Chapter 3 #2
I arch up hard against him, testing the iron grip on my wrists. The stretch burns in my shoulders, but I twist anyway, rolling my hips in a sharp grind that drags my slick folds along the rigid length still trapped behind his trousers.
One of my legs hooks high around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back to pull him tighter. I want more pressure, more everything, and I’m not going to lie still and wait for it.
He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my neck where his mouth works another bruise into my skin.
His free hand clamps down on my thigh, fingers bruising as he forces my leg higher, opening me wider.
I nip at his jaw in retaliation, teeth scraping stubble, and feel his cock twitch hard against me.
That’s all it takes.
He releases my wrists abruptly. Both hands drop to my hips, grip tight, and he flips me onto my stomach in one brutal motion. The world tilts. My cheek hits the mattress, breath knocked out in a soft gasp.
Before I can push up on my elbows, his palm lands on my shoulder blades, pressing my chest flat to the bed. The weight of his hand is absolute. I can’t move my upper body at all.
His knees shove my thighs apart. Cool air kisses my exposed skin for only a second before his fingers trace me from clit to entrance in one long, possessive stroke.
I’m wet now, swollen and aching from everything he’s done, and the glide is effortless.
He circles my clit once, twice, then sinks two fingers deep without warning.
The stretch steals my breath. He doesn’t ease in. He thrusts hard and fast from the start, curling on every stroke to hit that spot inside that makes sparks burst behind my eyes.
Wet sounds fill the room, unmistakable. I turn my face into the pillow to muffle the moan that rips out of me.
“You wanted to fight me for it?” he mutters against my ear, breath hot, body leaning over mine. “Take it, then.”
His fingers drive deeper, pace relentless. Pleasure coils tight and vicious, low in my belly. My thighs shake. I try to push back onto his hand, chase the rhythm, but his weight keeps me pinned exactly where he wants me. All I can do is take it, hips rocking in tiny, desperate jerks.
My orgasm hits suddenly, my back arching against his restraining palm. Every muscle locks. I clench hard around his fingers, pulsing in waves that leave me gasping into the pillow, toes curling against the sheets.
He doesn’t stop, just keeps stroking me through it until I’m twitching, oversensitive and trembling. Only then does he pull his fingers free.
I hear the rustle of fabric, the metallic rasp of a zipper. His hands return to my hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he yanks me up onto my knees. My chest is still pressed to the bed, ass high, thighs spread wide. Exactly how he wants me.
The blunt head of his cock nudges my entrance. No hesitation. He pushes in with one long, deep thrust that seats him to the hilt. The stretch is intense, almost too much after coming so hard. We both groan. He feels thick, hot, filling me completely.
He starts moving immediately. Hard. Fast. Skin slaps against skin. The bed shifts under the force of it. His fingers bruise my hips as he pulls me to meet every snap of his pelvis. I shove back just as fiercely, taking him deeper, chasing the friction that’s already building again.
His hand slides around my hip, fingers finding my clit. He rubs tight, firm circles, no mercy. The pressure winds me higher instantly. My breath comes in ragged pants against the pillow. I hear myself moan his name, raw and broken.
He grunts something filthy about how tight I am, how good I feel wrapped around him. The words alone nearly push me over.
The second climax slams into me without warning. I cry out into the mattress, body seizing, inner walls clamping down hard around his cock in rhythmic pulses. The pleasure is sharper this time, almost overwhelming.
He thrusts deep one last time and stays there. A low, guttural groan tears from his throat as he comes, hips jerked flush against my ass, spilling hot inside me. I feel every throb.
We collapse forward together. His weight settles over my back for a moment, breath harsh against my neck. Then he rolls us sideways, still buried deep, arms banding around me. Sweat slicks our skin. Hearts hammer against each other.
Neither of us speaks. We just lie there tangled, breathing hard, the room thick with the scent of sex and the slow, heavy quiet that comes after everything has been taken and given in full.
We order room service after.
I’m starving—actually starving, not just hungry—and when the food arrives, I eat like I haven’t seen a proper meal in days. Which I haven’t.
Cassian watches me with amusement, sipping whiskey while I demolish a steak and half a plate of pasta.
“You must have been really hungry,” he says.
“Yes. Been too wound up to eat.”
“Because you’ve been busy running.”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, and meet his eyes. There’s no judgment there, just curiosity.
“Yeah,” I say. “Running.”
He doesn’t push for details, which I appreciate. He refills my water glass and lets me eat in peace.
When I’m done, the exhaustion hits me like a wave. I’m full and clean and sitting on a bed that feels like a cloud, and my body decides it’s finally safe enough to shut down.
Cassian notices when my eyes start drooping. “Sleep,” he says.
“I should—”
“Sleep, Catherine. Everything else can wait.”
I want to argue, but I don’t have the energy. So I just crawl under the covers and let my head hit the pillow, and for the first time in two months, I feel safe enough to actually rest.
I drift in and out after that, vaguely aware of Cassian moving around the room, his phone buzzing occasionally, the sound of the city below filtering through the windows.
At some point he gets back into bed, and I curl into him without thinking. His arm comes around me automatically, and I press my face against his chest and breathe him in.
This is temporary. I know that.