NOAH

The villa felt strangely hollow once Cyan left. It wasn’t just the silence; it was the way the air seemed to settle, like a theater after the lead actor has taken his final, flamboyant bow.

Cyan had a way of occupying every cubic inch of a room with his pink hair and his sharp, rattling energy. Once the heavy front door clicked shut, the quiet that rushed back in felt heavy.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, clutching the hem of a black t-shirt that definitely didn’t belong to me. It smelled like cedar and something metallic, it smelled like Cassian.

"Did I interrupt something?" I asked, my voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

Cassian didn’t look up from his coffee. "No. He wasn’t planning to stay long anyway. Cyan is a creature of brief, violent transitions."

"Oh." I accepted that. I didn’t know Cyan well enough to dispute it, so I just filed it away.

Cassian finally looked at me. It wasn’t a casual glance. It was that specific, heavy-lidded stare he used when he was perfectly aware of the power he held.

A slow, wicked smile spread across his face, the kind of look a cat gives a bird it’s already caught but hasn’t decided to eat yet.

"How do you feel—Noah?" he asked.

The smugness in his voice was intolerable. He wasn’t just asking about my health; he was checking on his own handiwork. He knew exactly what he’d done to me last night, and he wanted me to know that he knew.

The flush started at my collarbone and raced up my face before I could stop it. I tried to slam the door on the memories, but they were already inside.

It had been the wine.

That ridiculous, honey-sweet dessert wine at the restaurant.

Cassian had warned me, but I’d liked the taste, and then I’d liked the way it made the world feel blurry and warm especially the magical view.

That was a mistake.

By the time we were in the car, Cassian’s hands were already on my waist, his grip possessive and certain while I was seated comfortably on his thighs kissing and licking his face like a goddamn cat.

Then the room.

Being pinned against the mattress, the sheer, overwhelming weight of him that I couldn’t escape and didn’t want to anyways.

I remembered the total domination of it, the way he’d looked down at me with those cold blue eyes while he systematically unraveled every bit of my composure.

I remembered the feeling of being completely filled, the brutal, deep thrusts of him that I could feel all the way in my stomach.

I’d been helpless, reduced to making sounds I’d very much like to un-hear. And the bed afterward... a disaster of tangled silk and sweat.

And Miss Chen.

My stomach did a somersault. That poor, sweet old woman had probably been in the lower wing over, hearing everything.

"I’m fine," I said, my voice hitting a pitch that was embarrassingly high. "Completely fine. Genuinely."

Cassian’s smile widened. He was enjoying this.

"I only came down to check if you were around," I lied, turning back toward the hallway. "Never mind. I’ll just go back up. I have... things to do."

I didn’t even get two steps.

Cassian moved with that predatory grace of his, appearing behind me before I could blink. A heavy arm hooked around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. The height difference did exactly what it always did, it made me feel collected. Like I’d been picked up and put exactly where he wanted me.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he murmured into my ear.

His hand slid under the hem of the oversized t-shirt, his palm hot against the skin of my stomach.

My body, apparently having no sense of dignity, reacted instantly. I felt my breath hitch. His hand moved upward, slow and deliberate, tracing the line of my ribs until his thumb found my nipple.

"Can you—" I started, then lost the thread of the sentence. "Your hands are—"

I lost that one, too. My head tipped back against his shoulder, which was the exact opposite of the resistance I was supposed to be putting up.

His other hand found the waistband of the sweatpants. They were baggy, Cassian’s clothes were far too big for me, and they offered zero resistance.

They were basically ornamental. I felt his fingers slip beneath the fabric, moving downward with a slow, agonizing heat.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear before he spoke. "Stay for breakfast," he whispered. The heat of his breath made my toes curl. "I’ll make you something before my meeting."

I was processing maybe thirty percent of the words. The other seventy percent was occupied by the sensation of his hand moving lower.

"I just—" I gasped, a small, involuntary sound escaping my throat. It was deeply inconvenient. "I came down because—"

And then, just like that, he let go.

He removed his hands, stepped back, and turned toward the refrigerator like nothing had happened.

He looked completely unbothered.

I, on the other hand, was standing in the middle of the kitchen, flushed, breathing like I’d just run a marathon, and feeling considerably more "awake" in certain areas than I had thirty seconds ago.

You absolute demon, I thought. He did that on purpose. He always does that on purpose.

I turned to face him, trying to pull the shirt down to hide my state. "You are a genuinely evil person," I said with as much feeling as I could muster.

"I just remembered you need to eat first," Cassian said, his voice a picture of nonchalance. He looked at me with the face of a man who had no idea why I was upset. "It’s the most important meal of the day, Noah."

"You’re unbelievable," I snapped, though the heat was still thrumming through me.

"Sit down," he commanded, gesturing to a stool at the basalt counter. "What do you want?"

I sat. My dignity was in tatters, but my legs felt a bit like jelly, so the stool was a welcome relief though I could barely sit comfortably because of my sore ass.

But still...

I watched him.