I pull his shirt over his head.
He looks at me. The way he looked in that quad. Except
this time he’s not turning around. This time his eyes don’t move away.
“You have no idea,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“How long I’ve—"
“I know exactly how long,” I tell him. “Same as me.”
• • •
He cups my face, both hands, thumbs tracing my cheekbones like he’s re-memorizing me. His touch is slow, deliberate, a promise of what’s to come.
“I want to do this right,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Want to take my time with you, Ro. Always.”
“Okay,” I whisper, already breathless.
And he does. He takes his fucking time.
His mouth finds mine, soft at first, then hungry, tongue sliding against mine like he’s relearning my taste. He moves to my throat, my collarbone, biting and sucking like he’s marking me, claiming me.
Every touch is electric. Every kiss stokes a fire low in my belly, a heat that builds and threatens to consume me. Like it always does when it comes to Cassian.
He strips me slowly, one piece at a time, eyes locked on mine as he bares my skin. His hands roam, over every curve and line, every secret place that makes me gasp. He lingers at my chest, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard and aching.
“Cassian,” I breathe, desperate.
He grins, slow and wicked. “Not rushing this, Ro. Not this time.”
He dips his head, takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, grazing his teeth over the sensitive peak. I arch into him, a moan tearing from my throat. He doesn’t stop, just moves to the other side, giving it the same attention until I’m shaking.
His hands slide lower, tracing the waistband of my pajama bottoms. He hooks his thumbs in the loops and drags them down, taking my boxers with them. I’m hard and aching, and his eyes darken when he sees me.
“Fuck, Ro,” he breathes, sinking to his knees. “Look at you.”
He wraps his hand around my cock, strokes me slow and firm, just the way he knows I like it. I can’t look away, can’t stop watching him watch me. He leans in, takes me into his mouth, and I swear I see stars again.
He works me slow, tongue and lips and heat, building me higher and higher. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he pulls back, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“Not yet,” he says, voice raw. “Want to be inside you when you come.”
He strips off his own clothes, quick and efficient, and I drink in the sight of him—every hard line, every muscle, the length of his cock already slick and ready. He grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand, pours it into his hand, warming it before he touches me.
His fingers find me, circling slowly, pressing in one at a time. This time he takes his time, stretching me, opening me up, eyes locked on mine the whole time. It’s intimate, raw, a connection I’ve only ever had with him.
“Ready?” he asks, voice barely steady.
I nod, breathless. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah, please.”
He pushes in slowly, filling me inch by inch. His forehead drops to mine, both of us breathing hard, eyes locked. He starts to move, a steady rhythm that hits every spot so hard I’m dizzy.
“Cassian,” I gasp, hands clutching at his back, his shoulders, anything to hold onto.
He groans, low and wrecked. “Ro. Fuck, Ro, you feel so good.”
He moves harder, faster, both of us chasing it now. His hand wraps around my cock again, stroking me in time with his thrusts. I’m close, so close, the heat building and building until it’s all I can feel, all I can think.
