His Assistant. His obsession

Chapter 4

s**t. I arched into him, a reflexive move that betrayed everything I claimed to feel.

I felt the chill of hatred in my veins, but between my legs, I was burning. My panties were already drenched, clinging to me as my body betrayed my mind. I loathed him, yet I was craving him.

"Cas," I gasped.

He stopped dead, his eyes boring into mine. I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. My brain screamed thank God, but my body was screaming more.

A jolt of realization hit me, my arms were still wrapped around his neck, my fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer.

He pressed his hardness against my jeans again, and I let out a broken moan. His hands hooked into my waistband, his knuckles brushing my skin.

"Should I stop?" he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I shook my head instinctively, cursing myself for the admission.

I bit my lip as he stripped the jeans down to my thighs. When his hand landed on the lace of my panties, rubbing against my swollen c**t, I arched my hips upward.

He drew slow, torturous circles through the fabric before pulling me into a bruising kiss.

I melted into him, kissing him back with a starving intensity.

Then, he slid his hand inside my panties.

"Cas..." I whimpered, opening myself up for him.

He plunged two fingers deep into my soaking heat, stretching me wide. I closed my eyes, gripping his hair tighter, riding the sensation until he suddenly withdrew.

"Come here," he ordered, leading me to the sofa.

I sank onto the cushions, spreading my legs wide without even thinking. His thumb found my center, rubbing in a fast, rhythmic motion that drove me insane. I bucked against him, coming in a violent wave, my muscles clamping tight around his fingers.

He stood up, his gaze predatory. He slowly licked his fingers clean, savoring the taste of my release, before kissing me one last time.

"Go to bed," he growled, his voice hoarse and raw with lust.

I stood on wobbly legs and headed to the guest room, shame oozing from every atom of my being. Every step felt like a confession. Every breath reminded me of what I'd just done.

I hated him.

But my body didn't.

I had enjoyed it, every second, every touch, every moment I should have resisted. And now I couldn't stop myself from wondering what could have happened if he hadn't stopped.

I pushed open the door and froze.

It wasn't empty. It wasn't sterile.

I didn't know this bastard could transform a soulless room into something warm, something almost livable.

A desk and chair sat at the far end, bathed in the soft glow of a golden lamp. Stacks of books were piled neatly beside it, classics, poetry, philosophy. He'd put thought into this. He'd prepared for me.

I looked at the bed. The sheets were crisp, the pillows plush, the entire setup screaming luxury.

I had no honor. No spine. I couldn't even hold out against someone who'd blackmailed me, because he was hot.

Was it only that?

No. It wasn't.

He was everything I would never be, wealthy, powerful, untouchable. I'd always felt something for him, even from a distance.

But I'd buried it under schoolwork, under the mantra I repeated to myself every day: I didn't come here to cry after rich heirs.

But now I couldn't ignore it anymore. Not when he'd blackmailed me into sleeping with him. Not when my body had responded like a traitor to his every touch.

I couldn't just sit here and digest this. Couldn't process the betrayal of my own flesh.

I headed to the bench and sank onto the chair, my legs too weak to hold me. I wasn't taking a shower.

I couldn't bring myself to see the evidence, the proof of the pleasure I'd let him take from me. It was there, all over my thighs, a wet, damning reminder of my weakness.

I stood abruptly and crossed to the bed, collapsing onto it. I pulled the sheets to my chin, cocooning myself in fabric that smelled like him, cedar and something darker, something dangerous.

Tomorrow, I would wake up and disappear before he was up. How could I face him? What could I even say after giving in so completely?

Nothing.

That's why I would vanish before dawn.

****

My phone buzzed. 5:30 AM.

I jolted awake, disoriented, my heart racing. The ceiling was unfamiliar. The perfume on the sheets was wrong. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something familiar...

And landed on the stacks of books at the other end.

Oh, right. The bastard's guest room.

I sat up, my body aching in places I didn't want to acknowledge. The wetness between my thighs had dried, but the ache in my chest remained, a hollow, gaping wound. My eyes burned with exhaustion, the kind that sleep couldn't fix.

I needed more sleep. But I couldn't stay here.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. My limbs felt heavy, weighted with shame and exhaustion. I padded out of the room, my bare feet silent on the cold marble floor.

Today was Saturday. Even slaves got the day off.

The living room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners. Empty. Silent. He wasn't there.

Relief flooded through me, brief, fragile.

I reached the front door and pulled.

Locked.

My heart slammed against my ribs. No. No, no, no. I couldn't face him, especially not after what happened last night. Especially not with the memory of his hands on my body still seared into my skin.

Maybe the keys were nearby. Maybe he'd left them somewhere. I'd just search quickly, quietly.

I pulled again, desperation clawing at my throat...

"Going somewhere?"

I froze.

Ice flooded my veins. My hand slipped from the handle as if burned.

I turned slowly.

Cassian stood in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He was already dressed, black shirt, dark jeans, his hair still slightly damp from a shower. He looked like he'd been awake for hours. Like he'd been waiting.

His eyes found mine, and that slow, devastating smile curved his lips.

"I thought we had an understanding, Isabella."

I opened my mouth, to lie, to explain, to plead, but no words came.

His gaze traveled down my body, taking in my rumpled clothes, my bare feet, my flushed cheeks. Something dark flickered in his eyes.

"Going somewhere?" he repeated, softer this time. Almost gentle.

It was the gentleness that terrified me most.

I swallowed hard. "I...I was just..."

"You were running." He pushed off the doorframe and stalked toward me, each step measured, deliberate. "You were going to disappear before I woke up, weren't you?"

I couldn't deny it. I couldn't even breathe.

He stopped inches away, close enough that I could smell his cologne, that same dark, intoxicating scent that had haunted my dreams.

"Did you really think I'd let you go?"

His hand came up, and I flinched, but he only tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my neck, leaving fire in their wake.

"You're mine, Isabella. And I don't share." His voice dropped, rough and low. "I don't lose what's mine, either."

I found my voice, a whisper, broken and raw. "What do you want from me?"

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

"Everything," he said simply.

He kissed me then, not demanding, not punishing. Almost tender. And that was worse than anything else he could have done.

Because in that kiss, I felt myself falling.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to be caught.