement of fact. “And mine to look at. To touch. To deny.”
One hand returned to my breast, kneading firmly while the other slid down my stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my jeans but not undoing them. Just resting there. Heavy. Promising.
“Tell me what you want right now,” he said.
My voice cracked. “Your fingers inside me.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
He chuckled—low, dark. “Greedy.”
His hand pushed lower, cupping me over denim, the seam of my jeans pressing exactly against my clit. He rocked his palm once—slow, firm—enough to make my hips jerk forward.
