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I hook her knee over my hip, lining our bodies up perfectly. “We’ll make it fit, baby.”
“I was so freaked out it wouldn’t, our first time,” Cassia whispers. “I stood in that hotel shower for like twenty minutes, worried I was going to humiliate myself because I had no clue what to do.”
“I wish you’d told me,” I say, rubbing tiny circles on her thigh with my thumb.
It’s fucking with my head a little, jumping between familiarity and the façade that we’re strangers.
She breaks eye contact. “I knew you were experienced and confident and I didn’t want to be the shy, good girl.”
“I wasn’t confident that night,” I tell her. “I was fucking terrified.”
“Then you used to be a better actor.”
I scoff. “You broke character first.”
Cassia smiles, then lifts her hips. We both groan when my cock slips into the wetness gathered between them. One rock of my hips, and I’d be inside her.
“Do you have a condom?”
It takes my lust-addled brain a few seconds to figure out why she’s asking. “No.”
“I’ve never let a guy fuck me bare.” Her fingernails dig into my back. “I guess you’ll be the first.”
“I like the sound of that.” I thrust forward slowly, savoring the stretch as her tight heat spreads around me.
“Wait,” she says suddenly.
I freeze halfway inside her. “What’s wrong?”
“Roll over.”
I hesitate for a second, trying to figure out what’s going on. Then pull out and shift away, sprawling on the comforter next to her. “I’m not a damn dog.”
Cassia giggles, and the sound makes me smile.
All the amusement fades when she straddles me.
“I want you to watch.”
She leans forward, her long hair dragging across my chest. So close, I think she’s going to kiss me. But she pulls away at the last minute, rising up on her knees and gripping my dick. I hiss at the contact, so hard it’s painful.
If she needs—wants—this distraction, I’ll give it to her.
I’ll give this girl anything she wants.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CASSIA
When my eyes blink open, it feels like heavy bags of sand are sitting on them. Dry and gritty.
Sunshine is sneaking in around the corners of the shades, straight lines illuminating sections of the hardwood floor.
My head is pounding, and my throat feels raw.
I fling an arm across my eyes in an attempt to block out the light. Parts of yesterday are hazy and translucent, like my memory is a faded photo. But my recollection of other moments—specifically late last night—is completely clear. I lift my arm so I can raise the covers and confirm—yep—I’m naked.
There’s no sign of Holden.
