Page 65 of Forbid It

The air is thick with tension. All I want to do is pull her back to me and throw her back onto the mattress to pick up right where we just left off.

“I’m going to get dressed.” Cassie keeps her back to me as she rummages through the pile of clothes on the drawer.

“Yeah.” I lick my lips. “I guess I should go take a shower.”

She busies herself with turning the fan off and righting pillows that fell to the floor in the night.

“I’ll uh…” I say, before I tug the door open. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Yeah,” she says, her back to me as she starts to make the bed, tugging the haphazard duvet back into order and erasing the heat that still lingers in the sheets.

I gently ease the door open, slipping through the quiet landing and into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I run my hand across my face. What the hell am I doing? I was not supposed to go there. She’s my boss’s daughter. If people found out, I’d be off the team. I’d have to leave LA. I would have to leave her.

As I turn the shower on, my head races with the worst case scenarios.

Hamilton finds out, I’m off the team, I leave LA, I never see Cassie again.

No one finds out, I finish my season with the Rebels, I come back to the UK, I never see Cassie again.

The warm water beats against my skin, and I take my aching cock in my hands.

I never see Cassie underneath me, never feel her toned thighs wrapped around me, I never peel those tiny shorts down her legs and suffocate between her thighs. I never trace the beads of water dripping across her collarbone and over her peaked nipples. I never see the flush on her cheeks as she moans my name. I jerk my hand harder as I rest my head against the tile wall, unable to stop my mind from imagining this morning ending very differently.

What the fuck am I going to do?

28

CASSIE

I spend the next few minutes throwing my clothes back in my bag in between trying to cool my flushed cheeks with the backs of my fingers. I yank my pajamas over my head and peel my damp underwear down my thighs, before throwing on my jeans, hopping when I get my foot caught in the leg. I right myself before I faceplant on the floor and glance at the door. How long has Robbie been gone? Is he coming back?

I was half-asleep when he rolled on top of me, half-convinced it was a dream. As soon as he pulled away, I saw the awareness spark in his eyes, closely followed by what got me jumping out of bed. Regret.

Humiliation burns my skin.

How many times am I going to lay myself bare for this man? How many times am I going to open myself up to his rejection and get hurt when it happens again?

I’m Cassandra fucking Hamilton. I do not get rejected. I do the rejecting.

The good thing about running away is there isn’t much to pack up. I roll my underwear in my pajamas and shove them in the bottom of my bag.

I turn my phone back on and throw it on the bed as soon as I’ve inputted my password. The mattress muffles the sound of the notifications flooding in, but I focus on sweeping up the minimal objects I’ve left sprawled across the room.

I pull the sheets back on the rumpled bed, tucking the duvet underneath the pillows before changing my mind and stripping it completely. My phone rolls as I yank the sheets away from the mattress, and I hear it clatter to the floor but I still don’t pick it up, fully focused on removing the affronting fabric before I can think of how they probably still smell like Robbie.

I roll them in a ball and leave them by the door and do a final sweep. The drawers I helped Sammy look through remain firmly closed, and the fan balancing on the chair is neatly tucked away on the dresser.

Ready to rip the bandage off, I snatch my phone off the floor and assess the carnage.

Out of self preservation, I ignore the multitude of texts and calls from my parents, but I can already see a few words jumping out: ‘irresponsible’, ‘unbelievable’, ‘cancelled meetings’.

I bypass the messages from my friends and my managers, instead pulling up my assistant Lane’s contact and pressing call.

“Cassie?” Lane answers after the second ring. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hey Lane,” I say, glancing around the room. “I’m uh—I’m good.”