He gave a small nod, though the uncertainty didn’t fully leave Cass’s expression.
“Now,” Riot said, forcing himself into practical mode because practical was safe and practical didn’t involve thinking about Cass’s thigh sliding across his lap, “when’s the last time you ate something? And don’t count that breakfast I bought you, because that was two days ago.”
Cass considered this with the kind of serious concentration most people reserved for complex mathematical equations. His brow furrowed. His lips moved slightly, like he was counting backwards through meals.
“Does a protein bar from yesterday count? I only had a few bites before my stomach felt strange.”
“So basically nothing substantial in two days.”
“Is that bad?”
The innocent simplicity of the question hit Riot’s hindbrain like a hammer. His cock, which had finally started to behave itself after hours of determined neglect, twitched back to attention with embarrassing enthusiasm.
What the fuck is wrong with you? He asked about FOOD.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? The literal way Cass processed information, the genuine confusion in those wide eyes, the complete lack of guile or manipulation—it bypassed every defense Riot had. Cass wasn’t playing games. He was just... Cass.
And apparently Riot’s brain decided that was the most arousing thing it had ever encountered.
Get it together.
“Not great, princess.” Riot stood, grateful for the excuse to turn away and adjust himself before the situation became obvious. “I’m going to get supplies. Food, fever reducers, water. Try not to die while I’m gone.”
The effect was immediate. Cass’s expression crumpled, his whole body curling tighter. “You’re leaving?”
“For an hour. Maybe two.”
“But what if those people come back?” Cass’s voice was climbing toward panic. “What if something happens? What if I do something wrong while you’re gone?”
Every protective instinct Riot possessed roared to life. He crossed the room before he could stop himself, crouching in front of the bed so he was at eye level with Cass.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Cass’s eyes were wet, his breathing too fast.
Stay. Don’t leave him. He needs you. He needs—
“Those people won’t get past the door. I’m going to show you how to barricade it, and I’ll be back before you know it.” Riotkept his voice steady, calm, even though being this close was making his mouth water. “Can you trust me?”
“I trust you,” Cass whispered. “I just don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
“I know, princess. But I need to get you supplies, and you need to stay hidden. The Syndicate is still watching, and right now you’re—” He stopped himself beforein pre-heat and smelling like everything I’ve ever wantedcould escape. “You’re vulnerable. I need you safe while I’m out.”
Cass nodded, though he still looked miserable. “You’ll come back?”
“I’ll come back.”
Teaching Cass basic security measures was an exercise in controlled torture. Not because the kid was stupid—he picked up the concepts quickly enough, his hands steady as he positioned furniture exactly where Riot showed him—but because he kept apologizing.
“Sorry, is this the right way to position the chair?”
“Sorry, I know this is probably overkill.”
“Sorry, I should have figured that out myself.”
At one point he apologizedtothe furniture. He actually said “sorry” to a nightstand he bumped into while moving it.
