Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
SOREN
The kitchen chair creaked beneath us as I settled deeper into Cassian’s lap.
His hands rested on my hips, thumbs tracing slow circles through the thin cotton of my sweats.
His fingers spanned almost the entirety of my waist. I could feel the heat of him even through the fabric—he ran warm, always, like a banked fire.
His amber eyes caught the morning light filtering through the kitchen window, and they held that strange luminous quality I’d seen when his wolf was close to the surface, and the way he looked at me made my chest tight.
“You’re shaking,” he said. His voice vibrated through his chest and into mine. I tilted my head, and he kissed my throat, right over my pulse, and I shivered. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and his gaze dropped to my mouth with a deliberation that made my breath stutter.
He kissed me the way he did everything—with intensity.
Not rushed or hesitant. His lips on mine; I sighed into the kiss, and his grip on my neck tightened fractionally.
His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened for him without resistance; then the kiss deepened.
My hands slid up from his sleeves to his shoulders, feeling the dense muscle there, the way his body was built for power and presence.
I pressed my chest to his, and the friction of our bodies together sent a spark of heat pooling in my belly.
Goddess. He was going to shove me off his lap. I was just an omega. Nothing…
“Take what you need, Soren,” he growled, and pushed up so I could feel him hardening beneath me. The loose sweats did nothing to hide it—the thick length of his cock against my ass through thin cotton.
I broke the kiss, enough to let the air rush between us, my lips still brushing his with each shallow breath.
Cassian’s mouth followed mine for a half-second, chasing the contact, and the quiet sound that scraped out of his throat sent a bolt of heat straight through my stomach.
My fingers were still twisted in the rolled sleeves of his henley, knuckles against the hard warmth of his forearms, and I could feel the tension coiled in him—the controlled stillness of a man who wanted to move but was holding himself in check.
My eyes opened halfway. His face was close, blurred at the edges, our chests rising and falling, and I could feel his heartbeat.
Something changed in me. The trembling in my hands went from cold-edge anxiety to something sharper.
I’d spent so long being careful—with my body, my position, my place in every room I entered.
Always making myself smaller. Always waiting.
But Cassian’s thumbs were tracing those maddening slow circles through the thin cotton of my sweats, and his cock was pressed into the cleft of my ass.
I eased back another inch. His hands tightened on my hips—instinct, the wolf not wanting to let go of what it had caught. His jaw clenched, and his amber eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my ribs ache.
“Soren.” His voice was gravel scraped over stone, barely above a murmur. A question and a command wrapped in a single word.
I answered by shoving him with my palms flat to his broad chest. His eyes widened a fraction, amber flickering with something I’d never seen directed at me before—surprise, raw and unguarded, there and gone in a heartbeat.
This beautiful alpha had been pushed back in his own kitchen chair by a lean omega in cotton sweats and bare feet.
I wriggled closer, and the new angle was perfect, and the friction dragged a gasp out of both of us.
I rolled my hips, a slow, deliberate drag that seated me more firmly over him.
The friction was electric, and I bit my lip to stifle a sound as a rush of slick made me wet, but a broken moan slipped past my defenses.
The sensation shot up my spine like lightning, and made my toes curl.
Cassian’s reaction was instantaneous. His fingers dug into the fabric of my shirt, gripping my waist with a possessiveness that made my head spin.
He wasn’t holding me gently anymore; he was anchoring himself to me, terrified I might pull away, or perhaps unable to stop himself from claiming what was right in his lap.
“Soren,” he breathed, the word a vibrating rumble through his chest and into mine.
I did it again, rocking forward and then back, grinding our cocks together through the barrier of our clothes.
The friction was perfect. I could feel every inch of him, the hard ridge of his shaft catching on my own erection, creating a maddening, teasing pressure that wasn’t nearly enough but was everything at the same time.
My breath hitched, my head falling back as the pleasure built, a slow, tightening coil at the base of my spine.
This has never happened to me before.
I needed to see him. His amber eyes were locked on my face, the gold swallowed by the black of his pupils. He was wrecked, his lips parted, his jaw slack as he watched me move. There was no mask of authority there, no Alpha posturing—just raw, unguarded desire.
“You feel so good,” I whispered, the confession tumbling out before I could stop it. My voice sounded thin, breathless, nothing like his deep resonance, but it made him tremble.
He surged up, his hips bucking off the chair to meet my next roll.
The impact forced a sharp cry from my throat.
He was bigger than me, stronger, and the power behind his thrust sent a jolt of primal fear mixed with exhilaration through my veins.
This was an alpha who could snap me in half if he wanted to, but here he was, letting me ride him, letting me set the pace even as his control frayed at the edges.
“I want your knot,” I mewled helpless, needy, but I didn’t mean it, and he somehow knew.
“Soren,” he growled again, my name sounding like a prayer and a curse.
His hands slid from my waist, roaming over my back, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing the sensitive skin behind my ear.
The scruff of his stubble scraped deliciously against my throat, sending shivers down my arms.
I couldn’t stop. The rhythm took over, a desperate, needy grinding that sought friction, heat, and more.
I could feel the wet spot growing in my sweats, slick leaking from me and soaking the fabric, making the glide so damn perfect.
Every drag of his heavy cock felt like a brand, marking me as his from the inside out.
His grip on my waist became painful, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but I welcomed the pain. I wanted his marks on me; I wanted to see the fingerprints he left behind. I wanted the world to know I belonged to someone, that I wasn’t just something to be used.
“Harder,” I gasped, surprising myself with the demand. I wasn’t usually this bold, this vocal, but something about him—about the way he held me—unlocked something dark and needy in my chest.
Cassian didn’t hesitate. He planted his boots on the floor and thrust up again, harder this time, grinding his erection with a force that made the chair rattle.
The friction was almost too much, a sharp, intense pleasure bordering on pain, and I loved it.
I clutched his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he used his strength to drive us both higher.
The scent of him was overwhelming now—pine, musk, and the thick, heavy smell of arousal.
It clouded my senses, making my head swim, making my instincts scream for me to submit, to bare my throat and let him take whatever he wanted.
But I didn’t submit. I met him thrust for thrust, rolling my hips in time with his movements, matching his intensity with my own.
We were equals in this, a tangled mess of limbs and need, caught in the same trap.
I pulled back enough to capture his gaze again and he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, not a gentle kiss this time, but something hungry and biting.
He kissed me back fiercely, his tongue invading my mouth, claiming me, dominating the kiss just as he was dominating the rhythm of our bodies.
I could feel the orgasm building in my gut, a tightening pressure demanding release. I was so close, teetering on the edge, driven there by the friction, the scent, and I broke the kiss, gasping for air.
“Cassian, I’m—”
“Let go,” he commanded, his voice rough and low. “Come for me, Soren.”
His words were the final push I needed. I cried out, my body seizing up as the pleasure crashed over me.
My hips jerked erratically as I rode out the waves of my orgasm.
I could feel the wet heat of me spreading through my sweats, and through the haze of my release, I felt him tense beneath me, his grip turning crushing as he let out a hoarse shout, his own hips bucking as he followed me over the edge, soaking his pants with his cum.
We slumped together, chests heaving, hearts racing in sync.
The room was silent except for our ragged breathing and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
I rested my head on his shoulder, spent, feeling the dampness between us cooling but not caring.
I felt safe. I felt claimed. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel small.
We stayed there for a long time without speaking.
The urgency that had swept through us only moments before had faded into something quieter, leaving us entangled.
His arms remained around my waist, not because he needed to hold me there anymore, but because neither of us seemed ready to let go.
I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath my cheek, my own heartbeat gradually finding the same rhythm as his, and I realized we were simply… learning each other.
Nobody had ever held me like this. Cassian’s embrace wasn’t possessive. It was careful, and every time I relaxed a little more, he answered by holding me just a fraction closer.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted.
His hand stroked up and down my back. “Neither do I.”
I smiled. “You seem like you do.”
“I really don’t.” He let out a self-conscious laugh. “Raff and I… everything happened so naturally that I never thought about it.” His fingers paused for a moment before resuming their gentle rhythm. “This is different.”
“Different good?”
He turned his head. “Different because it’s you.”
I shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position on his lap, and he adjusted with me, one hand supporting my back.
We were learning each other’s balance, discovering where arms fitted naturally, how close was comfortable, when to move and when to stay still.
It felt awkward in places, and wonderfully so, because awkward meant real.
There wasn’t a script for this. There was only us.
“I think,” I murmured, tracing lazy circles across the back of his sweater, “I’ve spent my whole life believing that if someone touched me, they wanted to take something.”
A quiet calm settled over his features. “And now?”
“Now…” I looked into his eyes, seeing nothing there except warmth. “Now it feels like every time you touch me, you’re giving something back.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as though the words had reached somewhere fragile inside him.
“I’ve missed holding someone,” he whispered. “Not because I was lonely.” He swallowed. “Because I forgot how much comfort there is in simply…being close.”
I nodded.
“I think we’re both remembering.”