7. Cassie
CASSIE
I woke before dawn with a knot in my stomach that had nothing to do with the nausea I was feeling.
The conversation I’d overheard last night played on repeat in my mind—Declan’s voice cutting through the darkness, warning Roman about a mole, about how close their enemies were getting. Someone from Roman’s inner circle was trying to get him killed, and now I’m probably the target too.
I slipped out of the massive bed, my feet hitting the cold marble floor.
The Egyptian cotton sheets that had felt like luxury last night now felt like chains.
Everything about this place—the opulent bedroom, the fortress-like walls, the armed guards— felt less like protection and more like a very expensive prison.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the sun just beginning to rise over the estate grounds. Somewhere out there, Roman was probably already awake, already planning, already carrying the weight of an empire on his shoulders.
The thought made my chest tighten with something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I found him in his home office two hours later, standing behind his desk in yesterday’s clothes.
His hair was disheveled, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and there was a glass of whiskey at his elbow despite the early hour.
He looked like a man who hadn’t slept, who’d spent the night wrestling with demons that refused to be tamed.
"You’re up early," he said without looking at me, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"So are you." I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Sleep is a luxury I can’t afford right now."
The words were casual, but there was something brittle beneath them. Something that made me want to cross the room and touch him, to offer whatever comfort I could. But the distance between us felt charged with electricity, dangerous to cross.
"Roman," I started, then stopped. What could I say? That I’d overheard his private conversation? That I knew about the traitor, about how much danger we were all in?
He finally looked up, and the intensity in his blue eyes made my breath catch. There was something feral there, something that reminded me that beneath the expensive suits and careful control, Roman Creed was still a predator.
"Appearances are important, Cassie. This life is all about politics. I must prove to everyone that I’m stable, settled, ready to lead this organization into the future." His fingers drummed once against the desk—his tell for stress.
The tone of his voice sent a shiver down my spine that I tried to ignore. "I understand."
"Do you?" He moved around the desk with predatory grace, closing the distance between us. "Because if you can’t handle this world, if you can’t be what I need you to be, then we need to discuss alternatives."
"What kind of alternatives?"
His hand reached out, fingers tracing along my jawline with devastating gentleness. "The kind that I’d prefer not to think about."
"You’re trying to get rid of me?" The words came out sharper than I intended, and something dark flickered in his eyes.
"I’m trying to get you to see how important this is."
"By threatening me?"
"By making you understand." His thumb swept across my lower lip, and I had to bite back a whimper. "This world is dangerous, Cassie. More dangerous than you know. And if something happened to you because of me?—"
"Nothing’s going to happen to me." I caught his wrist, holding his hand against my face. "We made a deal, Roman."
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. For a moment, the mask slipped, and I saw the man beneath the monster. The one who was worried about losing the few things that mattered to him.
"You don’t know what you’re saying."
"Yes, I do." I stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with whiskey and something darker. Something purely him . "I’m saying I’m not some fragile flower who’s going to wilt the first time things get dangerous. I’m saying I’m here, and I’m staying."
His jaw clenched. "This isn’t a game."
"Do I look like I’m playing?"
The air between us crackled with tension, with all the things we weren’t saying. I could see the war playing out in his eyes—the need to protect me warring with something hungrier, something that had been building between us since that first kiss in his office.
"You should let me work," he said, but his hand was still cupping my face, his thumb still stroking across my skin.
"Should I?"
"Yes."
"Then why aren’t you letting me go?"
His control snapped.
One moment I was standing in front of his desk, and the next I was pressed against the wall, his body caging me in.
His mouth crashed down on mine with desperate hunger, and I kissed him back just as fiercely, five months of inappropriate fantasies and two days of impossible tension finally finding their outlet.
"You drive me fucking crazy," he growled against my lips, his hands fisting in my hair.
"Good," I gasped, my fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. "I’d hate to be the only one losing my mind."
His mouth found my throat, tongue marking my pulse point. He left a trail of kisses along my jawline, then captured my lips between his.
This was different from our first time. Less desperate, more claiming. Like he was trying to brand me, to mark me as his in every way.
My skirt rode up as he positioned himself between my thighs, his hands exploring the exposed skin with reverent possession. I could feel the evidence of how much he wanted me pressed against my hip, could see the way his pupils had dilated with need.
"Fuck, Cassie..." he murmured, grinding his hips against mine.
The need in his voice went straight to my core. No one had ever looked at me the way he was now, with pure, animalistic desire.
My fingers found his belt, unfastening it with steady hands.
"If you do that, I’ll fuck you senseless," he warned. "Right here, right now."
"Do your worst."
The belt hit the floor with a clatter, followed by his pants. He was hard and thick, and the size of him made my heart race even faster.
This was happening. Again.
I hooked a leg behind his back and pulled him closer. His fingers slid my panties aside, teasing my wetness, and I clung to his shoulders as he pushed forward, entering me slowly, relentlessly.
I whimpered, the stretch and fullness overwhelming me. Everything felt heightened, the danger of our situation spiking my arousal beyond belief. He gave me a moment to adjust, his lips traveling down my jaw, my throat, before setting a slow, torturous rhythm.
Every thrust was a deliberate invasion, the deliberate claiming of what belonged to him. I trembled in his arms, biting back moans that threatened to give us away to anyone passing by the door.
But I didn’t care. At that moment, with Roman inside me, all I wanted was him.
His tempo increased, the desk groaning under the force of his thrusts. I clung to his shoulders, his fingers digging into my ass with just the right amount of delicious pain.
"You’re mine," he growled against my lips, hips angling to hit a spot that made me cry out. "Say it."
"I’m yours." The words came easily, his claiming stroking the darker needs I hadn’t dared admit I had.
"No one else will ever touch you again." Another deep, intentional thrust.
"No one else," I breathed.
The look he gave me was one of pure darkness—raw and dominant and just a little bit possessive. I could see his control crumbling, see the walls dropping, and the man emerging, hungry for something only I could give him.
Desperate.
He plunged deeper, the sudden burst of pleasure making me scream.
Hunger.
He lifted me in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist.
Captivated.
White-hot tension built in my core, stronger than before, threatening to overwhelm me.
Aching.
I was distantly aware that my back was hitting the polished oak door, that the only thing keeping us upright was his raw strength.
Need.
His eyes locked on mine.
Mine.
His thrusts became jerky, less controlled. He drove into me with a singular purpose—to possess, to claim, to show me what he wanted and how he would have it.
All at once, I shattered.
With a moan, I didn’t hold back; I let pleasure take me. Every muscle seemed to seize, my back arching, my hips grinding against him of their own accord. Distantly, I could feel him pounding into me, his cock spilling warmth inside me as he spent himself.
Afterward, he rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. When I finally recovered enough to lift my head, I met his gaze.
Roman pulled back, his hands gentle as he helped me straighten my clothes. There was something different in his expression now, something that looked almost like contentment.
"We should—" he started, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
"Roman." Declan’s voice cut through the morning air like a blade. "We need to talk. Now."
Roman’s entire body went tense, the relaxed satisfaction from moments before vanishing instantly. He double-checked that I was decent before moving me away from the door.
"Stay here," he told me, his voice back to that cold, commanding tone.
"Roman, wait?—"
But he had already opened the door, letting Declan into the room. I tried to look like I hadn’t just had the best fucking orgasm ever.
Declan’s pale eyes flicked between us, taking in Roman’s rumpled appearance and my flushed cheeks with calculating assessment. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
"I have a lead," Declan said without preamble. "On the mole that’s been feeding information to our enemies."
The words hit the room like a physical blow. Roman went very still, that predatory alertness I’d seen before settling over him like armor.
"What do you have?" The question was barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of a death sentence.
Declan’s smile widened, cold and dangerous. "You’re not going to like it."