Page 48 of Sinful Obsession
“Hungry? I can get you a plate.”
“No,” he said simply, his voice measured.
I raised an eyebrow, pushing a piece of fettuccine around my plate. “Why not? You ate while you were out?”
“I cooked before I left,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I ate then.”
I snorted softly, unable to help myself. “Most men can’t cook.”
His lips twitched. “I’m not most men.”
“Good for you,” I muttered, standing to gather my dishes.
I could still feel his gaze burning into my back as I walked to the kitchen, the weight of it like a physical touch.
I scrubbed the plate harder than necessary, the hot water stinging my hands as I tried to drown out the questions swirling in my mind.
Why was he watching me like that?
What did he want?
When I returned to the dining room, Cassian was still there, sitting like a king on his throne, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.
I meant to walk past him, to retreat to the safety of my room, but something made me pause. “If you’re not eating, why are you still here?” I asked, crossing my arms.
His gaze darkened, and a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “I could feast on you instead.”
My breath caught, and I forced myself to hold his stare, even as my heart raced.
“Feast on me? What, like beat me?” I asked, my voice sharp with defiance.
I knew he’d promised punishment for believing I am behind his sister’s death, but in the mafia world, “punishment” could mean anything from a slap to something far worse. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
Cassian stood, his movements fluid, closing the distance between us in a few strides.
“You think I’d ever lay a hand on you?” he asked, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like hurt.
Before I could respond, he scooped me up effortlessly, his hands strong but careful as he set me on the edge of the dining table.
My pulse thundered in my ears, but I didn’t fight him.
This was his domain, and resistance felt futile.
He cupped my jaw gently, his thumb brushing the edge of my chin.
His face was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.
“It’s taking everything in me not to fuck you right now,” he murmured, his voice raw.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to hide the fear and confusion roiling inside me. “What’s stopping you?” I challenged, my voice steadier than I felt. “You’ve got me in your custody. You can do whatever you want.”
His grip tightened slightly, not painful but firm, grounding me in the moment.
“I need your consent,” he said, his lips so close to mine I could feel the heat of his words. “I won’t take you by force.”
“Why?” I whispered, genuinely confused.
In a world where power was everything, why would he care about something as fragile as consent?
