Page 30 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

The kiss was electric, our lips interlocking with a hunger that consumed us both.

I responded, pressing myself closer, my hands finding his shoulders as we devoured each other. His tongue danced with mine—possessive, hungry—as his hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The memory of his lips on my scars burned into me, a mantra repeating in my mind: He didn’t mock me. He worshipped me.

I clung to it, praying this wasn’t a dream, that this moment of raw connection was real.

When we parted, breathless, he tugged at my shorts, sliding them down with a gentleness that belied the fire in his eyes. My panties remained, but the pad beneath them made me stiffen.

“I’m still...on my period,” I said quickly, my voice tinged with embarrassment.

He stilled. Then whispered, “And? That doesn’t make you less mine.”

He guided me back against the arm of the couch, his hands steady and sure. With a slow, deliberate motion, he eased my panties down, pad and all, and I squeezed my eyes shut, covering them with my hands.

Mortification burned through me. God, what is he doing?

My thighs instinctively clamped together, but he gently pried them apart, his touch loving but firm.

“Charlotte,” he said, his voice a soothing anchor, “everything you feel insecure about is what I’ll love most about you. Forever.”

I felt his hand brush against me, a gentle rub that sent a shock of sensation through my body.

“Your hands... they’ll be soaked with blood,” I mumbled, my face still hidden behind my fingers, embarrassment warring with the warmth of his touch.

“Let me worry about that,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “And just so you know, menstrual blood is harmless.”

Through the small gap between my fingers, I saw him dip his fingers into the blood and trace my name across his chest, the red streaks bold against his skin.

My breath hitched, a mix of shock and awe at the intimacy of the act.

“It’s messy,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“No, it’s not,” he said, his eyes locked on mine, unwavering.

I glanced down, imagining the couch beneath me stained with blood, but before I could spiral, he spoke again, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

“You wore another man’s clothes, Charlotte. So I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

He tore off his trousers, revealing himself, and my breath caught at the sight. “Take your hands off your face,” he ordered, his voice firm but not cruel.

I obeyed, my eyes meeting his as he guided my hand to him.

My fingers wrapped around his length, but it was too much for one hand, so I used both, still barely able to hold him. My heart raced, a mix of nerves and anticipation.

“You want me to...?” I started, my voice trailing off.

“No,” he said, his gaze intense. “I just want you to feel what’s about to claim you.”

My chest heaved, my mind reeling at the thought of him taking me like this, in the midst of my period.

I’d never done this before, and the idea of the mess made me hesitate, but the desire in his eyes drowned out my doubts. “The second I enter you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “I’ll carve myself so deep inside you, your next life will wake up wet with my name.”

He entered me in one swift motion, my body jerking at the intensity, but the blood made it effortless, slick and warm.

He held my jaw, forcing my eyes to meet his, and thrust deeper, slow at first, then harder, each movement deliberate and consuming.

I moaned, my hands gripping his arms as he moved, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Cassian...” I gasped, my voice breaking.

“Do. Not. Ever wear another man’s clothes again,” he said, his thrusts punctuating each word.

“Okay...” I managed, my body trembling under the onslaught of sensation.

“Okay what?” he demanded, slamming into me with a force that made my vision blur, his eyes boring into mine.

“I won’t... oh, God... I won’t wear another man’s clothes,” I cried, my voice fracturing as he pushed me closer to the edge. “Ever again.”

He pressed his body against mine, his lips finding my chest, my navel, my stomach, kissing each part of me like they were sacred relics.

My hands wove around his neck, pulling him closer, begging for this to last, for the connection to hold. The pleasure was unlike anything I’d known, doubled by the vulnerability we’d shared, by the way he’d claimed my scars and my blood as his own.

He didn’t stop, his pace quickening, and I felt myself unraveling. “Cassian, don’t punish me by stopping,” I pleaded, my voice raw with need. “Please... don’t stop.”

I was terrified he’d pull away, like he had before, leaving me aching and unfulfilled. But he didn’t. “Beg.” He said, his voice a dark promise.

“Please... Cassian, please,” I gasped, my legs trembling, wide and open as he drove deeper, reaching places that made my body sing. “I’ll do anything you want...”

And then I shattered, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me, my vision sparking, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

He followed moments later, his release fierce, his body shuddering against mine as we both panted, spent and intertwined.

He withdrew slowly, and I glanced down, seeing the blood on him, on the couch, on me. I started to look away, embarrassed, but he caught my chin, his eyes soft but firm. “Don’t,” he said. “This was the best sex of my life.”

He knelt beside me, his lips brushing my forehead, my cheek, my lips, each kiss a tender seal on the moment we’d shared. “I’ll leave you to freshen up,” he said, his voice gentle now, and he walked toward the bathroom, his footsteps steady.

I sat up, my body still humming, and glanced at the blood-stained couch—the evidence of our passion.

How was I going to clean this? But first, I needed to clean myself.

I stood, my legs shaky, and headed for the bathroom, carrying the weight of his touch and his words.

As I walked toward the bathroom, completely naked, something had shifted inside me.

For the first time since the surgery, since the humiliation, since my entire body became a battlefield of scars and shame—I didn’t flinch under my own gaze. I wasn’t hiding behind clothes. I wasn’t shrinking from judgment.

I felt...secure. Not beautiful, not whole—but something close to acceptance. For once, I had been seen without mockery. Touched without disgust. Worshipped without pity.

And that feeling... it lingered like a phantom embrace.

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, showered thoroughly, replaced the pad, and slipped into a simple housewear: an oversized shirt and soft cotton shorts. My body still ached in unfamiliar places, but not in ways I regretted.

When I stepped into the living room, I found Cassian arched over the couch, washing it with soap and water.

The blood.

Our blood. Mine.

“I planned to do that,” I murmured, guilt prickling my chest.

He didn’t look up. “Don’t worry about it.”

By the time I reached him, he was already done. He set the bucket and soap aside, then turned and pulled me into his arms without hesitation. His hands were wet, and he didn’t seem to care.

“Your drawing is so beautiful,” he whispered against my temple.

I blinked, surprised. “I haven’t even finished...”

He leaned back slightly, brushing a damp strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, but the part you’ve done—it’s already stunning.”

I lowered my gaze, heat blooming in my chest. “I’ve always dreamed of owning a gallery,” I said quietly. “A real one. With glass walls and soft lighting. Where people would walk around sipping champagne and buying my art... where I’d matter.”

“You do matter,” he said immediately. “And I’ll make that gallery happen. I’ll buy the most expensive space in this city if I have to. I’ll have a private curator. A launch night with every collector from New York to Milan. Champagne towers, velvet ropes. All of it for you.”

A pause. Then, softly, “But first, this war needs to end. I need to make sure Luca and your father are no longer a threat.”

“I understand,” I murmured.

“I’m meeting with the boss of the Volkov Bratva tomorrow evening,” he continued, releasing me gently. “Trying to broker peace. Maybe—just maybe—we can end this without more bloodshed.”

“You’re not scared they’ll hurt you?” I asked, watching the way tension coiled beneath his skin.

“No. That’s not how it works. They know what they stand to gain if they keep me alive.”

He guided me toward the couch and helped me sit, his hand lingering on my shoulder.

“But on Friday...” he smiled faintly, “my first biker match is happening. It’s a qualifier for the championships. I haven’t trained at all, but I think I can still pull through.”

“For someone half-blind?” I teased, raising a brow.

His grin turned cocky. “Don’t need eyes to win. Just rage and muscle memory.”

I rolled my eyes, and he added with surprising softness, “I want to win this year’s championship for you, Charlotte.”

“For me?”

He nodded once. “I want to stand in front of the crowd, trophy in hand, and dedicate it to the woman who owns my soul.”

Something in me fluttered—and I hated that it did. I hated that even now, even after everything, he still had the power to shake me like that.

“You’ll win,” I said. Quietly. Because I knew he would.

His phone rang. He glanced at it, his expression hardening for a moment as he read the screen. Then he slipped it into his pocket.

“I need to take care of something.”

“Okay,” I said, standing with him.

As he turned toward the door, I called after him, “Hey... um... can you get me a Kindle when you’re coming back?”

He paused, confused. “What’s that?”

I smiled faintly. “A device to read books from Amazon.”

He laughed under his breath. “I’ll give you the world if you asked. How many Kindles do you want? Ten? A hundred?”

I almost laughed too. “Just one is fine. I tried ordering it, but... it didn’t work. I think there’s some kind of restriction on my delivery address, or maybe your system blocks outgoing purchases.”

“Got it,” he said. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

His expression turned amused, almost reprimanding. “And the card I gave you? Why haven’t you spent from it? The fact that we’re divorced doesn’t mean you can’t touch my money.”

“I just...” I fumbled. “I don’t know what to buy. I already have access to everything I need.”

He looked at me for a beat, as if trying to read deeper into that. Then simply nodded. “See you soon.”

And he was gone.

I exhaled and sat back down, heart heavy. The silence around me pressed in—thick and reflective.

I laid my head against the headrest, eyes fluttering closed. I tried to focus on the present. On the way his touch hadn’t repulsed me. On the small promises he kept making like he still had the right to build my future.

But the past was loud.

It howled in my mind like a living beast, chewing at the edges of every peaceful moment. Every cruel thing he’d said. Every way he failed me. Every betrayal.

Forgiveness? I didn’t know if I could ever give it. Not truly. Not fully.

And yet—for now—I had to pretend everything was fine.

But the sex... God.

Why the hell was it always him who could make me feel something? Why did he always know how to touch the parts of me no one else could reach?

It wasn’t like after the surgery, back when we were newly married—when he took me from behind just so he wouldn’t have to see my flat, repelling chest.

This time... he saw everything.

And still chose to stay.

My phone rang.

I blinked, startled, then picked it up.

“Hey, remember this person?” a smooth voice teased.

I frowned. Familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “No...”

“Doctor Manuel.”

Oh, God.

That ridiculously hot doctor I’d flirted with near the hospital—just days ago, in a moment of chaotic defiance. I never gave him my number. I only took his card.

“How... how did you get my contact?”

There was a slight chuckle. “Ethan gave it to me.”

Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? I’d ask him about that later.

“Okay...” I said hesitantly.

“Dinner tonight,” Manuel said. “At Cielo Rosso.”

Cielo Rosso? That luxury rooftop restaurant that had a six-month waitlist?

“I think I might be busy,” I replied, instantly overwhelmed.

“Come on, Charlotte. It’ll be fun. Just food and conversation. Nothing heavy. We can get to know each other.”

I hesitated.

His voice was easy, confident, flirtatious in a way that would’ve once made me blush. But now?

Now it made me tired.

“I’ll think about it,” I muttered and quickly ended the call.

As soon as the line dropped, I exhaled deeply, like I’d been holding my breath the entire time.

Why had I even approached him that day? Oh right—to make Cassian jealous. To pretend I could still flirt. That I could still matter to someone else.

But now...?

Now it felt like a trap. What if Manuel thought I was serious? What if he wanted something more? Should I just call and tell him I wasn’t available? That I wasn’t ready?

Because the truth was—I wasn’t.

I wasn’t capable of loving anyone right now. Not him. Not Ethan. Not even Cassian.

I was too broken to belong to anyone but myself.

And even that felt like a lie.