“But you should,” I say and stop directly opposite her. She leans back, practically sitting on the unit without me even touching her. “You should go before I do something we both regret.”
Cassie shakes her head vehemently. “I would never.”
I frown at her. “You would never what?”
Her chin extends in a beautiful, brave, defiant angle. “I would never regret it. I would never regret you.”
And that is all the invitation I need.
I reach for her. Grab her. Squeeze whatever part of her body my hands land on. It’s her waist, of that I’m pretty sure as I haul her against me. Her body is warm under the linen smock blouse thing that’s hiding her curves from me, and I dig my fingertips into her flesh through the material. It’s hard enough to hurt, I realise, when I hear a little whimper leave her lips, but I swallow it up with my mouth as I kiss her.
No, that’s not what I do. Ikissedher earlier. This … This is a claiming.
When I tell people I can’t count how many lovers I’ve had, I’m rarely met with a good reaction. Usually, there’s shock. Often, there’s judgement. Sometimes, there’s envy. More than occasionally, there’s disgust. Now and then, it will get me a high five or a slap on the back, but even those make me feel a little nauseated. What I don’t tell people about my countless number of lovers is just how disappointing most of them have been. What I don’t tell people is that I do have a number that I haven’t forgotten, because I can count the number of lovers I have actually enjoyed sleeping with on two hands.
And already, I know Cassie Everard is going to make her way onto that depressingly short list.
She kisses like she’s the first person to discover what it’s like when lips meet, when mouths melt together, when tongues dance. She’s all swallowed gasps of amazement, gentle sighs of satisfaction and rocking hips of eagerness. I bet she doesn’t even know just how hot and supple her body is right now. I bet she’s not aware of how she’s already fallen into the most perfect rhythm with her body, her pelvis chasing friction with mine. I dare say Cassie has no fucking clue just how delicious she tastes, how floral and sweet her hair smells, and how perfect her body feels against mine.
She doesn’t know. But I do.
And that’s why I’m claiming her. For tonight. Or the next hour. Or however long she’ll give me.
She’s mine right now.
She is what I want.
“You should stop me,” I say into her neck. My lips were starting to hurt, and I have no doubt it was the same for her. I dig my fingernails deeper into her soft, soft waist. “You need to stop me.”
“Pia!” she exclaims, and it’s so loud, I pull back.
“What is it? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she sighs and then levels her blue eyes on me. They’re a dark azure, like the ocean. “At least, not in a way I don’t like.”
Well … fuck.
“Cassie, you can’t say shit like that to me.” I still have my hands on her waist, although I’ve stopped burrowing my nails into her.
“Why?” she challenges, and it is a challenge. The arch in her left eyebrow. The pout on her lips. The sparkle in her eyes. “Does it turn you on to think about hurting me?”
I narrow my eyes on her, but her face is inscrutably innocent. “Is this some fucked-up shit about our rivalry? You think Iwantto inflict pain on you?”
“What? No!”
I lift my hands off of her. “Because,fan, I swear to God, Cassie?—”
“Stop!” Cassie grabs hold of my arms and moves them so she can hold my hands between us. “Pia, you have to believe me right now. I’m not thinking about the bands, yours or mine. I’m not thinking about Stephan or Kevin or Martin or tomorrow. I’m not even thinking about the song or about the music. I’m thinking about you. So when I ask you if something is turning you on, I really do want to know if that something is turning you on.”
I’m silenced, which never fucking happens. I stare at her bright eyes and the blonde hair that almost falls into them. Her little up-turned nose and her perfect pink lips. She’s so annoyingly captivating.
“Ask me again,” I say as slow and measured as I can, which is something of an achievement considering how hard breathing has just become.
Cassie makes an inexplicably dainty sound as she clears her throat. “I like it when you hurt me. Does that turn you on?”
In a split second, I drop her hands and grab her by the throat. My hand fits perfectly around her neck.
“Yes,” I tell her. “That turns me on.”