Page 38 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

“I’ll come back after nine months,” I said, my voice shaking. “I promise.”

He nodded slowly. As if it took everything in him to do it. As if surrendering to my freedom meant losing his soul.

“I’ll wait,” he said, barely audible. “Even if I die, I’ll wait for you.”

Cassian rose too slowly. His movements were mechanical, like a marionette cut loose from its strings. He looked down, lifted his trembling hands, and removed his glasses.

Then—without hesitation—he crushed them in his fist.

The lenses cracked with a sickening crunch. Metal bent like paper. Shards pierced his skin, but he didn’t flinch.

Thick blood seeped through his clenched fingers, each drop splattering onto the ground with eerie precision.

I wiped my tears with the back of my sleeve. “When... when am I leaving?”

His lips parted. “Tomorrow.” The word fell out of him like something dying.

He turned—

But walked the wrong way.

His hand extended, reaching for a door that wasn’t there. Instead, he collided with the wall. The impact made him stagger. He winced.

“Cassian...” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just kept moving, one hand dragging along the wall like a man groping through darkness. Eventually, he found the door. His fingers brushed the handle, and he opened it slowly.

But he didn’t leave.

He stood there, a silhouette carved from sorrow, bleeding and unmoving—like grief itself had anchored him to the threshold.

“Cassian,” I called again, softer this time

At the sound of his name, he turned his head just enough for me to see the damage.

His eyes squinted, desperate to focus. But his world was a smear of shadows now, shapes bleeding into one another. He couldn’t see me. Not really.

Still... somehow, he looked straight through me.

I took a step forward, my bare feet silent on the cool hardwood. My pulse hammered in my throat, my chest. Every inch of me trembled.

I reached him.

Leaned in.

And let my lips graze his.

A ghost of a kiss. Fragile. Trembling. The last breath before the plunge.

His hands rose slowly, hesitating before curling around my waist. Not tight. Not possessive. Just... holding. As if memorizing the shape of something already lost.

When he kissed me back, it wasn’t with the fire I remembered. It wasn’t rage, or dominance, or desperation.

It was goodbye.

His mouth was soft and reverent, like I was made of ash and he was afraid to scatter me.

Then he pulled back, barely. Our foreheads touched. I felt his breath on my lips.

“Is this a farewell kiss, Charlotte?” he asked.

His voice...

God, his voice.

It was ruined silk and shattered glass.

I didn’t answer. Because everything inside me was already breaking. Instead, I pressed my lips to his, fierce and hungry, devouring him as if I could consume the pain between us.

His grip tightened, fingers digging into my hips, anchoring me to him.

He turned me slowly, his hands guiding me with a certainty his eyes could not provide, until my back pressed against the wall. The plaster was cold against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.

He tugged at my blouse, his fingers fumbling slightly, relying on touch to map the fabric.

I lifted my arms, letting him peel it away, the air kissing my exposed skin. I reached for his shirt, my eyes locked on his face—those sightless eyes, searching for me in the dark.

I didn’t know why I wanted this, why I needed it. Perhaps it was the last tether between us, a fleeting chance to feel something real before it all unraveled.

My hands trembled as I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, warm and alive beneath my palms.

He sank to his knees, his hands trailing down my sides, feeling their way to the waistband of my trousers.

His fingers, sure despite his blindness, unfastened them, sliding the fabric down along with my underwear.

I shivered, but it was his gaze—unseeing yet intense, as if he could feel me with his soul—that made me tremble.

He parted my thighs, his touch deliberate, and then his mouth found me.

The first brush of his lips against my core was electric, a jolt that arched my spine.

“Cassian,” I gasped, my hands clutching at the wall for balance.

He licked slowly, savoring me, his tongue tracing patterns that made my legs quake.

“So fucking creamy,” he murmured, his voice a growl against my skin, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me.

His teeth grazed me, a gentle nip that teetered on the edge of pain, and I moaned, loud and breathless, my body surrendering to the intensity.

He devoured me, his hands gripping my thighs to steady me as I buckled under the onslaught.

I was close, so close, my body trembling on the precipice.

But he sensed it—felt the shudder in my muscles, the hitch in my breath—and pulled back, leaving me aching and desperate.

He rose, his hands finding my face unerringly, and slammed his lips against mine. I tasted myself on him, a heady mix of desire and defiance.

His kiss was fierce, laced with anger, pain, and something softer, something that broke my heart.

He yanked off his belt with a sharp tug, the leather snapping in the quiet room, and shed his trousers, his arousal evident even in the dim light.

His body pressed against mine, the heat of him searing, his scent, laced with something uniquely him—filling my senses.

His erection pressed against my thigh, insistent, and I felt the weight of his longing in every tense muscle. “I wish you’d stay, Charlotte,” he whispered, his lips grazing my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

His fingers slid between my thighs, delving deep, and I cried out, my body arching into his touch. “Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking as he moved inside me, each thrust of his hand a desperate plea. “Please.”

I was unraveling, my legs trembling, but I needed more—needed him.

“Wait,” I gasped, pulling back. I sank to my knees, my hands finding his length, hard and warm.

I traced the tip with my tongue, tasting him, then took him fully into my mouth.

His groan was guttural, a sound that vibrated through me as I moved, sucking and teasing, my lips sliding over him.

His hand found my hair, fingers tangling gently, guiding me without force. “Yes... damn, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure.

I pushed deeper, gagging, driven by the need to give him this, to feel him unravel as I had.

His groans grew louder, his body tensing, and I knew he was close. But I wasn’t ready for this to end. I pulled back, and in an instant, he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed me against the wall.

He entered me with a single, deep thrust, filling me completely. I moaned into his ear, “Cassian... please.”

He moved, slow at first, then faster, each thrust driving me higher, hitting that perfect spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. “Oh... Cassian... don’t stop...”

He didn’t. His pace quickened, his hands gripping my hips, slamming me against him with a rhythm that felt like salvation.

I was lost in him, in the heat, the fullness, the way he claimed every inch of me.

“Not yet,” I begged, my nails digging into his back, desperate to prolong this. “Please.”

“Anything for you, little Dove,” he murmured.

He slowed, his movements deliberate, then lifted me again, his hands fumbling slightly as he navigated the room.

He found the armchair by touch, laying me across it, my chest pressed into the soft leather, my hips arched toward him.

He entered me from behind, a new angle that sent a shockwave of pleasure through me.

I gasped, my body shuddering as he thrust deep, stretching me, filling me in ways that made me feel both broken and whole.

“Bite the pillow, dolcezza,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “I’m not holding back.” His thrusts grew harder, faster, each one reaching deeper, pushing me to the edge.

I clutched the cushion, my moans muffled as he drove into me, his hands gripping my hips with a desperation that mirrored my own.

“I love you, Charlotte,” he groaned, his voice raw, breaking on the words. “I fucking love you.”

His pace became frantic, his breath ragged, and I felt the crescendo building, my body trembling, teetering on the brink.

“Cassian...” I gasped, my voice fracturing as the wave crashed over me.

I shattered, my body convulsing, release flooding through me as I cried out, my voice echoing in the room.

He followed, his own release fierce and unyielding, his groan a primal sound as he spilled into me.

We collapsed together, panting, our bodies slick with sweat and the scent of sex heavy in the air.

He pulled me onto his lap, my naked body curling against his chest, his arms wrapping around me like a lifeline.

I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in, unwilling to let go just yet. “I can’t stay,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “I have to go.”

He nodded, his face heavy with guilt.

After what felt like an eternity, I stood, my legs unsteady.

“I need to bathe,” I said, my voice small.

He rose, his movements careful as he felt for his discarded clothes.

The sadness etched into his face was palpable, a weight that pressed against my chest.

He dressed slowly, his hands tracing the fabric, compensating for his lost sight.

Without his glasses, he was vulnerable, and yet he turned away, stepping toward the door.

I watched, my heart twisting, as he stumbled into the night.

The estate’s streets were quiet, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Cassian didn’t head toward the penthouse. Instead, he wandered, his hands outstretched, fingers brushing against trees and fences, guiding himself through the darkness.

His steps were uneven, deliberate, as if he were punishing himself, a man lost in both sight and soul.

He moved like a specter, a broken figure swallowed by the night, and I stood frozen, unable to look away.

Do I love him? The question echoed. I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I loved myself, if I even knew who I was anymore. A madwoman, marked by scars and secrets, standing on the edge of a choice I wasn’t ready to make.

Nine months. That was my timeline, a deadline tied to a truth I couldn’t share with him.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever. It wasn’t just the chaos of our lives, the violence of the Moretti world, or the weight of my grandfather’s wishes.

There was something else, a secret buried deep, one that could change everything.

I turned away, the ache in my chest a living thing, and stepped back into the room, the echo of Cassian’s stumbling steps haunting me as I closed the door.