Chapter 24 And It Was Good #2
“You’re ridiculous,” I murmur, but I take it anyway. Our fingers brush. His eyes linger. We finish eating slowly, like we’ve got nowhere else to be. And we don’t.
He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth as we toss our napkins and trays, and I taste tahini and something sweeter. Something that feels like home.
We get home just as the last streaks of pink fade from the sky, casting the alley and bricks in that soft steel-blue of early night. Cain unlocks the door while I dig in my tote for my keys, which, surprise, surprise, are tangled in embroidery thread and a rogue tea bag.
Jude trots in first, tail swishing like he’s clocking in for an important shift. He sniffs his food bowl, gives me a judgmental huff, then circles his bed twice before flopping into it with all the dramatics of a Victorian poet.
I toss our jackets on the hook by the stairs, kick off my sandals, and stretch my arms over my head until my back pops. Cain’s already in the kitchen, cracking open two bottles of whatever hard cider Hank had leftover from the last trivia night.
“I’m just gonna tidy a little,” I tell him as I grab a dish towel. He doesn’t argue. Just watches me with that unreadable look he always gets when I’m doing something mundane—like folding laundry or humming to myself while I wipe the counters down. Like I’m a miracle he doesn’t want to startle.
The apartment smells like citrus cleaner and market spices.
I hum softly as I tuck away the extra hummus into the fridge, rinse out our water glasses, fold the throw blanket that always ends up bunched in the corner of the couch.
Jude lets out a soft sigh from his bed, paws twitching.
The quiet feels earned. Like a prayer answered in full.
Then Cain calls out from the bedroom. Low and lazy and dark as molasses.
“Mags?”
And just like that, my body knows exactly where it’s meant to be.
I drop the dishtowel without even folding it and walk down the short hall barefoot, floorboards creaking in the quiet.
Jude shifts in his sleep but doesn’t stir.
I nudge the bedroom door open, and Cain’s already there—leaning against the edge of the bed, shirt undone, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he’s about to conduct some holy ritual.
Maybe he is.
“You callin’ me for a reason?” I ask, voice soft but teasing as I step closer.
He doesn’t smile. Just watches me like he’s starving. Like I’m the offering.
“Always got a reason where you’re concerned, little rabbit,” he says, hands coming up to cup my face. “But tonight? Just wanted to look at you.”
I could melt. Right here, right now, puddle on the damn floor. But he kisses me first—gentle at the start, reverent, like he’s still not over the fact I’m his. Then his fingers dig into my hips, and it shifts. Sharp. Possessive. Hungry.
His hands slide down to the hem of my sundress, fingers skimming along the edge where fabric meets skin.
My breath catches as he lifts it slowly, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving mine.
The weight of his gaze makes me feel worshipped, like I'm something sacred he's unwrapping with deliberate care.
"Let me see you," he whispers against my lips, and I raise my arms, allowing him to pull the dress over my head.
He drops to his knees before me, strong hands circling my ankles, then sliding up my calves. His lips follow the path his fingers blaze, pressing soft kisses against my skin. Each touch is unhurried, intentional—like he's memorizing the terrain of my body all over again.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against the inside of my knee, his breath warm against my skin. "My perfect little saint."
I shiver as his mouth traces higher, along my inner thigh, his hands gripping my hips to steady me. He looks up at me through dark lashes, and the reverence in his eyes makes my heart stutter.
"Every inch of you," he says, rising slowly to stand before me.
His mouth trails lower, pressing against my hipbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. I gasp, fingers threading through his hair as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my underwear, dragging them down with excruciating slowness.
"Every part of you is sacred," he murmurs against my stomach, lips brushing over the small scar near my belly button—a reminder of a childhood fall I barely remember. His tongue traces it like it's worthy of worship.
I'm trembling now, but not from fear—never from fear, not with him. His hands slide up my sides, unclasping my bra with practiced ease, adding it to the growing pile of fabric at our feet. I stand before him completely bare, his eyes drinking me in like I'm the only salvation he's ever known.
"On the bed," he commands softly, voice like velvet wrapped around steel.
I obey, settling against the pillows as he sheds his own clothes—deliberate, unhurried, his eyes never leaving mine. The lamplight catches on his tattoos, shadows dancing across the inked scripture that winds around his forearms, the saints and sinners etched into his skin.
When he finally kneels between my thighs, I feel like I'm being offered at an altar. His hands slide beneath me, lifting my hips slightly as he places a gentle kiss against my inner thigh.
"My salvation," he whispers against my skin, his breath hot and teasing. "My redemption in flesh."
I tremble as his mouth moves higher, every inch of me alive with anticipation. My fingers curl into the sheets, heart racing as he looks up at me with reverence burning in his eyes.
"I worship at your altar," Cain murmurs, and then his tongue traces me slowly, deliberately, a devotion written in wet heat.
I gasp, arching into his touch. He takes his time, savoring me like communion wine, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me open to him. Each stroke of his tongue is measured, patient—a prayer offered without words.
"Oh God," I breathe, unable to stop the tremors that race through my body.
"Say my name," he commands against me, the vibration making me whimper. "Not His. Mine."
"Cain," I moan, my hand finding his hair, tangling in his hair.
"That's it," he encourages when I arch against him, his hands tightening on my thighs. "Let me hear those prayers, little saint."
I shatter beneath his touch, the pleasure crashing through me in waves. My back arches off the bed as I cry out his name, over and over like a desperate prayer. My thighs tremble uncontrollably around his head, but he doesn't stop.
His tongue continues its relentless worship, drawing out every last tremor of my orgasm until I'm gasping, clutching at his shoulders.
"Cain," I whimper, tugging at his hair. "I can't—"
But he growls against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my oversensitive body. His hands tighten on my thighs, keeping me spread open for him as he devours me with renewed hunger.
"One more," he murmurs against my flesh, his breath hot and damp. "Give me one more, little saint."
I'm already shaking, my body spent and hypersensitive, but he knows exactly how to touch me, where to press, when to suck. His fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me with practiced precision, curling to find that perfect spot that makes me see stars.
"That's it," he whispers, his voice like velvet against my skin. "You're such a good girl, my divine thing."
His fingers curl inside me, finding that perfect spot while his mouth continues its relentless worship. I'm trembling, every nerve ending on fire as he brings me to the edge again. My fingers tangle in his hair, not sure if I'm pulling him closer or pushing him away.
"I can't," I gasp, even as my body betrays me, arching into his touch.
"Yes, you can," he murmurs, his breath hot against my center. "Let go for me. Show me how divine you are when you come apart."
His fingers move deeper, more insistent, while his tongue circles and teases. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I'm floating, drowning, burning from the inside out. My thighs shake uncontrollably as the pressure builds again, impossibly intense.
When I shatter the second time, it tears through me like a revelation. I cry out his name like it's salvation itself, my entire body convulsing around his fingers. He works me through it, gentler now but still relentless, drawing out every aftershock.
He crawls up my body with predatory grace, leaving a trail of kisses across my quivering stomach.
I'm still trembling from the aftershocks when his mouth finds my breast, hot and demanding.
His tongue circles my nipple before he takes it between his teeth, the gentle bite sending electricity straight down my spine.
"So perfect," he murmurs against my skin, his fingers finding my other breast, rolling the nipple between rough fingertips until I'm arching off the bed.
I gasp his name as he lavishes attention on my chest, alternating between soft kisses and sharp nips that leave me breathless. His mouth is relentless, worshipful, moving from one breast to the other while his hands grip my waist, holding me steady beneath him.
"Cain," I whimper as he sucks a mark just above my collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my throat.
He works his way up slowly, deliberately, marking me as his with each press of his lips. When he reaches the pulse point beneath my jaw, he lingers there, feeling my heartbeat race against his tongue.
My eyes flutter closed as I feel his hard length glide against my center, hot and ready. I arch instinctively, trying to angle my hips to take him inside me, desperate for that delicious stretch and fullness.
Cain's hands clamp down on my hips, pinning me to the mattress with effortless strength. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest, vibrating against my skin where his mouth hovers over my throat.
"Patience, little sinner," he purrs, his voice like gravel wrapped in silk. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I gasp, squirming against his iron grip. "I want you inside me."
"So greedy," he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. "Always so hungry for me."