He grunts something filthy about how tight I am, how good I feel wrapped around him. The words alone nearly push me over.
The second climax slams into me without warning. I cry out into the mattress, body seizing, inner walls clamping down hard around his cock in rhythmic pulses. The pleasure is sharper this time, almost overwhelming.
He thrusts deep one last time and stays there. A low, guttural groan tears from his throat as he comes, hips jerked flush against my ass, spilling hot inside me. I feel every throb.
We collapse forward together. His weight settles over my back for a moment, breath harsh against my neck. Then he rolls us sideways, still buried deep, arms banding around me. Sweat slicks our skin. Hearts hammer against each other.
Neither of us speaks. We just lie there tangled, breathing hard, the room thick with the scent of sex and the slow, heavy quiet that comes after everything has been taken and given in full.
We order room service after.
I’m starving—actually starving, not just hungry—and when the food arrives, I eat like I haven’t seen a proper meal in days. Which I haven’t.
Cassian watches me with amusement, sipping whiskey while I demolish a steak and half a plate of pasta.
“You must have been really hungry,” he says.
“Yes. Been too wound up to eat.”
“Because you’ve been busy running.”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, and meet his eyes. There’s no judgment there, just curiosity.
“Yeah,” I say. “Running.”
He doesn’t push for details, which I appreciate. He refills my water glass and lets me eat in peace.
When I’m done, the exhaustion hits me like a wave. I’m full and clean and sitting on a bed that feels like a cloud, and my body decides it’s finally safe enough to shut down.
Cassian notices when my eyes start drooping. “Sleep,” he says.
“I should?—”
“Sleep, Catherine. Everything else can wait.”
I want to argue, but I don’t have the energy. So I just crawl under the covers and let my head hit the pillow, and for the first time in two months, I feel safe enough to actually rest.
I drift in and out after that, vaguely aware of Cassian moving around the room, his phone buzzing occasionally, the sound of the city below filtering through the windows.
At some point he gets back into bed, and I curl into him without thinking. His arm comes around me automatically, and I press my face against his chest and breathe him in.
This is temporary. I know that.
4
CASSIAN
She’s still herewhen I wake up.
That’s the first thing I notice—Catherine curled on her side, facing away from me, dark hair spread across the pillow, breathing deep and even. The sheet’s tangled around her waist, and in the early morning light coming through the windows, I can see the curve of her spine, the constellation of freckles across her shoulder that I didn’t notice last night.
I should’ve sent her away after the second round. That’s what I usually do—that was the whole point of bringing her to a hotel instead of my own apartment here in the city. I usually make it clear that staying isn’t part of the arrangement, call her a car, keep things clean. But I didn’t, and now she’s here, and I’m lying in bed watching her sleep.
I need to get my head straight.
This was supposed to be simple. A woman on a plane, mutual attraction, one night to blow off steam after three days of tedious meetings. Nothing complicated.
Except she’s still here, and I’m already thinking about tonight’s dinner instead of the calls I need to make now that I’m back in the city.
