Page 72 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Can I kiss you, Little Mouse?"

The question emerges as barely more than breath, his voice rough with sleep and something that might be vulnerability.

The sound of that familiar nickname —Little Mouse— sends a pang through my chest. He's called me this from our first real conversation, the endearment carrying notes of affectionate teasing beneath Duskwalker reserve.

To hear it now, softened further by the intimacy of our position, dismantles whatever resistance I might have mustered.

Any intention to maintain distance crumbles like sand castles against rising tide. Instead of answering with words, I close the minuscule space between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that carries all the complexity our situation demands.

The initial contact is gentle, almost tentative — a question offered rather than passion demanded. His lips feel cool against mine, yet somehow ignite heat that spreads through my core with alarming speed. The contradiction is fitting for a Duskwalker, whose very nature embodies paradox: cold exterior concealing burning depths, darkness housing unexpected light.

For a heartbeat, he remains perfectly still, as if afraid the slightest movement might shatter this moment of connection. Then the hand at my cheek slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head with exquisite care as he begins to respond.

The kiss deepens by gradual degrees, each subtle shift bringing new dimensions of sensation. His lips move against mine with deliberate precision, each pressure and retreat carefully calibrated as if he's learning the unique language of my responses.

There's restraint in his movements, a careful control that speaks of his determination not to overwhelm or rush this fragile reconnection.

I feel the bond mark at my neck warming, responding to our proximity with heightened sensitivity that sends waves of pleasure cascading through my system. The sensation makesme gasp against his mouth, the small sound seemingly flipping some switch within him.

A low growl —barely audible yet vibrating through the chest pressed against mine— signals the first crack in his careful control. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me more firmly against him as the kiss transforms from gentle exploration to something hungrier,more primal.

My body responds instantly, melting against him as if crafted specifically for this purpose. My fingers tangle in his hair, the silky strands cool against heated skin as I anchor myself to him.

The taste of him fills my senses — shadow and nightfall, something ancient and powerful yet surprisingly sweet beneath the initial sharpness.

His tongue traces the seam of my lips, requesting rather than demanding entry despite the growing urgency in his embrace. When I yield, opening to him with a sigh that carries notes of surrender, the kiss deepens into something that transcends mere physical pleasure.

Images flood through my mind — not memories but sensations translated into visual form.Silver moonlight spilling across dark water. Shadow flowers unfurling beneath midnight skies. Stars burning cold and distant yet somehow intimate enough to touch.

The bond.

I realize distantly, the thought barely forming before being swept away by new waves of sensation. This connection between us translates emotion into shared experience, building bridges between separate consciousnesses in ways I've never encountered before.

His hand at my waist slides lower, following the curve of my hip with possessive appreciation that leaves trails of heightened sensitivity in its wake. Though the touch remains over the fabric of my borrowed shirt, it feels more intimate than skin againstskin — each point of contact carrying intention that transcends mere physicality.

The kiss continues to evolve, transforming into a conversation without words, an exchange of apology and forgiveness, need and acceptance. His teeth catch my bottom lip in gentle reprimand when I try to rush, the slight pressure a reminder that he intends to set the pace of this reunion.

And I let him, yielding control with a willingness that would surprise me under other circumstances.

There's something intensely liberating about this surrender — about allowing someone else to lead while I simply experience the journey. Especially someone who kisses as Cassius does, with focused attention that makes each moment feel discovered rather than simply experienced.

His hand tangles further in my hair, tilting my head to grant him better access as the kiss deepens beyond what I thought possible. The slight change in angle sends fresh sparks of pleasure cascading through me, drawing a sound from my throat that carries no coherent meaning beyond pure appreciation.

The sound seems to affect him profoundly, his body tensing beneath mine for a heartbeat before relaxing into something more purposeful. The arm around my waist tightens, rolling me beneath him with fluid grace that leaves me breathless even before his weight settles partially over me.

The new position changes everything, transforming what was mutual exploration into something that carries notes of dominance without crossing into domination. He supports his weight on his forearms, careful not to crush me while still providing the delicious pressure of his body against mine.

Looking up at him from this new vantage, I'm struck by the transformation in his features. Gone is the careful neutrality that typically masks his emotions. In its place is raw hunger tempered by something deeper, more profound —a tendernessthat makes my chest ache even as desire coils tighter in my core.

His silver eyes have darkened to the color of storm clouds, pupils expanded to leave only a thin ring of their usual color visible.

His hair falls forward, creating a curtain that blocks out the strengthening daylight and encloses us in a more intimate space where only we exist.

"Little Mouse," he murmurs, the nickname carrying new weight in this context. His voice has roughened further, acquiring texture that scrapes deliciously against my senses. "Tell me to stop if this isn't what you want."

The words, offered when every line of his body screams desire, speak volumes about his character. Even now, with control clearly fraying at the edges, he places my comfort above his need.

The realization sends fresh warmth through me that has nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with deeper recognition.

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