Page 68 of Double Standards

My feet sink into my soaked shoes as I step out. The night air is sharp against my skin, the cold dampness seeping through myclothes and settling into my bones. My legs carry me forward, each step hesitant but sure—drawn by some force I don’t yet understand.

Once I reach the familiar black door, my hand raises, trembling as it moves. I knock twice, the sharp rap echoing into the still night, heart pounding louder than the rain.

And then the door swings open.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The knock comes sharp and uncertain—too light, too hesitant. My body tenses instantly. I push up from my desk, every nerve on edge, my hand sliding smoothly to the gun nestled in the back of my slacks. The silence that follows is thick, heavy, like the calm before a storm. I reach the door and swing it open in one fluid motion, weapon raised and ready.

And there she stands—Cassie—soaked through, rainwater dripping in slow, cold trails from her tangled hair and drenched clothes. Her eyes are wild, searching, raw with something I can’t immediately place—fear, sadness, maybe hope. My heart skips, chest tightening as my breath catches deep in my throat like I’ve just been punched. For a moment, the world narrows to just her—fragile, fierce, impossible to ignore.

“Cassie?” My voice is thick with concern, brows furrowing as I step out onto the porch. I barely register the rain pelting down around us, the cold seeping through my shirt.

She doesn’t say a word. Just stands there like she’s come undone, soaked and vulnerable on my doorstep. Something about the sight twists inside me, rawand fierce.

“I…”

“Are you okay?” My voice drops low, rougher than I expect. It’s laced with a raw edge of worry I can’t hide. I reach up slowly, fingers brushing the soaked strands of hair away from her face, my touch featherlight yet charged. A spark shoots straight through me, igniting a heat I’m barely able to control.

She just nods, silent and fragile, like she’s barely holding herself together. Then, just as quickly, she shakes her head, a small, broken movement that makes my chest tighten further. I feel the subtle tremble coursing through her body, the desperate way her fingers clutch at my shirt, as if I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

Without thinking, I grip her waist tightly, anchoring her against me, the strength of my hold steadying the quiver in her knees. Her warmth presses into me, skin slick from rain, and the scent of her—wet, raw, utterly intoxicating—floods my senses.

“Come inside,” I command, my voice rough, low, nearly a growl.

She hesitates, caught in the silent battle between need and doubt. I take a half step back, giving her space, letting her make the choice. The tension coils tight between us like a wire about to snap.

And just when I think she’s going to walk away, she pushes past me, stepping into the hallway.

I close the door softly behind me. “Why are you here, Cassie?”

Her body presses into mine and damn, the heat I feel is nearly unbearable. The hard length of me presses into her stomach, and I wonder if she feels it too—if she knows just how much she affects me.

She hesitates but answers quietly, “I don’t know.”

The air crackles with everything unsaid, every stolen glance, every electric touch lingering on my skin. I’m breathing her in, already aching for her.

Yet, I hold back. For some reason, the take-charge guy who usually owns these moments is nowhere to be found. Instead,I’m caught in this charged silence, burning with need but hesitant to cross the line.

Our breaths mingle, thick and heavy in the small space between us. I catch her gaze—there’s a storm in her eyes, desire mixed with hesitation. I drop my focus to her lips, then back to her eyes, waiting. But she doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

My fingers ghost over her cheek, and she leans into the touch like she’s been starving for it. The way her skin melts into my palm makes something primal stir in me. It's soft. Vulnerable. Like she’s giving me access to something no one else has touched. My chest tightens.

I shouldn’t be this affected by something so simple—just a touch—but it’s her. And with her, everything feels more. Deeper. Sharper. Like I’m walking a tightrope between restraint and surrender. My heart thunders. I cup her neck. I don’t even kiss her—just let my breath brush over her, slow and intentional. Her inhale stutters, and then I hear it—a soft, barely-there whimper that shivers down my spine.

“Why are you here?” I repeat. “The truth.”

I’m not sure how I’m still holding myself back. There’s an ache low in my gut, a need coiling tighter every second I stay in this limbo between touching and taking. I want her. Not just in my bed. I want this soft part of her, this unguarded place she just handed me without a single word.

“Because… I want to be. Because I want you.”

A smirk tugs at my lips before I lean down, brushing mine against her neck, tasting her. My hands grip her tighter as I lick and suck at that sensitive skin. Her hands thread through my hair, desperate for more, and I growl softly, breath hot in her ear.

“What about your roommate?” I can’t help but tease, voice low and dangerous.

There’s a gentleness there, despite the poison of the words. I know what that means for her, but I don’t want to hear it now. I want this moment, this fire between us, unbroken.