Chapter 108: Drunk, high mess pt 3 r18

CASSIAN

I had Cyan beneath me, our mouths fused in a kiss that was all desperation and teeth, no tenderness, just the frantic need to feel something… anything… that wasn’t the hollow echo of Noah’s voice in my head.

Pathetic. Heartless. Manipulative. The words looped like a broken record, slicing deeper every time they replayed. I kissed Cyan harder, as if I could drown them out with the taste of him on my tongue.

He arched into me, hands roaming my back, fingers digging in just enough to ground me. I broke the kiss to drag my mouth down his throat, biting the tendon there… hard enough to leave a bruise, soft enough not to draw blood. Cyan hissed, hips rolling up, cock already straining against his pants. “Fuck, Cassie,” he breathed, voice rough with want.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. If I opened my mouth, Noah’s accusations would spill out instead. So I shoved Cyan’s shirt up, exposing lean muscle and old scars I knew by heart… prison yard marks, faded but still visible. I palmed his chest, thumb circling one nipple until it peaked, then pinched hard. He moaned, low and throaty, hands fumbling at my belt.

I let him work it open, let him shove my pants down just enough to free my cock… already thick and leaking, aching from the tension coiled in my gut. Cyan wrapped his fingers around me, stroking slow and firm, the way he knew I liked. I groaned, hips rocking into his fist, but even that felt wrong. Too easy. Too familiar.

I needed more. I needed oblivion.

I flipped him onto his stomach, yanking his pants down to his thighs. His ass was perfect… round, firm, already clenching in anticipation. I spread him open with both hands, thumbs brushing his hole. He shivered, pushed back slightly.

I didn’t bother with gentle. I spat on my fingers, slicked them, and pushed two in at once. Cyan gasped, back bowing, but he rocked back onto my hand, taking it deeper. “Fuck… Cassian… ”

I worked him open roughly, scissoring, curling to hit his prostate until he was moaning into the pillow, hips jerking. He was tight, hot, greedy… clenching around my fingers like he wanted to keep them inside forever. I added a third, stretching him wider, watching the way his hole fluttered, pink and slick.

But even as I prepped him, Noah’s face flashed behind my eyes… wide-eyed, flushed, mouth open in that broken little gasp he made when I edged him too long.

The memory hit like a punch. What would he feel like? Tighter. Sweeter. Less practiced. He’d whimper, maybe beg, maybe cry. The thought made my cock throb harder, pre-cum dripping onto Cyan’s back.

I hated myself for it.

I pulled my fingers out, lined up, and pushed in… slow at first, letting him feel every inch. Cyan groaned, low and wrecked, head dropping to the mattress. “Jesus… fuck, did your dick grow bigger or what?”

I didn’t stop. I sank in to the hilt, hips flush against his ass, and held there for a second, feeling him pulse around me. Then I started to move… long, deep thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Cyan pushed back to meet every stroke, moaning softly, hands fisting the sheets.

“Harder,” he gasped. “Please… harder.”

I gave it to him. I snapped my hips, pounding into him with controlled force. The bed creaked, headboard thudding against the wall. Sweat dripped down my back, our skin slapping together, wet and loud. Cyan was moaning continuously now, broken little sounds that should have been perfect… should have been enough.

But they weren’t.

Because every time I bottomed out, every time his ass clenched around me, I saw Noah. Noah’s smaller frame trembling under me. Noah’s soft, desperate whimpers. Noah’s green eyes wide with shock and need when I pushed him past his limits. The image burned, searing, making my thrusts erratic, harder, chasing something I couldn’t reach.

Cyan noticed. Of course he did. He looked back over his shoulder, eyes glassy but sharp. “You’re not here,” he said, voice rough from moaning. “You’re thinking about someone else. Let me guess, Noah?”

I froze for half a second… long enough for him to feel it.

Then I grabbed his hair, yanked his head back, and fucked him harder. “Shut up,” I growled.

He laughed… breathless, broken. “Make me.”

I did. I fucked him relentlessly, one hand on his hip, the other braced beside his head. Sweat poured off us, the room thick with the scent of sex and salt. Cyan came first… crying out, ass clenching rhythmically around me, cock untouched as he spilled across the sheets.

I liked Cyan, but this… it wasn’t him I wanted. It was Noah. And that truth pissed me off more than anything.

The tight, pulsing grip should have sent me over. It didn’t.

Because Noah’s voice was louder now. You manipulate people like it’s a game.

I pulled out, flipped Cyan onto his back, and stroked myself over him… fast, brutal. He watched, eyes dark, chest heaving. “Come on, Cassie,” he murmured. “Give it to me.”

I did. I came with a low groan, thick ropes painting his stomach, chest, even his chin. It felt good… physically. Release. Relief. But the second it was over, the hollow rushed back in, colder than before.

I collapsed beside him, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling.

Cyan rolled toward me, head on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t.

The sex had been good… great, even. Cyan knew my body like he’d mapped it years ago. We fit. We always had.

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t Noah.

And that realization hurt worse than anything he’d said to me.

I stared at the ceiling, cum cooling on Cyan’s skin, my own chest tight with something I refused to name.

I’d fucked my oldest friend to forget the boy who hated me.

And I still couldn’t.

The silence stretched, heavy and accusing.

I closed my eyes.

But Noah’s face was waiting behind my lids.

And I had no idea how to make him leave.

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