Chapter 182: Satisfaction

CASSIAN

I settled back into my seat with the practiced grace of a man who hadn’t just been undone by another man smaller him.

My beer was still cold, the condensation pooling on the table like a clock ticking down the seconds. My expression was neutral as a winter sky.

To anyone looking, I had simply stepped away to use the facilities and returned to my beer. I was professionally unbothered, a masterclass in executive composure.

Inside, I was a goddamn mess.

Noah was everywhere.

He was a phantom sensation on my palms, a lingering heat under my skin. I could still taste him, that specific, salt-sweet flavor of his skin. My skin still hummed where Noah had bitten me, a sharp, perfect mark that felt like a brand beneath my collar.

I could still feel the weight of him in my hand, hot, leaking and pulsing and the way his entire body had shuddered against mine when he finally broke.

The sounds he’d made, those ragged, desperate whimpers muffled into the wool of my shoulder, were echoing in my head like a siren song.

I reached for my beer, my fingers steady despite the internal chaos, and took a measured sip.

“Mr. Wolfe?”

The voice was an intrusion. I didn’t turn my head, but I felt Eloise Park leaning in. She had gathered what remained of her courage for another attempt. “Have you ever been to a karaoke bar before?”

It was a safe question. Carefully chosen. “No,” I said, not looking at her.

“Oh! Well, it’s actually really fun once you—”

I didn’t offer a rebuttal. I didn’t even offer a nod.

I simply picked up my phone, checked the time, and let the silence stretch.

It was a blank, heavy silence, the kind that communicated with surgical precision: I am aware you are speaking, and I have chosen not to engage. Please stop.

She got the message. I felt her pull back, the sound of her glass hitting the table quiet and dejected.

Her dignity was wounded, but my patience was a finite resource tonight. Thank god, I thought, checking the time again.

Then, Noah walked back in.

He was trying so hard to look normal that it was painful. He was walking with a careful, stiff gait, as if he had to remind his muscles how to support his weight.

There was a high, feverish flush on his cheekbones that no amount of cool alley air could wash away.

He sat down with a deliberate focus on Mason, pointedly avoiding even a glance in my direction.

The satisfaction that surged through me was deep and primal.

I watched him perform the role of the “Executive Liaison,” knowing exactly what he looked like under that mask of composure. I knew how he’d looked minutes ago, coming apart in a dark alley.

I knew the weight of him. I knew the way he bucked into a hand.

Seeing him try to be a “composed adult” while my taste was likely still on his lips was almost enough to make me laugh.

I caught his eyes, just for a second. Green, wide, and currently vibrating with a mix of mortification and something darker and hungrier.

Even that brief contact was enough to remind me that I was in significant trouble.

“I think I’m going to head out,” Noah announced suddenly.

He lasted exactly five minutes. Impressive. He was a better performer than I’d given him credit for.

“What?! Already?!” Mason’s voice was high enough to rattle the glassware. “The night is young! We haven’t even done group karaoke yet! Noah, you HAVE to stay—”

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” Noah lied, his smile tight. “The jet lag is catching up.”

“Okay fine, I’ll walk you out—” Mason started to stand.

“No no no!” Noah’s panic was immediate. “You should stay! You’re having fun! I’ll be fine, it’s just down the road. I’ll take a cab. Stay, seriously.”

I watched him scramble, thoroughly entertained by the performance. He was almost perfect, but he was reaching. It was time to intervene.

“He does look flushed,” I said, looking up from my phone. I tilted my head at Noah, my tone completely neutral. “Could be a fever.”

Noah went a different, darker shade of red. “I’m fine—”

“You were warm earlier,” I said. I let the pause do the heavy lifting. “Quite warm. You should probably go home and rest.”

I put just enough weight on the word rest that only Noah would feel the bite of it. He looked like he wanted to die on the spot.

“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “I should. Rest. At home. Alone.”

“Of course,” I replied, the picture of innocence as I sipped my beer.

I didn’t miss the look on Mason’s face. He seemed smarter than he looked. Something was clicking in his expression, a realization that I filed away for future management.

“Okay fine,” Mason said, sounding suspicious. “Text me when you’re home.”

I watched Noah walk out, his bag over his shoulder, his back straight as a rod. He didn’t look back, which I found extremely amusing.

I watched the way the custom suit I’d ordered for him hugged his frame. Mine, I thought.

Back at the table, my phone buzzed with meeting feedback. I began processing the data, but my mind was drifting back to how the day had actually unfolded.

Earlier in the day, I had been submerged in back-to-back meetings. Noah’s text had arrived in the middle of a briefing with the legal team.

Managing. Your to-do list is trying to kill me.

I had read it, and for a brief moment, the corner of my mouth had pulled into a real smirk. The associate sitting next to me had caught it and immediately paled, clearly assuming my amusement was a prelude to his termination. It wasn’t.

The day had consumed itself. One meeting bled into another, and my phone remained untouched in my pocket. It wasn’t until 6:30 PM that I finally surfaced. I went straight to the executive floor, expecting to find Noah at his desk, but it was dark. Empty. His computer was off, his space perfectly neat.

I felt a slight something. Not concern, I don’t do concern, but something adjacent.

Something unwelcome. I called his number; it went to voicemail. I texted: Where are you? Delivered, but not read.

I was walking out of the the elevator, heading to the lobby when I heard two coworkers passing in a hallway.

“You’re still here? Thought you’d gone with Mason and the others,” the first one said.

“Nah, I’ve got overtime. What about you?”

“Same. I’m jealous, though. Mason looked so excited. He wouldn’t stop yapping about that new karaoke place that just opened around the office.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I heard him talking to that guy that got promoted, I think Noah is his name… “

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