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Chapter Twenty-Four
Damon
We shouldn't.
The words flash in my brain.
Then Cassie knots her hands in my hair, and the sentiment disappears.
She feels good. Right now, I need that. Not just the escape from my head. The possibility of a future where I connect with someone, where I'm good at something.
Am I good at this?
Six months ago, I would have said yes. Now, I'm not so sure. I can't remember the last time I had sex sober. If I've ever had sex stone-cold sober.
"We can stop." She shifts her hips, rubbing her pelvis against mine, so she's grinding me over my slacks.
Maybe she can. I'm not sure I can.
She settles in my lap. "If you don't want to—"
"You can feel how much I want to, Cass."
"I know." A groan escapes her lips. She rolls her hips over mine again. "I love it."
Fuck me. I need that sense. Some of it. Somewhere. "Are you drunk?"
She shakes her head. "Only tipsy."
I'm not sure about that.
"You can test me if you want."
Okay. That's a smart idea. A way to slow this down so blood can return to my brain. "What do you think of Lisa's music?"
"I could answer that drunk." She laughs and launches into a discussion of Lisa's lyrical influences. She's right. It's not a great question. The nuances go over my head. They might be nonsense, but she expresses her ideas with the grace and SAT words she has when she's stone-cold sober. "There. Believe me?"
Yes. That was a bad idea. The worst idea. My inhibitions are far away. "It's fucking hot when you talk about music." There. I grab on to my last, tiny, minuscule scrap of sense. This is it. This is my last smart play. It's simple. Three little words. But they feel important. Monumental. "Are you sure?"
She answers without hesitation. "Yes." Her fingers dig into my shoulders. Her eyes fix on mine. She stays there, tuned to me, ready to touch me, kiss me, fuck me, but waiting for me to start.
I don't know what to say, so I soak in the sensation.
The brush of her lips against my lips.
The softness of her chest against mine.
All of Cassie melting into all of me. It's different than my other kisses. Because it's not just physical. It's emotional, mental, spiritual.
It's different than my other kisses with her too. There's no pretending this is for everyone else.
It's for us.
Only us.
My inhibitions dissolve as she moans against my mouth. She kisses me hard, rocking her hips against mine, rolling over me again and again.
Thank fuck these are wool pants. They're thick. So thick, I only feel the soft brush of the fabric. A hint of friction.
I need more.
I need all of her.
The details of the room fade away. The night. The complications. The world.
Everything is Cassie.
The taste of her lips, the citrus scent of her skin, the sweet friction of her hips.
I want to tease her forever, but I don't have the stamina for it. Not now. Not when she's driving me out of my fucking mind.
I bring my lips to her neck and cup her breast with my palm.
She groans as I draw circles around her nipple.
"You have the world's most beautiful groan." I scrape my teeth against her skin. "It's music."
She lets out another perfect groan. Low and deep and packed with need. "It's been a while."
"For me too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. If I'm too fast, I'll make it up to you." I kiss a line down her neck.
"I'll take it as a compliment."
"No sass?" I ask.
"Not here."
"What if I have a brat fetish?"
"You would." She laughs.
The charge in the air shifts. It's still electric, but it's not the sort of over-the-top, wordless, two people falling into each other sex I see on TV.
It's the two of us. Old friends who trust each other. Collaborators who know things don't always go according to plan.
"If things were different, I'd give you hell for it," she says.
"Not indulge it?"
"Next time. Right now. This. No more talking." She wraps her fingers around my wrist and slips my hand between her legs. "Warm me up so I can fuck you."
Fuck. She's bossy here too. That's way too fucking hot.
She brings her lips back to mine, kissing me hard as she guides my hand.
I curl my palm around her upper thigh. I bring my thumb to her clit.
I pull back enough to look at her. To watch pleasure spread over her face.
Her eyelids flutter together. Her brow softens. Her lips part.
She's there, lost in bliss.
She groans as I draw soft circles with my digit.
It is music. She's soft and responsive and demanding and beautiful.
Everything I know about Cassie.
Everything I love about Cassie.
Everything.
Without the dull of alcohol, my senses are overwhelmed. The sweet sound of Cassie's groan is too honest. The soft skin on her thigh is too tender. The feeling of her flesh is too intense.
