Chapter 4 What are you doing to me?
Cassian’s POV
What in God’s name just happened?
I stood there, watching Saraphina disappear up the stairs, my mind reeling. Where did this fierce, defiant woman come from? One moment she was all playful smiles, and the next she was cutting me off, telling me she was going to finish what I… what we… had started. The image of her touching herself, right here in this room, was burned into my mind.
A deep, restless anger simmered in my blood. Part of me wanted to march up those stairs, show her exactly what her teasing was leading to. I wanted to be the one in control, to make her forget every other thought but my name. The intensity of that need was a live wire under my skin.
I tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to me. That little stomp of her foot, so frustrated and alive. I’d never felt a hunger like this. The memory of her taste was still on my tongue, a ghost I couldn’t chase away. The feel of her body pressed against mine was a brand.
When she’d started moving on my lap, I’d been a breath away from completely losing my mind. She wasn’t just sweet; she was a siren, and she knew the exact song to sing to drive me mad. If she kept pushing me, she was going to get a lot more than she bargained for.
If that phone hadn’t rung… if it hadn’t been Isabella… I would have been a lost man. I shook my head, disgusted with myself. What are you doing, Cassian? This is your best friend’s daughter. The little girl you helped teach to ride a bike.
But that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a woman, all fire and softness, and she was the most devastating thing I had ever seen.
I forced myself to move, to clean the kitchen. I couldn’t look at the couch. I put away the pizza, washed the bowl, anything to drown out the noise in my head.
Later, climbing the stairs, I kept my eyes straight ahead as I passed her closed door. I didn't trust myself to linger. Her room was a minefield of temptation—her clothes, her perfume, all the intimate details of her life that were meant to be a mystery to me. I’d left my clothes on the bathroom floor earlier and I wasn’t about to make her clean up my mess.
I bent to pick up my black t-shirt and my whole world tilted.
There, on the fabric, was a small, damp mark.
No. She wouldn’t have.
But I brought the shirt to my face and inhaled, and my body caught fire. It was her. That soft, sweet, utterly intoxicating scent that belonged only to Saraphina. A groan built in my chest. I told myself to stop, to throw the shirt in the hamper, but it was too late. I was already drowning in it.
I ran my thumb over the stain, the truth settling deep in my bones. She had done this. She had finished with my shirt, and then she’d left it here for me to find. A bold, brazen claim.
And God help me, all I could think was that I wanted to punish her for her nerve, and in the very same breath, I wanted to give her everything she was asking for.
I didn’t let go of the shirt. I carried it into the bedroom and fell onto the bed, my mind a storm of images I had no right to imagine. I fought sleep for hours, caught between the need to punish her boldness and the desperate need to give in to it. When exhaustion finally won, I was still holding the soft cotton to my face, feeling like a fool, but unable to let her scent go. She had consumed me, body and soul. And then, I dreamed.
In the dream, she was there. Her soft body was curled against mine, real and warm. I kissed her, pouring all my pent-up hunger into it, bracing my weight so I wouldn’t crush her. She kissed me back with the same fire, and it felt more real than anything. Her taste, her smell, the feel of her, it was all perfect. My tired mind gave up the fight and just let me feel.
I could feel the soft weight of her breasts against my chest. My mouth left her lips, tracing a path down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower until I could take one perfect peak into my mouth. It was hard against my tongue, her skin so sweet. I lingered there, lost in the soft, pleading sounds she made, wanting to remember this forever.
Then she moved her hips, pressing the hot, damp center of her against my stomach. The need to taste her there was a physical ache. I kissed my way down her body until my world was only the heat between her legs, and I gave myself to her completely.
I took hold of her thighs, spreading them, opening her to me. A low, rough sound broke the silence, and I realized it came from me. And in that same instant, another part of my mind snapped awake.
This was not a dream. Saraphina was really here. She must have turned on the hall light, because I could see everything. I had opened her so completely that I could see her delicate pink folds and the small, swollen bud above them, begging for attention. She was already wet, her skin glistening. I watched, utterly captivated, as a fresh trickle of her desire escaped, tracing a path onto the sheet.
“My God, Saraphina,” I breathed, my voice thick. “I thought I was dreaming.”
Her hand found my hair, her fingers tangling in it. “This is real, Cassian. I’m right here, and I want you. Please don’t stop.”
She lifted her hips, offering herself to me. I knew I should be the responsible one. I should send her away, lock the door, do the right thing. But I didn’t. I lowered my head and drew a long, slow line with my tongue right through her very center.
Her taste exploded on my senses, better than anything I had ever known. I pressed my tongue between her folds, delving inside her the only way I could. A groan tore from my chest as her body clenched around my tongue, and I wondered how that same incredible pressure would feel around another, much harder part of me.
She was making these soft, broken sounds, her hands holding my head as I moved my tongue up to that hard, little peak. I circled it, then closed my lips over it, sucking gently as I brought my hand to her opening.
She was so tight. I had to glide my finger through her wetness to coat it first, feeling her body try to pull me in. When my finger was slick, I pressed just the tip inside. She went still for a heartbeat, then melted around me as I pushed deeper, filling her slowly. Her body held me in a perfect, hot grip as I began to move my finger in and out. I turned all my attention back to that sensitive peak, sucking on it while I curved my finger inside her, finding a spot that made her gasp.
Her breathing came in quick pants, her hips moving against my face in a steady, building rhythm. When I looked up, I saw her hands on her own breasts, kneading them, her fingers pinching her nipples as she moved beneath me.
“Oh, Cassian,” she cried out in pleasure.
I held her as her body shook, her back arching off the bed. She trembled under my touch, making these beautiful, breathless sounds. I kept my tongue moving gently, drawing out the waves of her release, and I didn’t stop the slow, deep rhythm of my finger inside her. I stroked that inner spot as if I could touch her very soul, and her body continued to pulse around me. She let out one last, long moan.
Her voice was a dazed, wondering breath. “What are you doing to me, Cassian?”