Chapter 181: Alley

NOAH

I couldn’t look at him anymore. Couldn’t bear the smug satisfaction in his eyes. Mortified and overwhelmed, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the sharp, intoxicating scent of his cologne, cedar and smoke, dark and masculine, the smell that had haunted me for days.

It did things to me, that scent, wrapped around the warmth of his skin, making the want surge hotter, more insistent.

I want him to fuck me again.

The thought hit me clear and unbidden, raw truth bubbling up through the haze.

I wanted it so badly, the stretch, the burn, the way he filled me until I couldn’t think of anything else. But shyness clamped down hard. I couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. I’d rather die right here in this alley than beg for that out loud.

So instead, I did the next best thing. Remembering every teasing lick, every possessive bite he’d ever given me, I pressed my mouth to his neck. My tongue dragged up the column of his throat, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling the faint stubble rasp against my lips.

He tensed, just a little, a subtle shift in his muscles, but it was there. Victory sparked through me.

Emboldened, I bit down. Not gentle. Not hard enough to bruise. Just right, teeth sinking into the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, sucking lightly to leave a faint mark.

His response was immediate. The pace of his hand faltered for half a second, then increased, involuntary, reactive, his fingers tightening around my cock as he stroked faster, harder, slick sounds filling the air between us.

There, I thought, triumph surging hot through my veins. I did that. To him.

The satisfaction was brief. Very brief.

His free hand came up, gripping my jaw firmly, pulling my face away from his neck.

He captured my mouth in a kiss that was hard, possessive, devouring, cutting off my bite, swallowing my smug little moan.

At the same time, his hand between us ramped up drastically, stroking me with ruthless efficiency, thumb pressing against the sensitive underside while his fingers twisted just right on every upstroke.

The dual assault, his mouth claiming mine, his hand working me over, sent my system into overload. The edge arrived suddenly, crashing toward me like a wave I couldn’t outrun.

“Cassian—” I gasped into the kiss, the word muffled, desperate. Warning. Begging. Both at once.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he pushed harder, his tongue tangling with mine as his hand brought me right to the brink, and over.

I came with a moan that he swallowed completely, my body shuddering against his, hips jerking helplessly into his fist.

Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me, hot and overwhelming, spilling messy over his knuckles in thick, warm spurts.

The release was shattering, intense, almost painful after the buildup, and he kept his pace steady through every pulse, drawing it out until I was whimpering into his mouth, oversensitive and spent.

The mess was undeniable, sticky on his hand, on my stomach, evidence of how thoroughly he’d undone me in a goddamn alley.

In the aftermath, we stilled. I went limp against the wall, breathing hard, legs uncertain beneath me, brain completely offline.

Cassian watched me with that satisfied, possessive warmth in his eyes, like I was something precious he’d just claimed all over again.

I wanted more. The thought resurfaced immediately, insistent and greedy.

I wanted him, wanted him to fuck me right here, right now, consequences be damned.

But I fought it, barely succeeding, shoving the urge down as I tried to pull myself together.

I straightened as best I could, fixing my clothes with shaking hands, tucking myself back in, zipping up, buckling my belt. Each action required deliberate thought, my fingers clumsy and uncoordinated in the afterglow.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my handkerchief, a plain white square I always carried for no good reason, and offered it to him. “Here.”

Cassian looked at it for a second, then raised his hand to his mouth instead. Slowly, deliberately, he licked a long stripe across his palm, tasting me, holding eye contact the entire time.

The sight was filthy, obscene, and it sent a fresh wave of heat through my already wrecked body.

“You’re disgusting—” I snatched his hand anyway, cleaning it aggressively with the handkerchief, rubbing harder than necessary, thorough to the point of obsession.

He let me, a faint amusement curling his lips. “Thorough.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, still scrubbing, more than needed, like I could wipe away the evidence of what we’d just done.

He fixed his own clothes with casual grace, straightening his collar, smoothing his coat, as if nothing had happened. Impossibly perfect, as always.

Then, voice low and commanding: “Say your goodbyes.” He stepped back, giving me just enough space to breathe. “Ten minutes.”

I blinked, still hazy. “What—we’re leaving?”

He was already walking back toward the door, not bothering to explain.

I stood there in the alley, alone, face still red, hair slightly messed from his hands. I ran my fingers through it, trying to tame it.

Checked my clothes, shirt tucked, zipper up, belt secure. Face probably still flushed, but hopefully the dim light would hide it. Expression: aiming for neutral, probably landing on dazed.

Deep breath. Shoulders back. Normal face. Normal pace.

You are a professional, I told myself. You are the executive liaison assistant. You are a composed adult person who was definitely not just in the alley getting handled by the CEO, who is now inside, drinking beer like nothing happened.

I pushed through the door, scanning the room. Cassian was already back at the table, settled in like he’d never left, beer in hand, completely unbothered.

I found my seat, sliding in without looking at him, without looking at anyone.

Mason appeared from nowhere, as always. “There you are! I was looking for you! Are you okay? You look weird.”

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly. “I’m completely fine. Never better.”

He squinted, not convinced, his eyes flicking between me and Cassian. Something calculating lurked behind his usual cheerfulness.

I looked away, picking up my juice, pretending to be very interested in the person currently murdering a ballad on stage.

Heart still pounding. Cassian’s cologne still in my nose. His handprint still burning on my skin, metaphorically.

Ten minutes counting down.

Nine minutes.

Eight.

Every minute the longest of my life, and also the shortest.

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