Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
F or the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m finally relaxed. The tension that’s been clinging to me—clinging to Cassie and this entire damn case—eases just enough for me to catch my breath.
Cassie is curled against me, head on my chest, soft snores escaping her lips. She’s like oxygen after a long-held breath. Just when I thought I’d choke, she appeared. She’s surprised me in more ways than I can count, and I know now, this isn’t a one-time thing.
It’s still late. I haven’t slept. Not really. I’m wide awake, staring down at her and wondering if she realizes why she’s here. We both know what brought her to my place, but I doubt she understands just how much I know.
I’ve had Max tailing that fuckhead for the past two weeks. I wouldn’t rest easy until I knew the ins and outs of Cassie’s life. And that roommate of hers? He did me a favor. I didn’t even need to step in and take him out, he did the job for me.
My thoughts spiral and at some point, sleep claims me. But when I wake, the space beside me is cold. Her scent lingers on my sheets, on my skin. It’s intoxicating. And yet, without her there, the bed feels empty .
Her phone’s still on the nightstand. Her clothes are in the same damp heap on the floor. She hasn’t left.
I throw off the covers, pull on a pair of gym shorts, and head downstairs. What greets me is an image I won’t forget; a vision that instantly has my cock twitching.
Cassie’s bent over, rummaging through my kitchen cupboards. She’s wearing only my shirt, the hem barely covering her ass. Her golden hair is a tousled mess in a ponytail where she’s tried to hide our long night of fucking. She’s all soft curves and tempting lines.
“My shirt looks good on you,” I murmur, voice low and unapologetic.
She startles like I’ve struck a match in a quiet room.
Her spine straightens immediately, cheeks blooming a soft pink as her fingers twitch at the hem of the oversized fabric.
My shirt on her—fuck. It’s oversized on purpose, but it clings in all the right places, one shoulder slipping off slightly to expose a line of bare skin that’s been haunting my thoughts since I woke up.
“I was looking for the coffee,” she stammers, avoiding my eyes like they might burn her.
She’s flustered. Good. That means last night still lingers for her too—the heat of it, the chaos, the way I had her saying my name like a prayer and a curse at once.
“Top right,” I say, pointing toward the cupboard.
She pads across the kitchen barefoot, the hem of the shirt dancing around her thighs with each step.
My shirt. On her. It does something to me I can’t name.
Like claiming. Like marking her without having to say a word.
I want her to keep it. I want her in nothing but that shirt every morning, making coffee and pretending we’re normal people with normal hearts that don’t come with guns and violence.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, taking a sip.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she replies softly, gripping her cup like it’s grounding her.
She’s biting her lip which shouldn’t send my mind into overdrive, but it does.
I can’t get the image out of my head, of her lips wrapped around my cock, her mouth parted on a silent scream as I deliver—fuck knows how many—orgasms.
I shake my head and attempt to refocus. “What about?” I raise a brow.
Silence.
I already know. It’s about last night—or maybe the trial. Probably both. We’ve danced around both subjects so many times that it’s a damn maze at this point. I’ve been in fucked up situations, I’ve been in confusing situations. But I’ve never lost myself in someone like this before.
“It’s about the trial,” she finally answers, her voice tight. “Next week.”
I glance at the clock. It’s just after eight. “It’s Saturday morning. Do we have to do this now?”
The pout she offers me is lethal. She tilts her head, fluttering her lashes and leaving me no room to argue. “Humor me.”
“Fine.” The word scrapes out of me, more gravel than consent. A warning dressed as surrender.
I reach for her anyway—because I can’t not—and pull her into my lap.
She comes willingly. Of course she does. It’s like she doesn’t know any better. Like she doesn’t see the danger in how I hold her. Or maybe she does and that’s the reason she obeys.
Her body fits against me too perfectly, every curve aligning like she was built to be here. Built for me. Her breath stutters when I tighten my grip, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in, her hands bracing on my chest like it’s the safest place in the world.
It isn’t.
It’s too easy. Too natural. Like we’ve done this a thousand times, even though we haven’t. Not really. And I hate how much I want it. How much I crave the way she folds into me, soft and trusting, like she doesn’t realize I’m the one she should be running from .
I bury my face in her neck, jaw tight, teeth clenched. I could bite down. Mark her. Own her. One small shift and she'd be mine in every way that matters.
I inhale her hypnotizing scent—warm perfume laced with coffee and the unmistakable trace of sex. It’s heady. Intoxicating. I could get used to this.
And that’s the most dangerous thought of all.
“Do you trust me?” Cassie loops her arms around my neck, her smile soft but tinged with something heavier.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Somewhere along the way, I’ve come to know her. The real her. Cassie is the kind of woman who radiates patience, loyalty, and an unwavering sense of right. Trusting her isn’t a risk, it’s instinct.
“Good.” Her fingertip trails down my chest, tracing the inked lines that detail my family crest. Her touch is equal parts comfort and temptation, and I’ve already forgotten why we’re talking.
“Daniels is coming for you,” she says abruptly. “I don’t know why, and I don’t need to. But I need to know if there’s anything that could surface… if you’re called to testify, he’ll try to get under your skin.”
“He’s already under my skin,” I grit out. It’s not just about the trial. Something about that guy’s presence has always rubbed me wrong. I knew before the first court date he couldn’t be trusted.
“He wants to own you in that courtroom,” she states. “And I won’t let that happen.” She taps my chest with a determined gleam in her eye. She means it.
“There’s nothing you need to know about that night,” I assure, my voice low, deliberate. “I’ve told you the truth, whether you want to believe it or not.”
She watches me with wide, searching eyes, like she’s trying to read what’s beneath the surface. But there’s nothing there. Just steel and smoke. Just a grave I’ve already buried that part of myself in.
“But if you’re called up,” she continues, her lips brushing mine as she leans in. “You need to stay calm. And I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
I tighten my grip on her waist, drawing her in, begging for our lips to meet. “Okay.”
Her body melts against me, and I can’t hold back any longer. The kiss is instant, urgent.
She moans into my mouth, and it’s all the answer I need. Our lips tongues tangling in a rhythm that’s messy and perfect, until it’s all teeth, breath, and want.
Then she pulls away, breathless. “This was supposed to be a pep talk.”
“In my kitchen, after I fucked you senseless all night?” I grin.
“That,” she concedes with a flushed smile, “you definitely did.”
Her admission ignites something primal. I drag my hand up her back, fingers curling around her nape as I capture her lips again. The sight of her in nothing but my shirt stirs every dark desire I have.
My hand slips to her ass, kneading her as she shifts on my lap. I move to her neck, inhaling her sweet, sinful scent; like velvet chocolate. I lick a path up her throat and she writhes in my arms.
“Doesn’t sound like the time or place for a meeting.”
My grip tangles in her hair, tugging her head back gently. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”
“You stole them last night, remember?”
Fuck. She’s right.
“Smart mouth.” I smirk. “Meeting adjourned.”
I make quick work of the few buttons done up on her shirt, hungry for more of her. She shudders when the cool air kisses her bare skin, her perfect, pert tits exposed to me, nipples already tight and begging for attention.
I drag my hand up her stomach slowly—possessively—until I’m cupping her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers. Her back arches into me with a desperate, involuntary gasp. She's already soaked—I can feel the heat radiating off her. She's fucking ready, and I haven’t even gotten started.
With a firm grip on her waist, I lift her effortlessly onto the counter. A soft, startled squeak leaves those luscious lips as her bare ass meets the cold surface.
“Hungry?” I murmur, deliberately letting my eyes trail past her, toward the fruit bowl behind her.
She nods, hesitant but wanting, biting that lip again. Fuck, that lip . It’s going to ruin me.
I pluck a strawberry from the bowl and hold it up to her mouth. She bites down on half, letting the juice linger and stain her lips a sinful red. I lean in, kissing her with hunger, tasting fruit and her at once. It's intoxicating. But I’m nowhere near done with her.
Cassie tilts her head back with a soft moan as I drag the berry slowly down her throat, letting it trail a wet red line between the valley of her perfect tits.
I watch the juice stain her skin, then smear it with my tongue, licking up every drop while her breath catches in her throat.
She trembles beneath my touch, her legs parting involuntarily as I circle her nipples with the sticky sweet trail.
She’s utterly exposed, her body glowing under the kitchen lights. That oversized shirt slides further off her shoulders, the fabric clinging to her narrow frame in the most suggestive way. She looks like temptation incarnate.
I lap at the berry juice with lazy precision, savoring her. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I know she’s feeling everything I’m doing to her. My hand slips between her legs, fingers coated in her arousal the moment I make contact.
“Axel,” she gasps when two fingers slide in, easy and smooth. Her body welcomes me. The way she clenches around me— fuck , it’s my personal drug.
“This what you want?” I growl against her ear, dragging my teeth over her skin.
She moans, a sound that goes straight to my cock .
“Words, Cassie.”
“Yes,” she cries, hips rocking against my hand. “Yes, Axel.”
I grip her throat—not too tight, just enough—and kiss her again, swallowing her sounds as my fingers fuck her relentlessly.
She's riding my hand, using me to chase the high I’m holding just out of reach.
Her body’s frantic with need, her juices dripping down my wrist, her skin flushed and trembling.
But I pull back. Slowly. Deliberately. Her desperate whimper has me grinning.
“You’re not coming unless it’s all over my dick,” I growl, and she blushes a furious shade of red. That innocence—still intact despite everything—drives me fucking insane.
I grab another strawberry and feed it to her.
She bites it in half again, dazed, drunk on pleasure.
I take the berry and trail it up her leg, juice staining her soft skin from calf to thigh.
I suck it from her inch by inch, until I’m just shy of the place she wants me most. I taste her, the berry, the sweat and heat from her skin.
She tastes like heaven; sweet, ripe, and fucking addictive.
I don’t give her time to recover. My cock is out in seconds, thick and aching as I press her back against the counter, lining up to her wet entrance. I don’t ask. She doesn't need me to.
I thrust into her with a growl, filling her to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Her gasp turns to a moan that scrapes at my control. She’s gripping the counter like her life depends on it.
“How the fuck are you this wet and still so tight?” I hiss, mostly to myself, lost in the feel of her wrapped around me.
My hand returns to her throat as I pound into her, slow but deep, relentless. Her legs wrap around my waist, trying to pull me in deeper. She’s shaking, her orgasm building fast.
I unhook her legs and lift one onto my shoulder. Her body contorts, a moan of pain mixing with pleasure as I slam into her again, her tight heat pulling me closer to the edge.
My lips find her ankle, biting down just hard enough to earn a gasp. Her knuckles whiten against the counter. She’s coming undone, but not yet. Not until I say .
“Who’s fucking you, Cassie?” I growl, watching the way the question destroys her composure.
“You, Axel,” she moans, raw and breathless.
“Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours!”
I groan and lean in, dragging my teeth over her nipples again.
She whimpers, desperate and close. “Please,” she cries out, her body trembling. “I want to come.”
“Please what?”
“Please don’t stop,” she begs, nearly sobbing with need.
I slam into her harder, angling her leg up against her chest. The new depth makes her scream, her entire body bowing off the counter. I swirl my hips, hitting that perfect fucking spot again and again.
“Come for me, baby,” I whisper into her mouth, and she detonates.
Her body convulses, muscles seizing as her orgasm shatters her. She screams my name, voice raw, and I don’t stop. I want her to feel every second of it.
I pull out just as she begins to come down, pumping my cock fast and hard until I’m spilling all over her tits and stomach, groaning through clenched teeth as my release blinds me.
My hips jerk, the pleasure borderline painful.
My hand slams against the counter to keep me upright, when all I want to do is sink into her again.
When I can finally catch my breath, I look down at her—wrecked, radiant, and still the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Her skin glows, lips kiss-bruised, eyes half-lidded with bliss.
Reluctantly, I step back and head to the sink. The cool water runs over the cloth as I soak it, wring it out, then return to her—still sprawled and stunning on the counter, her breath evening out.
I clean her slowly, the warm cloth a soft contrast against her flushed skin. Her hands drift up my chest as I lean in, drawn back to her like gravity.
“This is so wrong,” she giggles, voice hoarse and wild with afterglow.
“How so?” I ask, brushing her mouth with mine.
“You’re my client. We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs, though the mischief in her eyes tells me she’s not regretting a damn thing.
“Which is exactly why we should be doing this,” I smirk.
“You’re ridiculous.”
She might be right. But I also know this: she's mine. And I’ll never stop wanting her.
And she’s perfect.