Chapter Eleven
Cassian
The scent of her—sex, sweat, and my own cum—clings to the air.
Anya is a ragdoll in my arms, her limbs limp. Her eyes are half-open, pupils blown wide, lost in a chemical haze of pleasure and shock. And if all else fails, maybe this is my way of keeping her—fucking her until she can’t think. Every single day.
I wrap her naked body in my blazer and carry her to the car through the back door. She makes a soft, slurring sound.
“Shhh,” I soothe against her hair. “I’m taking you home, little doll.”
The drive back to my penthouse is short, and she sleeps through it. When we arrive, I lead her straight to the bathroom, ignoring the burning sensation that spreads through my overexerted arms, and set her gently on the plush bathmat. Her body sags, and she would collapse if I weren’t holding her up.
I run the bath, pouring in the expensive oils I ordered just for her. As the tub fills, I pull a silk robe from the hook for later.
I settle her into the hot water. She gasps, the heat a shock to her overstimulated skin. Her body tries to tense, but her muscles are useless from the force of her previous orgasms. She’s a passenger in her own body. Which means I need to care for her closely until her post-orgasmic haze eases. That’s not an issue at all—I enjoy caring for her just as much as I enjoy fucking her.
Kneeling by the side of the tub, I roll up my sleeves. I wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks and the smear of lipstick from her swollen lips. Her body remembers me even if her mind is trying to forget.
“We are so compatible, Anya. Your body knows exactly what to do for me. It knows how to please me.”
Her eyes struggle to focus on my face.
“Sex… sexual compatibility only,” she mumbles. “And I… I don’t know what that says about me. Maybe I’m just as awful as you.”
I pause, letting the sponge float in the water.
“It says your body is smarter than your brain. It knows who it belongs to.”
“Don’t… don’t say that.”
“Why not?” I resume washing her. “It’s the truth. You came apart for me. You screamed for me. You squirted for me. You’ve never done that for anyone else, have you?”
The lives of the men she’s been with before me really depend on her answer.
She shakes her head weakly. “No,” she whispers.
“No,” I echo. She just saved the fuckers she was with before me from a gnarly death. “Because they weren’t me. They didn’t know what you needed. They didn’t know you needed to be taken, to be owned, to be fucked so hard your mind goes blank. I know everything about you, Anya.”
“Just because we have great sex doesn’t mean we are good for each other.”
I dip the sponge between her legs, and she flinches, a soft whimper escaping her. She’s sore, so I’m gentle, but I don’t leave a crevice untouched. I watch her face as I do it. There’s shame warring with the pleasure. Her hips shift, a tiny movement toward my hand.
“Your body is still asking for more,” I observe. “It’s tired, I know. But it’s not satisfied. It’s never satisfied without me.”
“Stop…” she slurs.
“I will. For tonight. You need to rest. We have so much to do tomorrow.”
I lift her from the tub, dry her, and dress her in the silk robe. She’s already half-asleep by the time I lay her in bed, her body utterly spent. I pull the covers over her, then lie beside her. Her breathing is soft and even. She looks peaceful. Angelic.
My thumbs dig into the tense muscles of her lower back, working slow circles.
“Just let go. Let me take care of you.”
I move my hands up her back, kneading the knots from her shoulders. She arches into my touch like a cat being petted.
“You were so good for me, Anya. So perfect. You took everything I gave you.”
Her hand—lying limp at her side—sleepily moves until her fingers brush my face.
It’s a small gesture. Instinctual.
I feel her slip. The addiction is taking hold. She’s starting to crave this. A wave of triumph washes over me, so potent it almost makes me dizzy. My own addiction to her has been a constant, gnawing hunger, a fire that’s consumed me from the inside out. And now, I can feel the first flicker of that same fire sparking inside her.
She’s becoming addicted to me, just as I am to her.