Chapter 180: The bigger pervert

NOAH

It was a kiss that meant to shut me up, and it worked with terrifying efficiency.

My hands went to his chest, intending to push him away, someone could see, someone from work could walk out that door at any second, but my fingers ended up gripping the expensive wool of his coat instead.

I tried to protest into the kiss, a muffled “we’re outside,” but Cassian ignored it.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I opened for him.

He took over completely, the way he always did, his weight pinning me against the wall.

I was losing the battle. I was still trying to be angry, still trying to be rational, but my body was traitorous.

I kissed him back, my heart pounding against his chest, the cool air of the alley clashing with the heat of his mouth.

He was solid, Inevitable, and right now, he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Cassian,” I breathed against his lips, my resolve crumbling into the dark. “Stop.”

He didn’t stop. He just moved his hand from my jaw to my waist, pulling me so tight against him that I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

His body was a wall of heat and muscle, pressing me back against the rough brick of the alley, the cold night air doing nothing to cool the fire igniting between us.

I could feel every inch of him, hard, insistent, unyielding, and it made my knees weaken. My protests felt like lies even as they formed on my tongue.

His free hand was already at work, fingers swift and efficient as they found my belt buckle.

The metallic click of it unfastening echoed in the narrow space, sharp and final, while his mouth stayed locked on mine, swallowing any real attempt at resistance.

He worked the leather free with practiced ease, not breaking the kiss, not giving me a second to think or breathe or pull away.

The zipper came next, tugged down in one smooth motion, and before I could process it, his hand was slipping inside my pants, pushing past the waistband of my boxers.

I broke the kiss with a gasp, my head snapping back against the wall. “Wait—”

His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of my lower stomach, teasing lower, and my words fractured. “Here?! We’re outside, it’s public—”

“Hidden corner,” he murmured against my throat, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me. “No one’s coming.”

But his hand was already there, already inside, wrapping around my half-hard cock with a possessiveness that made my breath hitch.

The shock of it, the audacity, the risk, sent a jolt straight through me, but my body betrayed me instantly.

I hardened in his grip, swelling under his touch like I’d been waiting for this all night, like the fear of being caught only made the ache sharper, more urgent.

“Cassian—” My protest died as he gave a slow, experimental stroke, his palm rough and warm, fingers curling just right.

Every ounce of fight melted out of me at once, dissolving into the night air like smoke. Gone. All of it.

The anger from his silence, the humiliation from the bar, the rational voice screaming that someone could walk out that door any second, vanished under the weight of his hand on me.

He started slow. Deliberate. Torturously so.

His thumb circled the head of my cock, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had already leaked out, while his fingers stroked the length in long, unhurried drags.

Each movement was calculated, designed to build the pressure without letting it break, and it had me unraveling faster than I wanted to admit.

My head fell back against the wall with a thud I barely registered, my eyes squeezing shut as I tried but failed to stay quiet.

The first moan slipped out anyway, low and ragged, muffled against my bitten lip. But it wasn’t enough. The sounds kept coming, small and desperate, spilling into the alley despite my best efforts.

The public element made it so much worse, in the best, most terrifying way.

We were hidden, yeah, tucked into this shadowed corner behind the dumpster and the emergency exit, but the bar’s muffled music pulsed through the door just feet away.

Laughter echoed from inside. Footsteps could crunch on gravel any second.

Someone could stumble out for a smoke, or worse, one of my coworkers could come looking for me.

The possibility of being heard, of being seen like this, pants open, cock in Cassian’s hand, moaning like a whore, sent terror spiking through my veins.

But it also electrified everything, made every stroke feel like lightning, the risk twisting the pleasure into something sharper, more addictive. I hated how much I craved it.

“You’re making quite a lot of noise,” Cassian observed, his tone casual, conversational, like we were discussing the weather instead of him jerking me off in a public alley.

His pace didn’t change, still slow, still steady, still devastating. “For someone who was worried about being seen.”

“It’s your fau—” I glared at him weakly, or tried to, but my eyes were half-lidded, vision blurring with the building heat. I couldn’t form a coherent sentence, couldn’t do anything but grip his shoulders and try not to buckle.

“Are you sure?” He glanced down between us, watching his own hand work me over. “The way you’re leaking…” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “… is very telling Noah.”

My face burned, shame flooding hot through my chest even as my hips bucked into his fist. “Shut up,” I managed, voice completely wrecked, hoarse and trembling.

He chuckled and captured my lips again in a slow, deep kiss that made my head spin.

We broke for air, me gasping like I’d run a marathon, him looking impossibly composed, like this was just another boardroom negotiation he was winning.

His hand never stopped, though, still wrapped tight around my throbbing cock, slick now with my own arousal.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head as if considering something mildly interesting, “between the two of us…”

He paused, increasing his pace just slightly, enough to make my knees buckle, enough to draw a choked whimper from my throat.

“You’re the bigger pervert.”

“I’m the—what—” The words came out strangled, incoherent. I could barely think, let alone argue. “You’re the one who, your hand is literally—”

“And yet,” he continued, nodding toward my face, flushed and desperate, mouth open on another moan, and then down to where I was leaking steadily over his knuckles. “Here we are.”

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