Page 5 of The Last Call Home
Cassian doesn’t speakwhen he walks in—he doesn’t have to.That body, that walk, that fucking gaze ...it speaks fluent sin.
Delilah ...she doesn’t even pretend to be subtle.“I don’t know who he is,” she hums, tracking him like he’s something slow-cooked and forbidden.“But I’d give him my number and meet him at the inn without asking for his last name.”
I don’t have to be a mind reader to know he heard us.Cassian doesn’t just walk into a room—he takes it.And when women or men look at him like Delilah just did, he doesn’t flinch or smirk or play coy.
He never does when he’s unraveling someone like this—quietly, thoroughly.Like he’s cataloging reactions before he even speaks a word.And right now, he’s looking at her like she’s already said yes.As if she’s already his.
Anyone would think he’s just studying the place.Nope.He’s already having contact.Direct.Drawn-out.Like he’s dragging his mouth across her throat without laying a finger on her.Like he’s tracing all the places he wants to claim with nothing but his eyes.
He’s fucking her with his gaze.
Not in a clumsy, hopeful way, but with the quiet confidence of a man who doesn’t rush.A man who knows how to strip you bare without laying a single hand on you.Who waits—not because patience is a virtue, but because watching you come apart piece by piece is more rewarding than the finish.
And once you know him—once you’ve let that look hold you long enough—you start to recognize what it means.
It meansdown on your knees.
It meansdon’t move unless I say so.
It meansyou’ll come when I let you and not a second before.
Because that’s what he’s good at.
Letting you think it’s your idea.That you’re in charge.That you’re the one making the moves.
All along, he’s been the one pulling the strings—controlling every breath, every tremble that moves through you like it belongs to him.
And Delilah?
She doesn’t see it yet, but she’s already in it.Already caught.
That look—fuck, I remember it.The same one he used to aim at me when I was too far gone to care.When I still believed it meant something.When I let it undo me.
And now he’s standing there, in this town—my town—aiming that same gaze at her.
Delilah.
Fuck.
What the hell is he doing here?
A flash of heat rises—fierce and stupid.Jealousy, probably ...but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s looking at her like that or because he isn’t looking at me like that.
Fuck, maybe it’s both.
Then, like it’s nothing, like I’m nothing, his gaze swings back to mine and stays.Direct.Dissecting.A scalpel of attention pressed right to my chest.
He knows.
Of course, he does.
Cassian always knew how to cut without bleeding himself.
Still, I don’t look away.
Because fuck him.Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years, it’s that he can break you without lifting a finger, and I’ll be damned if I hand him the pieces this time.
“You two know each other?”Delilah’s brow lifts like she’s caught a whiff of something sour.
