Page 82 of Cruel Deception
The gown had ridden up, my bare thighs brushing his hips. My panties pressed against the hardness I hadn’t expected him to show.
He laid me down gently, the softness of it contrasting with the feral look in his eyes.
He pulled off his belt—not to strike—but to discard it.
Then his trousers.
Then his shirt.
And he was naked.
I hadn’t seen him like this before.
His body was a battlefield. Scars mapped across his chest and abs—six, maybe seven of them—some thin and pale, others angry and red. One snaked across his shoulder like a warning.
But I didn’t look away.
God, I couldn’t look away.
My gaze dragged over every cut, every dent in his flesh, as if memorizing the wreckage of his pain. A wicked heat pooled low in my belly, pulsing where I needed him most.
My thighs clenched involuntarily. My clit throbbed, aching under the lace that separated it from him. My chest ached—not with shame now—but with hunger.
He crawled up the bed like a beast, looming over me.
His hand hovered over the hem of my gown.
“Are you sure you want me to pull this off?” he asked.
His voice—gentle. Strangely gentle.
I blinked at him. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
I thought of Nico. Of how he recoiled from my chest after the surgery. Of how he told me I was no longer enough.
I thought of every man who might look at me like I was broken.
But not Cassian.
I shook my head.
Not yet.
He stood. My heart cracked.
He was walking away.
Of course he was. He still hated me. Still wanted to ruin me. I was just a damaged toy to him.
Tears blurred my vision.
But then he returned.
With something in his hand.
A black silk blindfold.
“I’ll have my eyes covered,” he said, walking back to me. “While we do this. That way, I won’t see anything, and you’ll be comfortable.”
