Cassius
Addicted Don’t Even Cover It
I don’t make it two steps into my room before I’m on her.
The door clicks shut behind us and something in my chest just… snaps. All week it’s been stolen moments. Hands under blankets. Showers where I had to worry about some idiot RA barging in. Kisses cut short because Riley walked in and called us gross.
Tonight, there’s no roommate. No RA. No one I have to hide from. Just her.
I back her up until her shoulders meet the door, my palms flat on either side of her head. Her eyes are already on my mouth, pupils blown wide, and that alone almost does me in.
“You sure?” I ask anyway, voice rough, because no matter how many times we’ve done it already, I always want to make sure that she wants to do it again.
She rolls her eyes, breathless. “Cass, we literally—”
“I know,” I cut in, leaning closer. “Still asking.”
Her fingers hook in the front of my hoodie, dragging me the last inch. “Yes. Yes, skater boy. A thousand times yes.”
That’s all I need.
I kiss her like I’ve been holding my breath for years.
She makes this little sound in the back of her throat as my mouth crashes into hers, equal parts relief and hunger.
Her hand flies up to my jaw, thumb pressing into the edge of my cheekbone as she tilts her head and opens for me.
All my thoughts condense into one wordless, feral need: mine.
My hands drop from the door to her body, touching the way I’ve wanted to touch since before I had any right to. I slide them down her sides, over the curve of her waist, gripping her hips like I’m terrified she’ll disappear if I’m not holding her hard enough.
She gasps into my mouth when my fingers tighten, a sound that tells me she wants more. I kiss down the line of her jaw, sucking a mark just under her ear until I feel her whole body shudder against me.
“Cass,” she breathes, nails digging into the back of my neck. “You trying to brand me?”
“Yes,” I mutter against her skin, not even pretending otherwise. “That a problem?”
She laughs, short and wrecked. “No.”
Her head tips back against the door as I work my way down. I drag my mouth along the column of her throat, tasting salt and the faint sweetness of her perfume. My hands find the hem of her shirt and shove it up, fingers brushing lightly against warm skin as I bare her inch by inch.
“Arms up,” I murmur.
She obeys without hesitation, and I peel the sweater off, tossing it somewhere that absolutely won’t matter later. For a second, all I can do is stare.
I’ve seen her like this now. More than once. I’ve had her under me, over me, around me, but it still feels like the first time every time.
Her bra is black and lacy and deeply unfair. There’s a small, fading mark on her collarbone from last weekend and a newer one at the base of her neck from earlier this week, courtesy of a make-out session that got away from us.
Not enough.
My fingers flex on her hips.
“You’re staring,” she says softly, a wry little smile tugging at her mouth.
“Yeah,” I say, not even trying to deny it. “Can you blame me?”
Color blooms across her cheeks, down her neck. I want to see how far that blush goes.
I dip my head and start answering that question. I kiss along the top curve of one breast, mouthing over lace, teeth scraping lightly. Her breath catches—sharp and beautiful. I suck hard enough that I know it’ll rise later, dark and obvious against her skin.
Her hand slides into my hair, tugging. “Cass…”
“That okay?” I ask, voice rough, thumb circling at the jut of her hip bone, probably a little too firmly.
She nods, biting her bottom lip. “Yeah. Just… didn’t realize you were this… into the hickey aesthetic.”
“I’m very into the everyone-knows-you’re-taken aesthetic,” I mutter, dragging my mouth to the other side to leave a matching mark. “Deal with it.”
She lets out a breathless laugh that turns into a moan halfway through when I bite gently and then soothe with my tongue.
I mark her collarbone next, mapping her skin with my mouth like I’m memorizing it, because I am. Every tiny, involuntary flinch when I hit a sensitive spot.
By the time I pull back to look, there’s a constellation of fresh bruises forming—neck, collarbone, the tops of her breasts. Some darker, some just below the surface.
I hook my hands under her thighs and lift before she can answer. She yelps, arms flying around my shoulders as I carry her the few steps to the bed and drop her down onto it, following her so I don’t lose contact.
She lands with a soft oof, hair splayed, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen. She’s grinning at me like I just gave her the moon.
I’m so fucking screwed. I love her too goddamn much.
“This okay?” I ask again, hovering over her, one knee between her legs, palms planted on either side of her shoulders now.
She reaches up and grabs my hoodie drawstrings, using them to yank me down until our noses almost bump. “Take this off,” she commands in a whisper. “Then I’ll answer.”
“Bossy,” I mutter, but my hands are already flying to the hem.
We fumble through it together, her tugging as I peel it off, laughing when my elbow gets stuck. Once it’s gone, I strip my shirt too. Her eyes drop to my chest and linger there, slow and appreciative in a way that sends heat roaring through me.
She drags her fingertips over my sternum, tracing the lines of ink and muscle, light and possessive. “My skater boy.”
“I’m yours. Call me whatever you like,” I say, before my brain can stop my mouth.
Her gaze jumps back to mine. Something soft and dangerous flickers there, something that makes my heart thump harder in my ribs.
“I know,” she says quietly.
I swear I almost black out for a second. I dip down and kiss her to hide how much that did to me.
We lose the rest of our clothes in broken pieces between kisses. Shorts and skirt pushed down. Her hips lifting to help. My pants go off next, then her cute black panties and my boxers.
My hands are everywhere—thighs, waist, the small of her back when I slide an arm underneath to drag her closer to the edge of the bed.
I don’t rush, even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to do so. I want to drag this out and devour her at the same time. The only thing keeping me in check is the way her eyes keep darting to my face, like she’s checking to make sure I’m really here.
I’m so here I feel inside out.
“Hey.” I pause for a second, pressing my forehead to hers. “You good?”
She nods, breathing hard. “I’m perfect.”
I don’t believe that. Not after that night terror and everything she revealed. But I don’t argue with her about it right now. I just kiss her again, slower this time, and let my hands say the things I can’t make my mouth form yet.
I slide one hand up her side, over her ribs, until my palm is cupping her breast. She arches into it, a soft curse slipping out when my thumb brushes over the hard peak.
“Cass,” she whispers against my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. “Please.”
I groan, deep and guttural, and reach back blindly with one hand to fumble my nightstand drawer open. I rip a condom free, my hands shaking so much that it pisses me off and she immediately notices.
“Hey,” she says quietly. “You okay?”
I huff out a breath. “Yeah. Just… kind of really fucking into you, in case that wasn’t obvious.”
Her mouth curves. “Hmm. I hadn’t noticed at all.”
I roll my eyes, but it loosens some of the tension in my chest. I get the condom on, and she watches me with this open, hungry look that makes the back of my neck go hot.
I catch her gaze as I move back over her. “Last chance to change your mind.”
She snorts. “I’m literally naked in your bed and a little too wet between the legs. I think we’re past the ‘last chance’ window.”
“Zae.”
Her smile softens along with her voice. “I want you. I always do, okay?”
My jaw goes tight, not with anger this time, with sheer feeling. I can’t even speak, all I do is nod stupidly.
The moment I push in, slow and steady all the way to the hilt, we both freeze—not because anything’s wrong, but because of how right it always feels. Her breath stutters out in this tiny, startled gasp, and I swear it goes straight through me.
Everything else drops away.
It’s just her voice—those broken little breaths she can’t quite catch, the way my name slips out like she didn’t mean to say it but couldn’t stop it.
It’s her hands—clutching at me, smoothing down my back, then fisting in the sheets when the feeling blindsides her.
It’s her face—eyes glassy, lips parted, completely unguarded in a way she never lets anyone see.
And then we move together, slow at first, like we’re learning each other in real time despite having done it multiple times.
I still let her adjust, checking her face every few seconds, breathing like I’m trying not to pass out.
"You tell me if it’s too much,” I manage, voice barely recognizable.
She nods, then immediately ruins me by lifting her hips and meeting me halfway.
“More,” she whimpers. “Please, Cass. More.”
Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to kill me.
I don’t have it in me to deny her anything.
So my hands settle on her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there, and I move with her.
We find a pace that pulls wrecked sounds out of both of us, my cock sliding deep into her with every roll of my hips, the slick drag of her walls gripping me on the way out and welcoming me back in.
Each thrust makes a soft, wet sound between us, her arousal coating my length and making everything feel hotter and smoother.
Her head falls back against the pillow, inviting me to go after her neck again, biting and kissing my way down to her shoulder.
“Cass,” she gasps, voice high and breathless.
“Yeah?” I mutter against her skin, half gone. “Talk to me.”
“I—God—” She laughs a little, even as she shudders. “Can’t… form words right now, congratulations.”
“Good,” I grunt. “Goal accomplished.”
She swats weakly at my shoulder. “You’re such an ass.”
“You love me anyway,” I say, the truth slipping out too easily.