Chapter 5
CASSANDRA
The vibration of the Harley beneath me ceased five minutes ago, but my inner thighs still hum with the phantom resonance of the engine. Or maybe that’s just him. Chase.
The man stands on the porch of his cabin, keys jingling in his hand, looking like the devil deciding which circle of hell to show me first. The ride up the mountain was a blur of wind and terrifying speed, my arms wrapped around his waist out of necessity, my chest pressed against the leather of his cut.
I can still smell him—the raw, aggressive scent of leather, gasoline, and that uniquely masculine musk that is now mixed with the heavy scent of my own arousal.
It is a sensory brand that tells my brain I am already his, long before he’s even touched the lock.
"You coming inside, Counselor? Or are you going to stand there analyzing the structural integrity of my porch?"
His voice is a low rumble matching the darkening sky above Grizzly Peak. We are miles from the paved roads of Pine Valley. This is Gunnar territory. Wild, unchecked, and silent save for the wind tearing through the evergreens.
I smooth my skirt, trying to summon the composure that usually wins me fierce arguments in courtrooms. "I’m assessing my exit strategy, Mr. Gunnar. Since you essentially kidnapped me from the shop."
"Kidnapped implies you didn't climb on the back of my bike willingly.
" He unlocks the heavy oak door and pushes it open, leaning against the frame with a cocky, half-lidded smirk that makes my stomach flip.
"Come inside. We have strategies to discuss.
Unless you want the town council to think their favorite power couple is having a lover's spat in the driveway. "
I march past him, the heat radiating off his massive body hitting me like a wall. "We aren't having a lover's spat. We are engaging in a client dispute regarding boundaries."
"Boundaries," he repeats, testing the word like it tastes of metal. "I don't think that word means what you think it means up here."
The door closes behind us. The lock clicks with a finality that echoes in the sudden quiet of the cabin.
The interior matches the man—rugged and overwhelmingly intimate.
A stone fireplace dominates one wall, the embers of a morning fire still glow dull red.
Leather furniture, dark wood, not a softening touch to be found. A hunter's den.
I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest to protect myself from the way his gaze strips me bare. "The kiss at the shop, Chase. That violated the agreement. We established rules. Public displays of affection only. Strategic. Calculated."
Chase drops his keys on a side table and stalks toward me. He doesn't rush. He moves with the fluid, lethal grace of a large cat, his heavy boots thudding on the hardwood floor.
"Calculated," he scoffs, unzipping his leather vest and shrugging it off. Underneath, his black t-shirt clings to muscles shifting like tectonic plates. "Is that what that was? Because from where I was standing, you were clawing at my back like you wanted to climb inside my skin."
I step back, hitting the edge of a heavy wooden table. "I was caught off guard. Adrenaline response."
"Bullshit." He stops inches from me, invading my personal space until I have to tilt my head back to meet his stare. His eyes burn with an intensity that liquefies my knees. "You liked it. You liked having my hands on you. You liked surrendering control."
"I never surrender control," I snap, pressing back against the heavy oak table. "And certainly not to a man whose primary negotiation tactic is kidnapping."
"It wasn't kidnapping," Chase says, taking a slow step forward. "It was an extraction."
"It was a felony," I correct, my voice rising. "You think because you wear leather and ride a loud bike you can just reshape the world to fit your wants? It doesn't work that way, Chase. I am not one of your club bunnies you can just order around."
He stops, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes. "You think I want a bunny? I want a wolf, Cassandra. And I think I found one. She's just afraid to bite."
"I am not afraid," I lie, though my pulse is hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I am rational. And rationally, this"—I gesture between us—"is a disaster."
"Rationally," he murmurs, closing the distance, "this is inevitable."
I try to hold his gaze, to summon the courtroom icy glare that has withered grown men, but the heat radiating off him melts my resolve. My body decides before my brain does. My pussy tightens with a heavy, liquid throb I can no longer ignore, my thong already soaked through from the ride up.
Chase reaches out, his calloused hand wrapping around the back of my neck.
His grip is firm, possessive, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear.
"Liar. You do it all day. You fight, you argue, you uphold the law. You’re exhausted, Cassandra.
I see it in the tension of your shoulders. I taste it on you."
He leans down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "You want someone else to take the wheel. You want to be good."
The air leaves my lungs. Good. When he says it, the word carries no moral judgment. It sounds like a command. A promise of total consumption.
"Chase," I whisper, unsure if I offer a warning or a plea.
"Tell me you don't want this, Cassandra," he murmurs, his other hand moving to my waist, pulling me flush against his hardness.
The thick, heavy ridge of his cock presses through his denim, a stark, undeniable reality against my belly.
"Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't already wet for me, and I'll let you walk.
But we both know you're not going anywhere until I’ve had every inch of you. "
I open my mouth to speak, to cite the conflict of interest, the precarious nature of our fake relationship, the insanity of sleeping with the enemy I am supposed to be regulating. But the words die in my throat. I lean into his touch, my body arching against him.
"I didn't think so," he growls.
He kisses me then. The display in the shop was a provocation. This is a hostile takeover. His mouth crushes mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping inside to claim me with a thoroughness that curls my toes. No hesitation, no tentative exploration. He kisses me like he owns the air in my lungs.
I whimper, my hands bunching in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Leather, heat, and unadulterated male power overwhelm my senses. The friction of his stubble against my chin is abrasive and perfect.
Chase lets out a low, vibrating growl and spins me around.
He doesn't lead me to the rug. He shoves me toward the heavy oak table, his hands on my waist as he forces my chest down against the cool wood.
I am bent double, my ass bared to him while the dying embers of the hearth cast his shadow over me like a shroud.
"Stay," he commands.
I freeze, hands gripping the edge of the table, breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My spine arches, exposing the pale line of my throat to him while my hips are pinned, helpless and waiting. My rational mind screams at the submissive posture, but my blood sings.
The sound of a zipper tears through the quiet. The heavy thud of denim dropping follows.
"Chase..."
"Quiet," he says, his voice dropping an octave into pure, gravelly authority. "You talk too much, Counselor. Right now, you just need to feel."
He steps up behind me, his large frame encompassing mine. One hand splays flat on my lower back, holding me down against the unforgiving oak, grounding me. The other hand reaches around to the front of my skirt, bunching the fabric and hiking it high over my waist.
Cool mountain air hits my thighs for a split second before his warm, rough hand replaces it. He traces the line of my inner thigh, his fingers calloused and seeking. I tremble, head dropping forward.
"So drenched," he murmurs against my neck, biting lightly at the sensitive cord of muscle there. "God, your pussy is soaking through your panties. Were you thinking about this on the ride up? Thinking about my cock inside you while you held onto me?"
"I..." My voice breaks. "Yes."
"Fucking take it."
His dominance strikes hard, shattering the last of my resistance. My hips buck involuntarily against the table.
He doesn't bother sliding them off. He hooks his thumbs into the lace of my panties and snaps the waistband.
The sound of the silk shredding echoes in the quiet cabin, a violent, raw declaration that he is done waiting.
He tosses the ruined scraps to the floor and steps between my spread legs.
There is no going back. The fake relationship, the town council, the zoning permits—it all dissolves.
Only this room remains. This man, and the heat pooling between my legs.
Chase doesn't wait. He doesn't prepare me. He takes.
The broad, blunt head of his cock—angry, engorged, and weeping precum—presses against my clit before sliding down to the opening of my pussy, stretching my soaked, needy flesh wide before he forces his way in.
He is massive, a thick pillar of hot muscle that claims every bit of me until I think I'll tear apart under his sheer size.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust; he just shoves forward, burying his full length into my wet heat until his balls slap against my skin.
I cry out, the sensation of being filled so completely bordering on pain before tipping into overwhelming pleasure. He is thick, stretching me wide, filling every empty space inside me until I feel full to bursting.
Once fully sheathed, he pauses, allowing my body to adjust to the intrusion. He leans over me, his chest pressing into my back, breath hot against my ear, pinning me hard against the wood.
"Mine," he growls. "You feel that? You’re wrapped around me so tight. My lawyer. My prize."