Chapter 107: Drunk, high mess pt 2

I pushed his hands away, a flash of my natural territorialism breaking through the fog. “Stop.”

“Don’t be difficult,” he countered, pushing my hands back down.

I grabbed his wrists, my grip tight enough to leave bruises. “I said stop.”

Cyan yanked his hands free, his voice rising in pitch. “And I said don’t be difficult! I’m trying to help you, you stubborn asshole!”

I tried to sit up, but the room did a violent 360-degree spin. I flopped back down onto the pillows, the ceiling swaying above me.

“See? You can’t even sit up properly,” Cyan said, returning to the buttons. “Just let me help you.”

I kept pushing his hands away, being deliberately, childishly difficult. Because everything was fucked. Because Noah was gone, and the contract was dead, and I had looked into a mirror and seen a monster.

“Cassian, I swear to God,” Cyan hissed, his frustration peaking. “If you don’t stop fighting me, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

I laughed. It was a rough, bitter sound that tore at my throat, but it was genuine. “There it is.”

Cyan stopped, frowning. “There what is?”

“The real you,” I said, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “Under all the… glamour and glitter. Still that scrappy kid from prison.”

Cyan’s face softened for a fleeting second. “Yeah, well. Someone has to keep your drunk ass in line.” He went back to the shirt, and this time, I let him. I was too tired to fight the only person who still gave a damn about whether I breathed or not.

Reggie returned with a tray of water and aspirin, setting it quietly on the nightstand before retreating. Cyan got my shirt off and tossed it aside, then reached for my belt.

My mind drifted. My phone was in my pocket, a heavy, cold weight against my thigh. I could feel it. The temptation was a physical ache. I could call him. I could call Noah. Just to hear him breathe. Just to tell him… what? That I was sorry? That he was right?

Or I could call one of my men. Have them shadow him at the hotel. Make sure Alex didn’t get too close. Make sure he was safe.

No. Stop it. Don’t.

I told myself I didn’t care. I didn’t care if he was with Alex right now. They were probably at some rooftop bar, Alex being “genuine” and “kind,” and Noah laughing, finally feeling “seen.” The thought was a hot brand to my chest, making the hollow feeling widen until I felt like I was falling into myself.

But I wasn’t calling. My pride was a wall of ice, and I’d die before I let him know he’d broken me.

I needed to stop thinking. I needed the noise to stop. The alcohol wasn’t working anymore; it had just made the memories louder. My head wouldn’t shut up.

I watched Cyan. He was bent over me, focused on unbuckling my shoes. He was efficient, his hands moving with a care I didn’t deserve. He was real. He was here. He was someone I could touch.

As he straightened up to reach for my waist, I didn’t think. I acted.

I grabbed his forearms and pulled.

Cyan stumbled forward with a gasp. “What the… ”

I flipped us, using his momentum and my own weight to pin him under me. It was muscle memory… the speed of a predator even when the predator was poisoned by whiskey. I loomed over him, my knees on either side of his hips.

Cyan stared up at me, his eyes wide with shock. “What the hell are you doing?”

I looked down at him, my gaze falling to his lips. “Swear you haven’t been thinking about this,” I whispered, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Since you saw me.”

Cyan swallowed hard, his pulse visible in the column of his throat. “You’re drunk, Cassian.”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning closer until our foreheads touched. “But I know what I’m doing.”

Cyan opened his mouth to protest, to give me one last reason why this was a mistake. I didn’t let him. I closed the distance and pressed my lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he was frozen, a statue of surprise beneath me. Then, he broke. He kissed me back with a desperation that matched my own. His hands flew up, fisting in my hair and pulling me down, deepening the contact until it was all teeth and tongue and raw, jagged need.

I needed this. I needed to drown out the voice in my head. I needed to feel something… anything… other than the hollow ache Noah had left behind. Cyan kissed like he’d been waiting for this for a decade, his body arching up to meet mine, his hands scratching at my shoulders.

I could taste the whiskey on my own breath, feel the heat of him radiating through his clothes. He wasn’t a “distraction.” He wasn’t a ghost. He was solid. He was here.

The kiss grew rougher, more demanding. My hands found his waist, pulling him into me as if I could absorb his life force to fill my own void. Cyan made a sound… half-moan, half-gasp… as I bit his lower lip.

My mind was finally quiet. The replay of the conference room stopped. Julian’s ghost retreated into the shadows. There was only the heat, the pressure, and the physical sensation of skin on skin.

Cyan pulled back an inch, his breathing ragged. “Cassian… ”

I didn’t let him finish. I didn’t want the words. Words were what had destroyed me. I kissed him again, harder, forcing him back into the mattress.

Because if I stopped, the pain would come back. If I stopped, I’d remember that I’d fired the only person who made me feel like I might be something more than a monster.

So I kept kissing him. I kept drowning in him, clinging to the wreckage of the night, determined to stay under until nothing else existed.

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