Page 138 of Crushed Vow

“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.