Page 32 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

Back at Cassian’s Moscow penthouse, I stood under the shower, the hot water cascading over me, washing away the weight of victory and vengeance.

The bathroom was a haven of marble and steam.

I was happy—truly happy—for the first time in years, the Grayson crown mine, my children secure.

A knock at the door startled me, but I smiled, knowing who it was.

“Cassian?” I called, wrapping a towel around myself.

“Babe, can I come in?” His voice was warm, teasing.

“Yes,” I said, shamelessly, stepping out of the shower, my wet hair clinging to my shoulders.

Cassian stepped inside, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

I’d been consumed with the formalities of my new role—meetings, oaths, restructuring the Grayson empire—and he’d stepped back, letting me take the spotlight.

But I knew he’d been working in the shadows, neutralizing threats like Luca and Artem, ensuring my victory.

He wanted me to feel the full weight of my accomplishment, and I did.

“You did it,” he said, leaning against the sink, his smile genuine. “The Grayson boss. I knew you could.”

I stepped closer, the towel slipping slightly, my heart lighter than it had been in years. “You helped, didn’t you? you cleared the way.”

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “Maybe I made a few calls. But this was your win, Charlotte. Always was.”

Cassian’s blue eyes raked over me from head to toe.

I pretended not to notice, but the heat of his gaze was impossible to ignore, igniting a spark low in my belly.

He shed his black shirt, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, scarred from battles I could only imagine, then his pants, leaving him stark naked.

My eyes betrayed me, flickering to his hardened length, a pulse of desire throbbing through me despite my resolve to stay distant.

I turned back to the shower, letting the water mask my flush, but my body hummed with awareness.

He stepped under the spray, the water glistening on his skin, and wrapped a strong arm around my waist, pulling me against him.

His lips crashed into mine, the kiss hungry and desperate, the taste of him—mint and something uniquely Cassian—flooding my senses.

I hadn’t kissed a man in six years, hadn’t felt this kind of fire, and I returned the kiss with a burning intensity that surprised me, my hands tangling in his wet hair.

The shower rained over us, warm, mingling with the heat of our bodies.

His hands roamed, squeezing my ass gently before trailing to the nape of my neck, his lips following, kissing the sensitive skin with a reverence that made my breath hitch.

He moved lower, his mouth brushing the faded scars on my chest—marks from a life I’d fought to survive—each kiss tender, worshipful.

His lips traveled to my navel, leaving a trail of fire, and I trembled, the water amplifying every sensation.

Cassian guided me to a small wooden stool in the corner of the shower, its smooth surface cool against my skin as he sat me down.

He knelt before me, parting my thighs with gentle hands, his eyes locking with mine for a moment, dark with desire.

Then he buried his face between my legs, his tongue finding me with a slow, deliberate stroke.

A loud moan escaped my lips, unbidden, as he sucked with fierce intensity, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh, sending shocks of pleasure through me.

My hands gripped the edge of the stool, my body arching as he explored me, each movement deliberate, drawing out every gasp, every shudder.

The shower’s rhythm mingled with my moans, the steam wrapping us in a private world where nothing else existed.

He rose, his arousal evident, and positioned himself before me, his length level with my mouth.

I didn’t need words—my desire took over, and I took him in, my lips closing around him as he let out a guttural growl. “Damn, Charlotte,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

My hands wrapped around the base of his shaft, stroking as I sucked, slow and deliberate, savoring the taste of him, the mix of water and salt.

His hands cradled the back of my head, supporting me, his fingers threading through my wet hair as I moaned softly, the vibrations drawing deeper groans from him.

I teased him, alternating between slow licks and deeper pulls, my eyes flicking up to meet his, dark with lust.

Just as I felt him tense, nearing the edge, I paused, pulling back to look at him, my breath ragged.

He bent down, lifting my chin gently, his eyes burning with something deeper than desire. “I love you so much, Charlotte,” he said, his voice raw, almost breaking.

My cheeks flushed, my heart swelling despite my fears.

Before I could respond, he lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at my entrance.

The water made everything slick, but my body resisted at first, tight from six years without intimacy, almost virginal.

He slid in slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked on mine as he filled me, the stretch both painful and exquisite. I gasped, clinging to his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.

He began to thrust, slow at first, each movement deep and deliberate, as if savoring every second. “Oh my fucking days, Charlotte,” he growled, his voice thick with passion. “You’re too tight.”

The shower blessed us, its warmth mingling with the heat of his body, and I moaned into his shoulder, my hands biting into his back as he moved faster, more aggressive but sweet, his desire for me palpable.

The rhythm built, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me, my body responding despite my mind’s caution.

My panting shifted, my body nearing the edge, and I felt the familiar coil tightening.

“Charlotte, no,” he ordered, thrusting harder, his hands gripping my waist. “Don’t come yet.”

As if I could control it.

My screams grew louder, the pleasure overwhelming, and he slammed into me, his voice a desperate command.

“Don’t dare come on me.” But it was too late—the sweetness crashed over me, and I came hard, yelling as waves of pleasure shattered through me, my body trembling in his arms.

He held me through it, his own release close, his groans mingling with mine.

Exhausted, I went limp, and he carried me, still joined, to the bedroom, the air cool against my wet skin.

He dried me gently with a towel, his touch tender, and laid me on the bed, pulling the duvet over me. “I’m sure you’re sleepy?” he said, more a question, his voice soft as he slid in beside me.

To his surprise, I climbed onto him, my energy reignited by the fire between us.

His eyes widened, shock giving way to a chuckle as I stroked him, his length hardening instantly. “Surprised?” I teased, positioning myself above him and sliding down, taking him in with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Girl...” he groaned, his hands gripping my waist as I rode him, my hips moving with a rhythm that matched my racing heart.

His groans grew louder, his hands guiding me, urging me faster.

I leaned forward, my hands braced on his chest, the muscles taut beneath my fingers, and rode harder, our moans filling the room.

His panting quickened, his hands tightening as he moved me faster, our bodies in sync.

I felt the edge approaching again, my groans turning to cries as I pushed harder, faster.

Just as I came for the second time, a shattering wave of pleasure, he followed, his release spilling into me as he groaned my name, his hands gripping me tightly.

I collapsed onto his chest, breathless, his length still inside me, a connection I wasn’t ready to break.

I played with the sparse hair on his chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles, exhaustion settling over me like a warm blanket.

“We might just be making another baby, Cassian,” I murmured, half-joking.

He laughed softly, his arms tightening around me.

“If we are, I’d want nothing more.” His voice turned serious, his hand cupping my cheek.

“Charlotte, I love you. I’ve loved you through comas, through cancer, through every mistake I made pushing you away.

I’ll spend my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. ”

My heart swelled, tears pricking my eyes. “I love you too, Cassian,” I whispered, the words raw and true. “It’s messy, it’s painful, but I’ve never stopped. I’m scared, but I want this—us—to work.”

He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering. “We’ll make it work. For you, for Asher, for Aria. For us.”

I nestled closer, his warmth enveloping me, and didn’t even notice when sleep claimed me, my body and heart finally at peace in his arms.

The first day of December enveloped Moscow in a crisp, snowy embrace, but inside the grand hall of Cassian’s estate, the air was warm and steeped in the unmistakable aura of a mafia wedding.

The hall was a cathedral of opulence.

Crimson roses and white orchids spilled from gilded vases, their scent mingling with the faint musk of cigar smoke and aged whiskey.

Men in tailored black suits, their lapels adorned with silver pins signaling their allegiance, stood sentinel along the walls, their eyes sharp but respectful.

Women in sleek gowns whispered behind gloved hands.

The atmosphere was both regal and dangerous, a celebration cloaked in the power and secrecy of the underworld.

I stood at the altar, my wedding gown a masterpiece of ivory silk and lace.

Cassian faced me, his tailored black suit accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame.

His blue eyes burned with love and passion, holding mine with an intensity that made the room fade away, as if we were the only two people in existence.

The priest, a solemn figure in black robes with a crimson stole, stepped forward, his voice resonating through the hall. “We gather to unite Cassian Moretti and Charlotte Grayson in holy matrimony. Please, join hands and step to the podium.”

We ascended the low steps, our hands clasped, his grip warm and steady.

The crowd hushed, their eyes fixed on us, a mix of allies, lieutenants, and rival families who’d come to witness the union of the Moretti and Grayson empires.