Hunger Doesn’t Ask
1368 Words
She didn’t turn around.
“I assume you’ve seen a half-naked woman before,” she said lazily.
Cassian looked away. “Is this how you greet all your staff?”
Selene turned, finally, smirking. “Only the interesting ones.”
He said nothing.
She stepped past him and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dresser. “Get dressed. Not in that suit. Something casual. We’re going out.”
His brows pulled together. “Where?”
“You’ll see.”
He clenched his jaw. “You’re not exactly clear with the instructions.”
“I’m not exactly obligated to be.”
He let out a slow breath. “What should I prepare for?”
“A long day. Lots of sun. And patience. You’ll need plenty of it.”
She stepped in her heels like it was nothing, then looked him dead in the eyes.
“And don’t wear that look like I’m the problem here. You signed up for this.”
Thirty minutes later, they were in a sleek black convertible, slicing through the winding cliffs of Santorini. The Aegean Sea shimmered like a liquid sapphire.
Selene sat in the passenger seat this time, one leg tucked beneath her, sunglasses perched on her nose. Her hand dangled out the window, fingers slicing the wind like she owned it.
Cassian drove in silence. Every nerve in his body was tense.
“I like this side of you,” she said suddenly. “The control freak with one hand on the wheel and both feet in denial.”
He didn’t answer.
She laughed softly. “You’re too easy to read.”
“And you’re not reading anything worth knowing.”
She tilted her head. “I disagree.”
They pulled into a small, private vineyard nestled in the hills. The kind of place you only knew if you were born with a silver spoon and the arrogance to use it.
Cassian parked.
Selene stepped out like she’d just landed in paradise. “Come on. I booked a tasting.”
“This is your idea of a professional outing?”
“It’s my idea of a break. Don’t be so stiff. You’re making the wine nervous.”
He followed her inside, biting his tongue.
They were greeted by a host who clearly knew Selene well. He ushered them to a private outdoor lounge overlooking the sea. A line of glasses was already waiting.
As they sat, Selene leaned back, slipping her heels off under the table.
Cassian stood upright. Still. Watching everything.
“You always sit like that?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like someone might shoot through the vineyard and take me out.”
He glanced at her. “It’s happened before.”
She grinned. “God, you’re sexy when you’re paranoid.”
He didn’t react.
She sipped her wine, then said, “You’re not used to working with women like me, are you?”
“No.”
“Women who don’t need saving.”
“I wasn’t under the impression you needed saving.”
“Good.” She leaned in, her eyes sharp now. Because I don’t want a savior. I want someone who knows how to stand on the fire without flinching.”
He held her gaze. “And what do you do when the fire burns through you?”
She smiled. “I make it look beautiful.”
The rest of the tasting passed in a haze of layered wine, sunlight, and unspoken tension.
Cassian barely drank. Selene drank enough for both of them.
On the way back, she dozed with her head tilted toward the window, lips parted slightly. Vulnerable, for once. Quiet.
He didn’t let himself look at her for long.
When they returned to the resort, she stepped out first.
“Same time tomorrow,” she said, walking ahead of him toward the elevators. “We’ve got more exploring to do.”
He didn’t answer. Just followed.
In the hallway, as she slid her keycard into the suite, she looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, and Cassian?”
He stopped.
Her eyes gleamed. “Nice jeans. You should dress like this more often. It suits you.”
Then she disappeared into her room.
The door clicked shut.
And Cassian stood alone.
His thoughts are louder than ever.
Cassian barely slept that night.
Every time he shut his eyes, he heard her.
Selene’s voice. The moan. The teasing. The sharp sting of her laughter as she vanished behind a closing door.
She was inside his head.
And he hated it.
By morning, he looked worn. Not tired, but unraveling at the edges. The kind of exhaustion that seeps deeper than muscle.
He showered longer than necessary, letting the heat scald his skin. Hoping it would erase the memory of her voice.
It didn’t.
The resort was bathed in golden light when he stepped outside. Birds stirred in the trees. Staff moved quietly like ghosts. The illusion of paradise.
But Paradise didn’t have Selene Blackwood.
And she, she was already outside on the terrace, barefoot, in a white silk slip that should have been illegal. Coffee in hand. Sunglasses on.
Waiting.
"We're going out," she said without looking up. "Boat's waiting."
He frowned. "A boat?"
She finally turned to face him, and damn if she didn’t look like the goddess of chaos. Hair swept into a messy braid. Mouth pink and smug.
"You like the sea, don’t you? It’s good for cleansing the mind."
He didn’t reply. Just followed. That was his job, after all.
The yacht was nothing short of decadent.
White leather lounges. Champagne chilling in a silver bucket. A private crew.
Cassian stood like a statue while Selene slipped off her cover-up, revealing a crimson bikini with string ties and a body sculpted by both privilege and cruelty.
He turned away.
She noticed.
"Are you always this professional?" she asked, lounging across the cushions. "Don’t you ever get tired of pretending you’re immune?"
"I don’t pretend."
"No?" she tilted her head. "So you’re really not affected at all?"
He clenched his jaw. "That’s not relevant."
She laughed. "God, I love that word. Relevant. So clinical. You must be fun at parties."
The yacht moved through the waves, cutting across the sea like a knife.
Cassian stayed quiet. Eyes scanning the horizon. Trying not to notice the water droplets on her thighs. Or the way she hummed to herself like anyone else without a conscience.
"Tell me about her," Selene said suddenly.
"Who?"
"Your wife. The one you wear like armor."
He didn’t answer.
"She must be sweet," Selene went on. Loyal. The kind of woman who packs your lunch and kisses your scars."
He met her gaze. Hard. "Don’t talk about her."
Selene smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just curious.
"Touchy. That tells me more than you think."
He stood, walked to the edge of the boat.
Selene followed. Of course, she did.
She leaned closer, her breath grazing his ear. "You’re not a bad man, Cassian. You’re just starving. And I can smell hunger from miles away."
Back on land, they returned to the resort in silence.
Cassian showered. Changed. Paced.
Selene’s scent was still on his skin.
By evening, she called him to her suite again.
He knocked once. Entered.
She was in a towel. Fresh from the bath. Steam still clinging to her skin.
"I need you to escort me to dinner," she said. Something light. Something intimate."
He looked away. "You could ask your assistant."
"But she doesn’t look as good in a suit."
He said nothing.
She stepped closer, the towel slipping just enough to suggest. "Still clinging to that wedding ring like it’s going to save you?"
He met her eyes. "Yes."
Something shifted in her face.
Challenge. Disappointment. Amusement.
"Wear something dark," she said, turning her back. We’re dining on the cliffs. And I like my men to look dangerous."
Cassian didn’t move.
She glanced over her shoulder. "What, are you scared you might start enjoying this?"
"I already don’t."
"Liar."
He left before he could say something he’d regret.
And behind him, Selene smiled.
Because cracks weren’t just made from pressure.
Sometimes, all it took was the right kind of silence.
- Writer
