Chapter 3 Do you not want to know how I taste?

Saraphina’ PoV

I had burned our food. This was my opportunity to show Cassian I was a grown woman, not the awkward child he knew. Instead, I gave him a blackened disaster. In my mind, I was the sort of person he would choose. In real life, I could not even make a simple meal.

But the evening was not over. Not at all. The way he watched me in the kitchen, his promise that we would cook tomorrow… that was a new beginning. When the pizza came, I only ate one piece. My stomach was too full of nervous feeling for food. I made popcorn and brought him to the sofa.

“People say this movie is frightening,” I told him, pulling my legs up and placing the bowl between us. “I would be too scared to see it by myself. I am happy you are with me.”

The movie began, but I did not care about it. My entire world was the man next to me. In the low light from the screen, I studied the strong shape of his face. I watched his chest move as he breathed. I moved a little nearer, letting my leg press against his. The solid feel of his body was a comfort and a temptation. I wanted to climb onto his lap and lose myself in his strength. He acted like I was forbidden, but the energy moving between us said something else. I could still feel where his body had held mine in the kitchen. He was not as distant as he pretended. I knew he wanted me. He was just fighting it.

I put the popcorn on the table and picked up the blanket. I spread it over our legs. Then I leaned into his side, placing my head on his shoulder like it belonged there. The heat from his body moved into mine. It felt like finding a place I had always known.

When the music grew loud for a scary part, I made a soft sound and moved. I turned and settled myself right onto his lap. I hid my face in his neck, breathing in the clean, warm smell of his skin. “This is too scary for me, Cassian,” I said softly against him.

For one second, he became a statue under me. Every part of him was rigid. Then, his arms closed around me. His hands were soft on my back, a calming touch, but the contact sent a powerful shock straight through my body. A deep, pulsing heat answered low in my stomach. I bit my lip. I became very aware of the wetness forming between my legs, right where I was pressed against the hard fabric of his jeans. And then I felt it. The firm shape of him beneath me. Any idea of moving was gone.

I stayed right where I was, sitting across his lap, my legs on the couch and my side fitted to the solid wall of his chest. My face stayed in his neck, lost in his smell. Gently, I pulled the blanket up higher, making a private space under the cloth. This was dangerous. I understood that. But the need beating inside me was louder than any caution.

I had to touch myself. The ache was a constant, pulsing demand I could not ignore any longer. Maybe, if I was very careful, I could find release without him noticing.

My breath caught as I slid my hand under the blanket, letting it move down my stomach. My fingers found the damp cloth of my shorts. A rush of shame and wild excitement went through me. I pushed past the embarrassment. I pressed my palm against the sensitive, wanting place. I rubbed myself through the thin material before I finally, desperately, slipped my fingers under the fabric.

The moment my finger went inside, a wave of pleasure so strong moved over me. I had to press my lips together to stay silent. I focused on that one perfect, aching spot. I moved my fingers in a slow, steady motion that made my whole body feel alive. My breathing became quick and shallow. I tried to keep my hand still under the blanket. My heart was beating hard at the idea of him finding out my secret. He had not moved. He had not spoken. Maybe he did not know. Or maybe he did, and he was allowing this to happen.

I moved my hand faster, driven by a desperate need to finish before this delicate, perfect moment broke. The hard feel of him pressed against my backside was a sweet torment. It fed the fire inside me, but it was its own kind of pain to have him right there and not have him inside me. My mind began to drift. I imagined turning around, sitting over his lap, and feeling him push into me, filling that deep, empty ache. The thought of him being so deep, of him taking me completely, sent a wonderful tremor through my body.

My daydreams became more bold. I pictured him losing his control with me, taking me in a way that was final, that left no path back. The idea of him making me pregnant, a secret wish I hardly let myself consider, came into my mind. He would never understand if I tried to explain.

I was so lost in the feeling, I did not even know my hips had started to move in a small, steady push against the hard line of his body. My fingers worked with a frantic energy under the quilt. I was right there, balanced on a stunning edge, when his voice cut through the fog. It was low and rough, spoken right by my ear.

“Saraphina.”

My hand stopped. I pressed my face into his neck. My lips were so close to his skin I could feel its warmth. The temptation was too strong. I let my tongue draw a slow, careful line across his neck.

He tasted like everything I had ever wanted. A raw sound vibrated in his chest. I felt him move under me.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was rough and unsteady, a clear battle between his control and his own wanting. “Did you really believe I would not feel you touching yourself on my lap?”

“I am sorry, Cassian,” I whispered, too full of need to look at him. “I cannot stop it. I just… I need you. So much.”

When I finally found the courage to lift my head, his eyes were already fixed on mine. The usual peace in them was gone. It was replaced by a look so dark and full of hunger it took my breath away. That raw power sent a new, liquid heat pulsing through my core.

“Do you not want me, Cassian?”

I drew my hand from my shorts and brought my wet fingers to his mouth. I brushed them slowly across his lips.

“Do you not want to know how I taste?”