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Our gazes lock as she slowly, excruciatingly slowly, lowers herself onto me. The sensation of her body welcoming mine, tight and hot and perfect, nearly undoes me. I grip her hips, fighting the urge to thrust upward, to take control of our pace.
"God, Cassie," I groan as she takes me fully, our bodies completely joined. "You feel incredible."
She doesn't move immediately, instead leaning forward to kiss me deeply, her inner muscles clenching around me in a way that makes me see stars. When she finally begins to move, it's with a deliberate rhythm that speaks of worship rather than mere pleasure.
Her hands brace against my chest as she rises and falls, each movement precise and measured. I run my hands up her sides to cup her breasts, capturing the hardened peaks between my fingers. She gasps, her rhythm faltering momentarily.
"That's it," I encourage, emboldened by her response. "Show me what you need."
She increases her pace slightly, her breathing growing more ragged. I slip one hand between our bodies, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves where we're joined. The first touch makes her cry out, her back arching beautifully.
"Roman," she moans, her movement becoming less controlled, more desperate. "Don't stop."
I circle my thumb in the pattern I know drives her wild, watching in awe as pleasure transforms her face. There's something miraculous about witnessing Cassie like this—completely uninhibited, completely honest in her desire.
"I won't last much longer," I warn her, my own release building inexorably as her inner walls begin to flutter around me.
"Open your eyes," she urges softly. "Stay with me."
I hadn't realized I'd closed them against the overwhelming sensation. I force them open, holding her gaze as we move together. The intensity of the connection—not just physical but emotional, visceral—threatens to overwhelm me. There's nowhere to hide, no CEO mask to retreat behind, just Roman stripped bare in every sense.
I feel her climax begin, her body clenching rhythmically around mine as waves of pleasure wash over her. The sight of her coming undone, her eyes still locked with mine in that moment of complete vulnerability, pushes me over the edge.
"Cassie," I gasp, my release tearing through me with unprecedented force. I thrust upward, burying myself deep inside her as I begin to empty myself.
When release finally comes, it's with her name on my lips and her eyes locked on mine, witness to my complete surrender. She follows moments later, her body trembling around me, her vulnerability as total as my own.
Afterward, she collapses against my chest, both of us breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. I wrap my armsaround her, holding her with a desperation I don't try to disguise. Her head rests in the crook of my neck, her breath warm against my skin.
"I love you," I whisper into her hair, the words escaping before I can censor them. "I'm in love with you, Cassie."
She goes very still against me, and for one terrible moment I think I've miscalculated, pushed too far too fast. Then she raises her head, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I love you too," she says, voice thick with emotion. "Even when you're being an impossible CEO."
Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost painful. I pull her back against me, unwilling to let her see how much those three words have undone me.
We stay like that, tangled together on her couch, until her breathing evens out into the rhythm of sleep. I shift carefully, adjusting our position without waking her, marveling at the trust implied by her ability to sleep in my arms.
A sharp knock at the door shatters the moment.
Cassie stirs against me, blinking sleepily. "What time is it?"
"After eleven," I say, glancing at my watch. "Are you expecting someone?"
She shakes her head, already reaching for her discarded clothes. "Probably Mrs. Finch from across the hall. She locks herself out at least once a week."
The knock comes again, more insistent this time. I pull on my pants while Cassie wraps herself in a throw blanket, padding toward the door, still half asleep.
She peers through the peephole, then freezes, suddenly fully awake. "It's Camden," she whispers, turning to me with wide eyes.
A surge of territorial anger rises in me, primal and immediate. "I'll handle it," I say, already moving toward the door.
"No." She puts a hand on my chest, stopping me. "I need to deal with this myself. Otherwise, he'll just keep coming back."
I want to argue, to protect her from this intrusion, but the determined set of her jaw tells me it would be futile. And she's right—this is her battle to fight.
"I'll be right here," I concede, stepping back but not retreating completely.