Cassandra screams.
She stands by the bed, her charcoal skirt wrinkled and her silk scarf askew, revealing the bruised brand I left on her neck. Even in her rage, I can smell the raw, heavy musk of her arousal—she’s drenched for me despite the tears. Seeing her like this, marked by my touch and manipulated by his lies, makes my cock throb with a violent, protective ache.
Oswald slides down the wall, gasping for air, clutching his chest. I step over him, looming, my shadow swallowing him whole.
"I should throw you off the balcony," I say, my voice terrifyingly calm. "I should drag you out to the cliffs and let the coyotes chew on your expensive Italian loafers."
"Chase!" Cassandra’s voice cuts through the violence, thin and breaking. "Stop! What are you doing?"
I don't look at her yet. If I look at her, I might break. I keep my eyes on Oswald. I reach down, grabbing him by the lapels of his suit jacket, and haul him to his feet. I slam him against the wall again, pinning him there with one hand, my face inches from his.
"You put your filthy corporate mouth on my business and your lies in my woman’s head. You think you can walk into my territory and try to steal what I’ve already marked and bred? You’re lucky I don’t open your throat right here."
"I... I was protecting my client's interests," Oswald wheezes, face turning a blotchy purple. "She... she wanted to leave."
"She stays," I snarl. "And you go. If I see you in Pine Valley again—if I see your car, your face, or even your name on a piece of paper—I won't be this polite. Do you understand?"
He nods frantically.
I release him. He stumbles toward the door, straightening his jacket with trembling hands. He looks at Cassandra, then back at me, and decides fleeing is the better part of valor. He scrambles out into the hallway. I kick the door shut behind him and throw the deadbolt.
Then, silence.
Heavy, suffocating silence.
I turn slowly to face her. Cassandra backs against the dresser. Her fingers strain against the wood, the grip tight enough to snap bone. Her chest heaves. She shrinks back, her gaze tracking me like I'm a wolf about to strike.
Maybe I am. But I’m her wolf.
"You're insane," she whispers. "You assault a corporate attorney in a hotel room? Are you trying to go to prison?"
"I don't give a fuck about prison," I say, stalking toward her. "I care about you leaving."
"I am leaving!" She pushes off the dresser, trying to muster that courtroom bravado, but I see the cracks. I see the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I heard you, Chase. I heard what you told your President. I was 'handled.' I was a strategy."
"You were a crisis I tried to contain!" I shout back, the volume making her flinch. I force myself to lower my voice, to reign in the aggression. I stop three feet from her. "Logan was going to send Tristan to dig up dirt on you. Or Blake to shadow you. I told him I had it handled so he would back off. I told him that so I could have you to myself."
"To manipulate me," she accuses, tears spilling over again. "To fuck the permit out of me."
"Is that what you think happened last night?" My voice drops to a rough whisper. I step closer, invading her space. "You think I took you to my cabin, laid you out on my table, and worshipped every inch of you for a zoning permit? You think I can fake the way my heart stops when you look at me?"
"I don't know!" She throws her hands up, sobbing now. "I don't know what's real with you! You're an actor, Chase. That's the whole deal. Fake dating. Fake smiles. Fake?—"
I bridge the gap. I grab her wrists, pinning them against her sides while my body crowds her against the dresser. I let her feel the thick, heavy ridge of my cock—hard enough to bruise—pressing into her belly. I want her to feel exactly what she’s walking away from. I want her pussy to soak through that expensive wool until she can’t think of anything but me filling her to the brim again.
"Look at me," I command.
She squeezes her eyes shut, turning her head away. "No. Let me go."
"Cassandra." I use the voice. The deep, rumbling baritone that vibrates straight through her sternum to her core. The voice of authority. The voice that makes her submissive instincts flare hot and bright. "Look at me,little shark."
A shudder rips through her body. Her breath hitches. Slowly, reluctantly, she opens her wet eyes and meets mine.
"There she is," I murmur, bringing one hand up to cup her jaw, thumb wiping away a tear. "That’s my girl. Now listen to the truth."
"Chase..."
"I don't care about the permit," I say, staring into her soul. "I'll burn the shop down myself. I don't care about the council. I don't care about Oswald or the law or any of it. Since I saw you at Town Hall, nothing else mattered. You called it the Thunderbolt? Fine. Call it whatever you want. But it happened. I can't breathe without you, Cass. It physically hurts."
