The Alpha's Naughty Christmas

18: Déjà Vu?

Zolani’s POV

“Little human…”

The voice pulled me out of the dark like a hook through my sternum.

My eyes snapped open.

Morning light sliced through the heavy curtains, it was soft gold, and almost gentle, nothing like the storm that had raged last night.

The room smelled of dying embers, expensive sheets, and… him. Pine. Smoke. Blood long gone but still haunting the air and I wonder why his scent was so strong in my room.

I blinked.

My head throbbed sharp, and insistent, like someone had taken a hammer to my skull while I slept.

“Ouch…”

I clutched my temples, fingers pressing hard against the ache, trying to force the fog to clear.

I remembered fragments.

I’d come back to the room after the hallway… after Cassian had dragged me away from Ronan’s car, after he’d pinned me against him and kissed me like he wanted to devour my soul.

I’d stumbled inside, robe falling open, body still screaming for him. I’d touched myself, slow at first, then frantic, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer I didn’t mean to say out loud.

And then…Nothing.

I was blank... white.

Like someone had hit delete on the rest of the night.

I sat up slowly, sheets pooling around my waist. The robe was still on...barely...tied loose, one shoulder slipped down, exposing the curve of my breast.

My thighs were sticky, sore in a way that spoke of more than just my own fingers. The ache between my legs was deeper, fuller, like my body remembered something my mind had erased.

Panic clawed up my throat.

What the hell happened?

I looked around, room exactly as I’d left it. The dress from last night draped over the chair. Ruby necklace on the nightstand. No blood. No torn sheets and definitely no sign of struggle.

But my body felt… used.

I pressed my thighs together,wincing at the tenderness and a fresh wave of slick leaked out.

I moaned softly, involuntarily and slapped a hand over my mouth.

Then I heard it again.

“Little human…”

The voice was closer now.

From the doorway.

I whipped my head around.

Cassian stood there, fully dressed this time, black shirt buttoned to the throat, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a shower.

He leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms crossed, watching me with those storm-grey eyes that saw too much.

He didn’t smile or growl.

He just… watched.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I pulled the sheet up to my chest like it could protect me from what was already inside my head.

“You…” My voice cracked. “You were here. Last night.”

It wasn’t a question.

He inclined his head once and slowly.

“You were calling my name,” he said, voice low, calm and almost gentle. “Loud enough to reach me two floors down. I came to check on you.”

Check on me.

The words landed like stones in my stomach.

I swallowed. “And then?”

His eyes darkened and I saw crimson but they were gone as soon as they came.

“You were… restless.” He chose the word carefully. “I stayed. Made sure you were safe.”

Safe.

The word felt wrong in my mouth.

I looked down at myself, marks on my inner thighs like faint purple fingerprints, hips bruised from where his hands had gripped too hard, the deep, throbbing soreness inside me that definitely hadn’t come from my own fingers. My breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

“Did we…?”

He stepped into the room slowly, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click.

“No,” he said, voice rougher now, edged with something dark and frustrated. “I didn’t f**k you.”

Relief crashed through me first followed immediately by a sharp, ugly disappointment that made my stomach twist. Two waves slamming into each other, leaving me dizzy.

“What? Disappointment?” he asked, voice low, and mocking, eyes narrowing as he watched my face.

I shook my head fast ..too fast. “No. I didn’t mean...I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to call you.”

Lie.

I’d meant every moan. Every whisper of his name. Every desperate circle of my fingers while I pictured him.

He didn’t call me on it. Just watched me for a long second, then moved closer slowly, and deliberate until he was only inches away. The heat rolling off him wrapped around me again, thick and inescapable.

“Not complaining,” he murmured. “So… have you thought about the question I asked you?”

I swallowed hard. “Wh… what question… I… I can’t remember.”

Another lie.

He tilted his head, eyes dropping, slow, and shameless to my chest. The robe had slipped open while I slept, barely covering anything.

My breasts were heavy, n*****s tight and peaked from the cold air and the memory of his mouth.

The way he looked at them wasn’t polite. It wasn’t even hungry, it seemed reverent, and possessive. Like they belonged to him already.

“God blessed you with a body that can destroy sanity and control,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Those t**s… so full, so perfect. And you hide them. Baggy sweaters. Loose shirts. Why?”

My face burned. My family had always said it...Mom calling them “immodest,” Dad muttering about “attention-seeking,” the church ladies whispering that curves like mine were a test from the devil. I’d learned early to cover up. To disappear.

Cassian stepped closer, close enough I could feel his breath on my collarbone.

“How did you manage it?” he asked, almost softly. “Hiding something this gorgeous. These perfect, full breasts that beg to be touched. Worshipped. Sucked until you’re crying. Why cover them up when they’re made to be seen? To be marked. To bounce while I f**k you deep and slow.”

I couldn’t breathe.

My n*****s tightened harder, aching. Slick leaked between my thighs again, slow, shameful, and unstoppable.

He lifted his hand slowly, thumb brushing the underside of one breast through the thin robe. Just a graze. Enough to make me gasp.

“How far can a good girl go, Zolani?” he asked again, voice darker now, eyes locked on mine. “You sure you want this? Sure you want me to peel that robe off and worship these t**s until you’re begging? Sure you want me to teach you what it feels like to be taken...really taken...by someone who won’t stop until you’re ruined for anyone else?”

I stared at him wide-eyed, panting, and lost.

He leaned in slow, torturously slow until his lips hovered over mine

One breath away.

I could feel the heat of his mouth. Taste the promise of it.

Then my phone rang.

Loud, insistent and cutting through the haze

I jerked back and looked down.

Evan’s name was on the screen.

Cassian froze.

The air shifted suddenly, it turned cold, and deadly.

His eyes flicked to the phone, then back to me. Crimson bleeding back in.

He straightened, slow, and controlled but the tension in his body was lethal.

“Answer it,” he said, voice flat, dangerous. “Go on. Talk to your fiancé. Tell him how wet you are right now. Tell him how you begged another man to touch you. Tell him how you’re dripping for a monster like me.”

My hand shook as I reached for the phone.

Cassian stepped back once, twice, his eyes never leaving my face.

“Or don’t,” he said quietly. “But if you pick up that call… know this.”

He leaned in one last time, lips brushing my ear.

“The next time you come for me, little human… it won’t be your fingers.”

He turned and walked to the door, opened it then looked back once, eyes crimson, and burning.

“And when I come back tonight… you’d better be ready to answer my question.”

The door closed behind him.

A soft click and I stared at the phone...Evan’s name still flashing.

My thumb hovered over decline, then I pressed it and the call ended.

Silence returned.

I sat there alone, shaking, wet, aching, guilty, and hungry but for the first time…I didn’t feel like apologizing.

I felt like waiting because Cassian Blackthorne had just drawn a line and I’d already stepped over it.

I looked at the fading marks on my body and I wondered if it was a sense of Déjà vu or if he really touched me last night but he said it won't just be his fingers next time...

Did he touch me last night but if he does, why couldn't I remember?