Page 72 of Crushed Vow
“I’ll clean it,” he said simply.
No judgment. No mockery. Just movement. He stripped the wet linens, replaced them with fresh ones, and helped me lie down.
“I didn’t mean to call Ethan’s name,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer at first. Then his lips suddenly met mine—firm, almost punishing.
My breath caught.
“Divorced or not,” he murmured against my mouth, “you’ll always belong to me.”
His thumb grazed my lower lip, possessive, almost reverent. “You were made for me, Charlotte. Every inch of you.”
“And next time you want to thank someone, say my name. Mine. It’s the only one I ever want to hear from those pretty little lips.”
The kiss deepened—emotional, angry, hungry. Like he needed to feel that I was real. That I hadn’t given all of me to someone else.
His teeth grazed my lower lip, drawing a sharp sting, and I tasted blood, metallic and warm, as he deepened the kiss, devouring me like he wanted to erase Ethan’s existence from my mind.
I gasped, my hands pushing against his chest, but my body betrayed me, melting into the heat of him.
The thin gown I wore felt like nothing under his hands.
He gripped the fabric, his fingers trembling with barely restrained fury, and ripped it apart, the sound of tearing cloth sharp in the quiet room.
Cool air hit my skin, my pulse racing as he tore my panties away, the silk shredding under his brutal obsession. “I’ll remind you,” he growled, his breath hot against my thigh, “that no matter what, you’re mine.”
My breath caught in my throat. The air between us crackled, heavy with too much history, too much pain. And still—need.
His mouth descended, grazing my sensitive skin, and I moaned, my consent spilling out in a shuddering breath.
I was already embarrassingly wet, my body aching for him despite the chaos in my heart.
A year apart, a year of pain and distance, and yet my skin burned for him, every nerve alight with need.
His tongue flicked against my clit, teasing, circling, before diving deep, a relentless invasion that made my hips buck.
“Cassian,” I moaned, my voice breaking, trying to plead for gentleness, but he wouldn’t hear it.
His teeth grazed me, and my body trembled, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
My hands clawed at the sheets, fingers digging into the silk as he sucked and licked, claiming every inch of me.
My thighs quivered, instinctively trying to close, but his hands pinned them wide, his fingers bruising my skin as he held me open.
“Cassian!” I cried, my voice a mix of desperation and ecstasy, my body shaking as the pleasure built.
My hands left the sheets, finding his back, nails raking across his skin, leaving red trails as I teetered on the edge of release.
But he pulled back, his breath hot against my thigh, his eyes blazing. “You don’t get to call another man’s name and come,” he said, his voice rough, dripping with possession.
He kissed his way up, tracing every inch like he was relearning me from memory. When our eyes met again, his were shadowed beneath the strange glasses.
“I should hate you,” I whispered, trembling.
“I know,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll take whatever you give me. Even if it’s hate—just let me have you tonight.”
He stood, yanking off his trousers, and I watched, mesmerized, as his cock sprang free—hard and thick.
