Page 73 of Double Standards

“It’s about the trial,” she finally answers, her voice tight. “Next week.”

I glance at the clock. It’s just after eight. “It’s Saturday morning. Do we have to do this now?”

The pout she offers me is lethal. She tilts her head, fluttering her lashes and leaving me no room to argue. “Humor me.”

“Fine.” The word scrapes out of me, more gravel than consent. A warning dressed as surrender.

I reach for her anyway—because I can’t not—and pull her into my lap.

She comes willingly. Of course she does. It’s like she doesn’t know any better. Like she doesn’t see the danger in how I hold her. Or maybe she does and that’s the reason she obeys.

Her body fits against me too perfectly, every curve aligning like she was built to be here. Built for me. Her breath stutters when I tighten my grip, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans in, her hands bracing on my chest like it’s the safest place in the world.

It isn’t.

It’s too easy. Too natural. Like we’ve done this a thousand times, even though we haven’t. Not really. And I hate how much I want it. How much I crave the way she folds into me, soft and trusting, like she doesn’t realize I’m the one she should be running from.

I bury my face in her neck, jaw tight, teeth clenched. I could bite down. Mark her. Own her. One small shift and she'd be mine in every way that matters.

I inhale her hypnotizing scent—warm perfume laced with coffee and the unmistakable trace of sex. It’s heady. Intoxicating.I could get used to this.

And that’s the most dangerous thought of all.

“Do you trust me?” Cassie loops her arms around my neck, her smile soft but tinged with something heavier.

“Yes.” There’s no hesitation. Somewhere along the way, I’ve come to know her. The real her. Cassie is the kind of woman who radiates patience, loyalty, and an unwavering sense of right. Trusting her isn’t a risk, it’s instinct.

“Good.” Her fingertip trails down my chest, tracing the inked lines that detail my family crest. Her touch is equal parts comfort and temptation, and I’ve already forgotten why we’re talking.

“Daniels is coming for you,” she says abruptly. “I don’t know why, and I don’t need to. But I need to know if there’s anything that could surface… if you’re called to testify, he’ll try to get under your skin.”

“He’s already under my skin,” I grit out. It’s not just about the trial. Something about that guy’s presence has always rubbed me wrong. I knew before the first court date he couldn’t be trusted.

“He wants to own you in that courtroom,” she states. “And I won’t let that happen.” She taps my chest with a determined gleam in her eye. She means it.

“There’s nothing you need to know about that night,” I assure, my voice low, deliberate. “I’ve told you the truth, whether you want to believe it or not.”

She watches me with wide, searching eyes, like she’s trying to read what’s beneath the surface. But there’s nothing there. Just steel and smoke. Just a grave I’ve already buried that part of myself in.

“But if you’re called up,” she continues, her lips brushingmine as she leans in. “You need to stay calm. And I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

I tighten my grip on her waist, drawing her in, begging for our lips to meet. “Okay.”

Her body melts against me, and I can’t hold back any longer. The kiss is instant, urgent.

She moans into my mouth, and it’s all the answer I need. Our lips tongues tangling in a rhythm that’s messy and perfect, until it’s all teeth, breath, and want.

Then she pulls away, breathless. “This was supposed to be a pep talk.”

“In my kitchen, after I fucked you senseless all night?” I grin.

“That,” she concedes with a flushed smile, “you definitely did.”

Her admission ignites something primal. I drag my hand up her back, fingers curling around her nape as I capture her lips again. The sight of her in nothing but my shirt stirs every dark desire I have.

My hand slips to her ass, kneading her as she shifts on my lap. I move to her neck, inhaling her sweet, sinful scent; like velvet chocolate. I lick a path up her throat and she writhes in my arms.

“Doesn’t sound like the time or place for a meeting.”