Page 8 of The Last Call Home
Then he fucking winks.
He does it with that goddamn half-smile.
The one I used to feel against the back of my neck while he fucked the truth out of me.
The one I saw in the mirror, hovering over my shoulder just before I shattered—knees giving out, voice gone, my body no longer felt like my own.
And just like that—fuck—it all slams back into me.
His hand in my hair, yanking my head back.
His mouth on my throat, teeth dragging.
That low, guttural groan in my ear when he sank in deep and didn’t stop until I forgot my name.
My cock twitches, thick and aching, like it remembers everything I’ve spent years trying to forget.
He turns on his heel and walks away as if he just claimed the place—like he owns me—every step leisurely, hips rolling with lazy arrogance.Sin wrapped in skin and smug certainty.
He fucking knows he’s already in my head again.Already in my blood.
And that’s what terrifies me most.
Because I’ll break.
Eventually, I’ll beg him to fuck me.
Not because I’m weak—but because he’s the only one who’s ever known precisely how to take me apart and leave me wanting more.
Because I need it.Because I fucking miss it.
Because no one else has ever been able to touch me like that.
“Not interested,” I say.Louder now.Firmer.
Like volume could drown out my own traitorous body.
Like sound could rewrite the truth.
But my voice falters at the edges, thinned out by the heat crawling up my throat.I can’t even look at Delilah.I can’t hide the way my fingers curl, knuckles bone-white and trembling with restraint.
Cassian’s gaze drops.
Drags slowly—intimately—down my torso, unapologetically bold.
Then back up.
There’s a pause, followed by a smirk.The fucking bastard knows I’m shaking, how I’m about to beg him to make me feel.Does he care to make it better?Nope, he just walks away.
My dick is hard, straining against my jeans like it’s trying to embarrass me into submission.No loyalty.No shame.Just muscle memory and longing.
All it wants is Cassian’s mouth.His voice.The brutal way he whispers,stay stillwhile he fucks you open like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.
Cassian pauses at the door.Fingers graze the frame like he’s considering whether to push back in and finish what he started.
Then he glances over his shoulder.His expression shifts—less smug, more dangerous.Almost soft.
It’s the look that comes before he ruins you.When he’s still pretending you’ll survive him.
