I don’t get a chance to look around before his mouth is on mine.
We stumble toward the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. My dress hits the floor in the hallway. His sweater gets pulled over his head and tossed somewhere I don’t see. By the time we reach the bed, we’re both half-naked and breathing hard.
He pushes me down onto the mattress and follows me there, his weight pressing me into expensive sheets that smell like him. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my legs apart, and I arch into the touch because I can’t help it.
This is what we do. We come together like we’re trying to burn each other out of our systems, desperate and consuming, neither of us able to stop.
His mouth moves down my neck, teeth scraping skin, and I dig my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He makes a sound low in his throat and grinds his hips against mine, the hard length of him pressing exactly where I need it.
I reach between us and undo his belt, shoving his jeans down far enough to free him. He pulls my underwear aside with one hand, the other braced beside my head, and then he’s pushing inside me in one long thrust that steals my breath.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of three. He knows exactly how I like it, the angle that makes me gasp, the rhythm that builds until I can’t think about anything except the feel of him moving inside me.
When I come, it’s sharp and overwhelming, my entire body going rigid as pleasure crashes through me in waves. He follows seconds later, his forehead pressed against mine, breathing my name like a prayer or a curse.
Afterward, we lie there tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, neither of us speaking.
Then I remember I need to clean up.
“Bathroom?” I ask.
He gestures toward a door on the left, and I slip out of bed.
The bathroom is all marble and chrome, and I take my time washing up, staring at my reflection, and wondering what the hell I’m doing.
When I come back, he’s takes a turn in the bathroom.
My purse is on the nightstand where I left it. Or where I thought I left it. It’s closed, sitting neatly beside the lamp. I pick it up and check inside. Everything looks normal.
I close the purse and set it down just as Cassian comes out of the bathroom.
He’s wearing his jeans but nothing else, and I try not to stare at the tattoos covering his chest and arms.
“I should go,” I say.
Cassian crosses the room and cups my face with both hands. “I’m not letting you go, Aurelia. You know that, right?”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Neither do you.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, and for a moment I let myself believe he’s right.
Then I pull away and finish getting dressed.
He watches from the bed, not trying to stop me. “I’ll see you soon,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
I leave without another word.
Julian is in his study when I get home. The door is open, and he sees me walk past. “Aurelia.”
I stop in the doorway. “Yes?”
