Page 87 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

Maybe some part of me is afraid of what I’ll see in his face.

“So she takes trips a lot. She volunteers for any travel at her company, and is constantly going across the country for one thing or another.” I breeze over the details, not adding that she’s made sure to be far away from here on Halloween. Just like always.

When Cass doesn’t reply, my trepidation of his response grows. I know he has no stake in what happened to my dad. He shouldn’t care one way or the other, but I can’t help my anxiety over his response. Over the possibility of⁠—

A rustle of sheets and movement from the corner of my eye is the only warning I get before Cassian presses me back against the headboard, on his knees and caging me in against the wall. His elbows rest on the drywall on either side of my face, and he stays there until I look up at him, eyes wide and a question on my tongue.

“I wish I’d known,” he murmurs. “What about your sister? She doesn’t seem like she’d let your mom do that. She was always scary protective of you.” A smile ghosts over his lips, and I snort.

“Are you remembering the time she threw you in the lake for making me cry?” I ask dryly, unable to focus on his eyes when he’s so close that I can feel the heat from his body and smell the musky spice of his cologne.

Fuck, he has no right to smell this good. Or look this good. Or be anything that he is.

“Something like that.” The way he gazes at me always seems so intense. But then, there’s rarely anything casual about Cassian.

“Yeah, she umm…” I swallow and remind myself he’s a murderer while trying not to focus on how close his knees are to mine. “She’s had quite a few fights with mom over…stuff.” That’s the best I can do with him this close.

A knowing smirk crosses his lips, and my heart sinks. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me and my ability to form coherent thoughts. “Stuff?” he repeats, leaning closer. “Winnie, don’t tell me I’m making you flustered by being this close.”

“You aren’t,” I’m quick to lie. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but your cologne is choking me. It’s hard to focus when I’m trying to breathe normally.” It’s nowhere near the truth. If anything, I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale deeply.

No. Bad Winnie, I berate silently.

“Did you know…” His eyes drop, and with a jolt, I realize he’s staring at my mouth. “That you are, perhaps, the worst liar I’ve ever met? Are you that bad with everyone, I wonder? Or just me?” Fuck, he’s definitely leaning closer.

“I think you’re⁠—”

“Shut up, sweetheart.” He cuts me off easily a brief moment before his lips crash into mine, shockingly possessive and intense, given the softness of his words. While I’ll never admit to it, I practically melt against him, letting him push me back until I’m leaning fully against the wall and he can pin me there with his body while he coaxes my lips open with teeth and tongue.

It’s his hand on my jaw that makes me open my mouth in a gasp, and Cass is quick to take advantage. He sighs with pleasure against my lips as his tongue explores every bit of space he can. All the while, my hands inch up, until I find my fingers inexplicably curling in his shirt.

I should push him away.

Not pull him closer.

But I can’t convince myself to do the smart thing. My hands seem to have an agenda of their own as I tug him close until there’s no more space between us and any breath I get to take is from the air we’re sharing.

“Winnie…” I don’t expect the low rumble of his voice when he pulls away enough to rest his forehead against mine. The sound of panting breaths fills my ears, and with a shock, I realize it’s coming from me. I’m the one out of breath, like I’ve just run a mile.

“Yeah?” I ask, trying for something other than a nervous, breathy sound and failing. Butterflies I never knew existed flutter around my stomach, making me feel…strange. But it’s not a bad kind of strange.

“This isn’t…Fuck.” The butterflies suddenly lose their ability to fly at the roughness of his words, and I draw back, just for his hand to tighten, gripping my jaw. “Wait, no.” He opens his eyes, meeting mine with cold blue eyes that feel somehow scorching. “No, don’t give me that look, sweetheart. You look like I kicked your puppy. I just meant.” He takes in a breath, eyes closing for a few seconds before he reopens them. “I didn’t come here to go so far. But then, I didn’t last time, either⁠—”

“Why not?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and when Cassian’s grip on my jaw falters, I find myself moving forward, pushing him back as he moves to let me do it, until Cass is on his back and I’m straddling his hips, holding myself up above him with one hand pressed to his chest.

Frustration bubbles to life in my chest as I look down at him. “If you’re about to leave like the other night after kissing me and telling me ‘you didn’t mean to do this,’ then you might as well not come back.” The words are shaky and unsure, and for a moment, I’m afraid they’ll upset him.

I don’t expect the quick, mischievous grin that spreads across his full lips. “The cops were on their way the other night,” he points out. “I think that one was beyond my control.”

“Really? You could’ve hidden in the closet or something,” I reply, unsure why I’m arguing except for the sake of doing it.

Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone too fast for me to identify it. “We’d just had a bit of an argument, if I remember correctly. One where you tried to run from me.”

“Oh, yeah, because that totally carried through to you kissing me. Couldn’t you tell?” I can’t help rolling my eyes at him, and with a quick movement I nearly miss, his hand is suddenly gripping the base of my throat.

“You like to ask for it, don’t you?” Cassian croons. “Tell me, sweetheart. Has no one ever put you in your place before? Has no one taught you what happens when you end up getting the last word?” I don’t answer him, but not because of his grip.

It’s because of his damn words. They play on repeat in my brain as I stare down at him, resurrecting the butterflies and sending them into frenzied flight. “I don’t always need the last word,” I deny, feeling the lie on my tongue as I say it.