Page 16 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

I tried to keep my movements steady, to pretend his scrutiny wasn’t peeling back every layer of my carefully constructed calm. But the weight of his stare was unbearable, a silent demand for acknowledgment.

Finally, I looked up, meeting his piercing eyes.

“Welcome back,” I said, my voice clipped but polite.

“How’s your hand?” he asked, his gaze dropping to the bandage wrapped around my finger. His tone was neutral, but there was something in his eyes—concern.

“Better,” I replied, glancing at the bandage.

The pain had dulled, thanks to the injection the doctor had given me.

“Hungry? I can get you a plate.”

“No,” he said simply, his voice measured.

I raised an eyebrow, pushing a piece of fettuccine around my plate. “Why not? You ate while you were out?”

“I cooked before I left,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “I ate then.”

I snorted softly, unable to help myself. “Most men can’t cook.”

His lips twitched. “I’m not most men.”

“Good for you,” I muttered, standing to gather my dishes.

I could still feel his gaze burning into my back as I walked to the kitchen, the weight of it like a physical touch.

I scrubbed the plate harder than necessary, the hot water stinging my hands as I tried to drown out the questions swirling in my mind.

Why was he watching me like that?

What did he want?

When I returned to the dining room, Cassian was still there, sitting like a king on his throne, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

I meant to walk past him, to retreat to the safety of my room, but something made me pause. “If you’re not eating, why are you still here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

His gaze darkened, and a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “I could feast on you instead.”

My breath caught, and I forced myself to hold his stare, even as my heart raced.

“Feast on me? What, like beat me?” I asked, my voice sharp with defiance.

I knew he’d promised punishment for believing I am behind his sister’s death, but in the mafia world, “punishment” could mean anything from a slap to something far worse. I wouldn’t put anything past him.

Cassian stood, his movements fluid, closing the distance between us in a few strides.

“You think I’d ever lay a hand on you?” he asked, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like hurt.

Before I could respond, he scooped me up effortlessly, his hands strong but careful as he set me on the edge of the dining table.

My pulse thundered in my ears, but I didn’t fight him.

This was his domain, and resistance felt futile.

He cupped my jaw gently, his thumb brushing the edge of my chin.

His face was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the tension in his jaw.

“It’s taking everything in me not to fuck you right now,” he murmured, his voice raw.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze, to hide the fear and confusion roiling inside me. “What’s stopping you?” I challenged, my voice steadier than I felt. “You’ve got me in your custody. You can do whatever you want.”

His grip tightened slightly, not painful but firm, grounding me in the moment.

“I need your consent,” he said, his lips so close to mine I could feel the heat of his words. “I won’t take you by force.”

“Why?” I whispered, genuinely confused.

In a world where power was everything, why would he care about something as fragile as consent?

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine, as if looking for something lost. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said softly. “Not until your memory returns.”

The air between us crackled, charged with a dangerous mix of desire and distrust.

My body betrayed me, leaning toward him despite every warning in my mind.

He was my captor, my enemy, yet the heat of his touch sent a shiver of something else through me.

Before I could stop myself, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pressed my lips to his.

It was like igniting a fuse.

Cassian responded instantly, his kiss hungry and consuming, as if he’d been holding back a tidal wave of need for too long.

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his fingers digging into my hips with a possessive edge.

The heat of his body was intoxicating, a dangerous warmth that made my skin hum and my thoughts scatter.

I knew I shouldn’t feel this way—not for him, not for the man who held me captive in this gilded prison. But my body didn’t care about logic, arching into his touch, craving the fire of his kiss.

His lips moved against mine with a fierce, almost reverent passion, and for a moment, I forgot the fear, the questions, the uncertainty.

There was only this—the taste of him, the strength of his hands, the way his breath hitched when I pressed closer.

Cassian’s hands parted my thighs with a deliberate tenderness, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, sending a shiver rippling through me.

His lips were on mine, hungry, our breaths mingling in a heated dance.

A soft moan escaped me, swallowed by his kiss as I nipped at his lower lip, my body betraying the desperate need I couldn’t name.

The taste of him flooded my senses, pulling me deeper into the moment.

His hand slid lower, finding the edge of my underwear.

The press of his thumb against my clit sent a jolt of pleasure through me.

I gasped, arching into his touch as he deftly shifted the fabric aside, his fingers circling with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

My chest heaved, my legs trembling in the air as I clung to his shoulders, my nails digging into the taut muscle beneath his shirt.

The world narrowed to the heat of his touch, the pulse of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears.

“Cassian,” I breathed, my voice a desperate plea as his fingers moved with increasing confidence, one hand joined by another, stretching me to the edge of ecstasy and pain.

My body strained to accommodate the intensity, my grip on his shoulders tightening as if he were the only thing anchoring me to reality.

Pleasure coiled tighter, a spring ready to snap, and I was lost in it, my cries growing louder, unrestrained in the empty mansion.

His lips broke from mine, trailing down my jaw to my chest.

With a swift motion, he tugged my top over my head, the cool air kissing my skin before his mouth found my left chest.

He kissed my scars with a fervent passion, his tongue swirling, igniting sparks that raced down my spine.

“I’ve fucking missed you,” he growled, the raw edge in his voice sending a shock through me.

Missed me? The words hit like a thunderbolt, stirring confusion in the haze of desire.

How could he miss someone he claimed to want to punish?

His three fingers in me moved faster now, the rhythm unrelenting, and I felt myself teetering on the brink.

Then, with a suddenness that stole my breath, he withdrew his fingers, leaving me aching and empty.

My eyes flicked down to his belt as he unbuckled it, his gaze locked on mine, intense.

My cheeks flushed under the weight of his stare, but I couldn’t look away.

He freed himself, his arousal evident, and pulled my hips closer to the edge of the table.

Instinctively, I parted my thighs, and a faint, predatory smile curved his lips.

He entered me with a controlled force, not brutal but powerful, filling me completely.

My body jolted, a cry tearing from my throat as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate.

The table creaked beneath us, the only sound in the silent mansion aside from my unrestrained moans.

I was free to scream here, to let the pleasure consume me, and I did, my nails raking down his back as I surrendered to the rhythm of his body against mine.

His lips crashed into mine again, a fierce kiss that matched the intensity of his thrusts.

For a fleeting moment, the world dissolved—no captivity, no lost memories, no fear. Just him, his heat, his taste, the way his hands gripped my hips like I was both salvation and damnation.

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as I chased the escape his touch offered.

His pace quickened, and I felt the tension building, a tidal wave ready to crash. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, my moans turning to desperate gasps as I neared the edge.

But just as I teetered on the brink, he stopped, pulling out abruptly. A wave of disappointment crashed over me, my body trembling with unspent need.

His erection stood proud, untouched by the pause, and I stared, breathless and confused.

“Turn,” he commanded, his voice possessive.

My legs were jelly, barely able to support me, but I obeyed, turning to brace my hands against the cool, polished surface of the table.

He stepped behind me, his hands steadying my hips as he slid into me again, deeper this time, filling me until I swore I could feel him in every part of my being.

His lips brushed the nape of my neck, trailing soft kisses down my spine, a stark contrast to the fierce rhythm of his thrusts.

His fingers tangled gently in my hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver through me, the mix of tenderness and dominance unraveling me completely.

“God,” I gasped, biting my lip to stifle the moans spilling from me.

The pleasure was overwhelming, a wildfire consuming every rational thought.

“Don’t stop,” I demanded, my voice raw as my hands gripped the table’s edge, knuckles white.

“Beg,” he growled, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent, as if he were claiming every inch of me.

“Please, Cassian... please, don’t stop...” The words tumbled out, desperate and unguarded, as I felt myself spiraling closer to release.

His pace tripled, each movement driving me higher until the world shattered.

I came with a violent shudder, my body jerking against the table as waves of pleasure crashed through me, leaving me boneless and gasping.

My legs buckled, but before I could collapse, Cassian’s arms were around me, lifting me effortlessly.

I was too spent to protest, my body limp in his hold as he carried me through the mansion’s dimly lit halls.

I expected him to take me to the bed, but instead, he veered into the bathroom, setting me gently in the clawfoot bathtub.

The cool porcelain was a shock against my overheated skin, grounding me in the haze of exhaustion.

He turned on the faucet, testing the water with his hand until it reached a soothing warmth.

Steam rose in soft curls, filling the air with a faint lavender scent as he poured in a capful of bath oil.

Kneeling beside the tub, he dipped a soft sponge into the water, his movements deliberate.

He began with my arms, the sponge gliding over my skin, washing away the sweat and tension with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

His fingers worked through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp, the gentle pressure coaxing a sigh from my lips.

He rinsed the suds away with a handheld showerhead, the warm water cascading over me like a caress.

“Lift your head,” he murmured, his voice soft but commanding.

I complied, my eyes half-closed as he worked conditioner through my tangled strands, his fingers careful not to pull.

When he was done, he wrapped me in a plush towel, drying me with the same care, his hands lingering on my shoulders, my back, as if memorizing every curve.

He carried me to the bedroom, my body still heavy with exhaustion, and laid me on the crisp sheets.

The mattress dipped under my weight, and I sank into its softness as he drew a thick duvet over me, tucking it around my shoulders.

His touch was gentle.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat before he stepped back.

I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he retreated to the bathroom, presumably to shower himself.

Confusion swirled in my mind, tangling with the lingering warmth of his touch.

Didn’t he hate me?

Didn’t he want to punish me for whatever betrayal he believed I’d committed? Yet here he was, tending to me with a care that felt achingly familiar, like a memory just out of reach.

Exhaustion pulled at me, the pleasure and intensity of the night sinking into my bones.

The sound of running water from the bathroom became a distant lullaby, and before I knew it, my eyes fluttered closed, sleep claiming me in its gentle embrace.