Chapter 16
CASSIAN
I’ve been a cop long enough to know when I’m under the influence.
Usually that means a vampire spiking my cold brew or a dryad’s idea of a good time.
This is different. This is sugar and want and the careful hands of a woman I’d take a bullet for, and I’m not fighting any of it.
Liza’s fingers are in my hair and her mouth is on mine.
She tastes like blue frosting and something braver than either of us.
Every rule I’ve spent centuries nailing into place—slow down, back off, not her—goes up like kindling.
What’s left is the grip of her hands and the small sound she makes when I keep going.
The only voice left in my head belongs to her, and it isn’t telling me to stop.
I scoop her off the barstool like it’s nothing. Her legs lock around my hips and her laugh breaks against my jaw. “Cassian!”
“What?” I say, setting her down just as fast, but she’s already gasping with anticipation, her cheeks flushed like she’s caught a fever.
Her lips hover near my ear, breath hot and quick. “I thought you said you’d go slow.”
“I did.” I hold her and steady both of us, but my hands have their own agenda, smoothing over the small of her back, then lower. “Just didn’t say when I’d start.”
She crashes her lips to mine, and we sway toward her bedroom in a series of stuttered steps—her hands tangling in my shirt, my arms caging her to my chest, both of us laughing like idiots every time a picture frame nearly crashes to the ground.
I want to drag this out, and also tear right through it, which is exactly what happens when we reach her bed.
I lower her onto the quilt, and her hair fans out, dark and wild. If there’s a more perfect sight, I haven’t seen it. “Are you good?” I ask, and the words come out a growl.
She touches my jaw, runs her thumb over my bottom lip. “So good.” She says it simple, like a fact, but her heartbeat’s a hummingbird riot under my palms.
The room is dim, filtered porch light and the fire in the next room.
I shift, letting the wolf in me rise just a fraction.
Eyes go hot, orange. She sees, and her breath stutters.
For a second I’m sure she’ll tell me to dial it back, that she didn’t sign up for this particular level of intensity, but she doesn’t. She pulls me in, and I can’t pull away.
If she’s afraid, she masks it behind curiosity, behind her fingers exploring the length of my arms, over my shoulders, up the back of my neck.
“Your turn,” she says, voice gone syrupy-slick.
She tugs at the hem of my shirt, and I let her strip it off, slow.
I know what she sees: the scars, the tattoos, the marks from other lifetimes and other wounds.
I have a lot of real estate, and she takes her time touring every inch, tracing lines with her fingers.
When she palms my chest, she gets a handful, and she laughs quietly. “You really are built like a truck.”
“Don’t start with the compliments unless you want to see me get cocky.” I grin, but I mean it, too. I haven’t been comfortable in my own skin since—hell, since I realized I had two layers of it. With her, I don’t feel like a monster even when I look like one.
“Why would I want anything else?” Her hands slide lower, hooking into my waistband. I catch her wrists gently.
“Liza,” I say. The wolf in me wants to rut and howl and leave marks she’ll see for days, but I wait. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
She blinks, startled, then shakes her head, dark hair making a little halo on her pillow. “I’ll tell you if I want more.”
That’s all I need. I kiss her like I’ve never done it before, like there’s a timer running down, and I have to get every possible flavor of her in one go.
My hands are greedy, but careful, and I memorize the shape of her waist, the arch of her thigh.
Her body curves into mine, searching for warm places, and I give her all of it.
She grabs my ass. No warning, no hesitation, just a full double-armed squeeze, and I let out a noise that’s not very chief-like at all. “Sorry,” she says, but she’s not sorry, and I can’t blame her.
“You’re lucky I’m not in uniform, Morales.” My breath hitches when she sucks a mark on my shoulder, biting the muscle there. I play it off, but I’m not remotely in control now. I want her, all of her, and the cupcake haze is just an amplifier for that bone-deep wanting.
I hook one arm under her back and lift her again—it’s easy—and settle her higher on the bed.
I take my time with the details: one hand splaying over her sternum, feeling her heart slamming beneath.
The thin tee she’s in is no defense, and her nipples pebble hard against the fabric.
I slide it off her, dragging the cotton up slow enough for her to shiver and show me goosebumps.
She’s not wearing a bra. This is a gift. I kneel at her side and duck my head low to her chest, licking soft until she’s whimpering. Her hands flex in my hair; I moan, and she tastes it, moving restless against my thigh.
“Cass, are you—” Her voice is blurry and high.
I can’t look away from her. “I want you to say you’ll stay with me after.”
She blinks. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“It’s a request,” I say, and my voice shakes a little. “I’ll survive if it’s one night. But I want all of them.”
Liza’s smile goes lopsided, and she pulls me down by the face, kissing me like she can brand the answer into me. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she says, and I know it’s a yes.
I work lower, kissing her ribs, her stomach, the curve of her hip.
She’s wearing joggers and the world’s most infuriating pair of underwear, black and lace and barely there.
I hook my thumbs into both and draw them down together.
She squirms, knees coming up reflexively.
The scent of her—spicy and sharp and dizzying—makes my brain short out.
I kneel and spread her legs, soft but insistent. I hear her breath catch.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask again. Last chance. No takebacks. She looks at me, eyes wide and more awake than I’ve seen them.
She shakes her head. “I want you to devour me.”
So I do.
She falls apart on my tongue, the slowest and most satisfying unraveling I’ve witnessed.
I try to make it last, but she’s greedy too, and greedy wins out.
Her hands clutch my hair, her thighs grip my ears, and when she breaks apart it’s wild—a full-body quake, a whisper of my name that’s equal parts praise and curse.
When she’s done, she drags me up her body, hooks a leg around mine, and rolls me beneath her. I’m not expecting it. She straddles me and yanks my jeans open, grinding down to let me know exactly who’s in charge.
“Was that okay?” I ask, and regret it instantly. Of course it was.
She just grins, fingers making quick work of my zipper.
“Better than okay.” She shimmies down until she’s got my cock in her hand—no more pretending, no more teasing.
She strokes me, slow at first, then with a grip that will haunt my dreams. I’m embarrassingly easy, but so is she.
We crash together, hot and messy, and it’s perfect.
I line up at her entrance and pause. “You sure?”
She leans down, hair curtaining both of us, and bites my bottom lip. “You know I am.”
I bark out a laugh, then thrust in slow, rolling my hips while we both adjust to the fit. Her mouth goes slack, and she buries her face in my shoulder. There’s no coming back from this, no halfway. I push in deeper, and she moans, then rocks against me, greedy as ever.
The wolf is pacing now. I can’t shift during sex. That would be a health hazard as well as a crime. But the urge to claim her—to bite, to mark—burns behind my teeth. I scent her, memorize it, and bite down on my own tongue to keep from doing anything reckless.
She rides me hard, surprising both of us, then collapses forward so I take over, rolling her onto her back and pinning her wrists above her head in one palm. There’s a flash of challenge in her eyes, and she pushes back, legs bracing against my hips, angling to get every inch.
I lose control and let it happen.
We shatter together, and it’s not clean or dignified. The bed creaks, the headboard cracks the wall, and afterward we lie tangled, hearts jackhammering, bodies gleaming with sweat, the window fogged up as if we’ve summoned our own personal climate change.
Afterward, Liza traces the scar on my chest with one finger. “You always this intense?”
I brush her hair off her forehead, kiss her, then nuzzle the curve of her jaw. “No. But I’ve wanted you for years. And the cupcake might have done something weird to my biochemistry.”
She laughs, and the sound is warm and sleepy. “For the record, I didn’t need a nudge.”
“Me neither.” I watch the steady rise and fall of her chest. “But you ought to know something.”
She shifts, interested. “What’s that?”
“You’re mine now,” I say, low and serious, and the wolf in me isn’t joking.
She smirks, utterly unbothered. “I think you mean you’re mine.”
I hesitate, then nod. “I can live with that.”
We drift, her head on my arm, my palm splayed over her belly. I don’t want to move, but I know I’ll have to soon. There are always emergencies in Blackthorn Bay. But for now, I listen to her breathing sync with mine, and let the world outside wait a goddamn minute.
After a while, Liza flips onto her side and pokes me in the ribs. “So, Chief. You ever going to tell me what happened to Enoch’s car last week?”
I groan and cover my face. “If I do, you have to swear absolute secrecy.”
“Scout’s honor.” She crosses her heart and I can’t help but notice she’s still naked, which is incredibly distracting.
I roll onto my back, stare at the ceiling, and confess, “I mistook his Prius for a surveillance vehicle and may have… marked it.”
She squints. “Marked it?”
“Marked it,” I repeat.
She takes a second to process that, then laughs so hard she wheezes. “Cassian Wolfridge, you peed on the town psychiatrist’s car?”
I groan, mortified. “Can we maybe not tell anyone about this?”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” she says, and kisses my shoulder. “But only if you promise to stay the night.”
I settle in, tucking her against my chest. “You drive a hard bargain.”
The room goes quiet, except for the sound of old pipes and the traffic out on Main.
I don’t need to look at her to know she’s smiling, or that she feels safer here than she’s ever let on.
My body is spent, my mind is quiet, and for the first time since I took this job, I think maybe tomorrow can wait.
She dozes, and I stare at the ceiling fan, watching the lazy revolutions, wondering if I’ll ever find equilibrium between the man and the beast. Maybe I won’t. Maybe that’s the point. But with her, in this bed, I don’t need to choose.