Page 65 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

His hand moves, sliding down my side, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It finds the waistband of my pants, slipping beneath with practiced ease. His fingers brush against the bare skin of my hip, then lower, finding the heat between my thighs .

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, his voice rough and filled with dark satisfaction. “All for me.”

“Yes,” I moan, my head falling back against the tree as his fingers move with an agonizing slowness, teasing, exploring, leaving me trembling.

"You want this," he whispers against my neck, his lips brushing like fire as they trail down to my collarbone. His fingers press against my most sensitive spot, rubbing in slow, teasing circles that steal the breath from my lungs.

“Yes,” I gasp, my body arching into his touch, every nerve alight with desperation.

"Tell me," he growls, his voice low and commanding, dripping with unrestrained desire. "Tell me you want me to fuck you. To ruin you."

“Casper…” I moan, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer.

“Say it, Princess,” he demands, his fingers pressing harder, his movements quickening with merciless precision. "Beg me."

My breath comes in shallow gasps, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak as his fingers work me with devastating precision.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I cling to him.

His lips find mine again, his need matching mine in every fevered movement. He pulls his hand away suddenly, and I whimper at the loss, but the sound is quickly silenced as he grips my waist, pulling me against him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possession. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, the words trembling with truth.

Something shifts in his expression—an unfiltered intensity that leaves me breathless. He adjusts his hold on me, and I feel him rocking against me, the heat of him burning through the thin fabric barrier.

"Gods, I’m going to devour you," he murmurs, his voice a dark, sinful promise, thick with reverence and unrelenting desire.

And I want him to.

But the moment shatters with a single word. "Casper."

The voice is calm yet cold, slicing through the air.

A woman steps around the corner, her dark brown hair cascading in a long, intricate braid over her shoulders.

It’s her—the woman from earlier. Her features are delicate, almost ethereal, her dark eyes darting between us.

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t linger. Instead, she turns on her heel and walks away, her silence deafening in the charged air she leaves behind.

Casper’s gaze darkens, his jaw tightening as he closes his eyes for a brief moment. The muscles in his neck strain with the effort to hold himself back, to contain whatever storm rages beneath his surface. I study him, my brows pulling together as an unfamiliar pang rises in my chest.

But his hands drop from me, the warmth of his touch fading as he sets me down gently, almost reluctantly. There’s a tenderness in the way he moves, as though he’s afraid that if he lets go too quickly, I’ll shatter or vanish altogether.

For a breath, his fingers linger on my arms, twitching slightly, as if he’s battling the urge to pull me back into him.

His eyes meet mine, dark and searching, and I see it—the war he’s fighting within himself.

He steps back, just enough to create a sliver of distance.

His hand rises to push his hair back from his face, exhaling a shaky breath.

With the other, he shifts his stance, adjusting himself back into his pants.

“Lailah…” he starts, his voice low and strained.

He looks at me like he wants to say something, to explain, but the words seem to die in his throat. I step toward him instinctively, my hands trembling at my sides.

“Don’t,” I whisper, the word barely audible.

His jaw tightens, and his hand falls to his side, clenched into a fist before he forces it open. Without a word, he turns away from me, his eyes fixed on the spot where the woman vanished into the shadows. The tension radiates off him, barely contained.

I look up at the sky, searching for something—anything— to make sense of what’s happening.

I close my eyes, the tears threatening to spill over as I try to hold onto the tiny fragments of composure I have left.

When I finally open my eyes and find Casper’s eyes on me, it’s as though something inside me snaps.

The weight of it all crashes over me in waves.

"Callum," Casper hisses, his voice low and venomous.

Shock floods my system as the name leaves his lips and suddenly, I know. He was here. Lurking in the shadows. Watching us.

Heat rises to my cheeks in a flush of mortified awareness.

Not fear. Not anger. Just the humiliation of being seen.

Of being caught in something sacred—and knowing it never was.

From the edge of the shadows, Callum steps forward, tilting his head slightly as his gaze drags over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.

“Take the princess back to her room.” Casper orders, his eyes intentionally avoiding mine.

My vision blurs as Callum reaches for my elbow, but I shove him away. Without sparing a glance behind me, I stride past both of them, my focus fixed on the dark stretch of forest ahead.

Casper’s gaze burns into my back, but he doesn’t stop me.

The walk to the palace walls feels endless, the cold air biting at my skin as the fire inside me grows hotter, fiercer with every step.

By the time I reach the gates, the rejection I felt earlier has hardened into something more excruciating.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I whirl around, my knife flashing as I press it to Callum’s throat.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he leans into the blade, his dark eyes locking with mine.

His mouth slowly widens into a wolfish grin, and flickers of amusement dance in his gaze, daring me.

Confusion clouds my anger. Then it hits me like a blow—I’m not angry with him .

Callum takes my wrist gently, guiding the knife away.

His expression shifts, his smile fading as he looks at me, really looks at me.

I can see something like understanding in his eyes, a quiet softness that catches me off guard.

In one fluid motion, he takes the dagger from my hand and sheaths it at my thigh, swift and precise—no lingering touches, no comfort.

I look up at him, as he straightens, rolling his shoulders back, and for a brief second, I almost forget the anger that still clings to me .

“You brought me to him like some animal being led to slaughter,” I bite out, the words incisive and bitter.

Callum tilts his head, his fingers brushing a loose strand of red hair from my face. He tucks it behind my ear, the touch almost tender, and my heart skips despite myself.

“I’m going to tell you something,” he says, his voice now serious, no trace of his usual mirth.

I look up at him, my breath catching, though I’m trying to stay steady, to keep the walls I’ve built around myself intact.

“You’re playing a game you don’t even know you’re a part of,” he continues, his hand cupping my face gently. “You’re a pawn in this, but for him ...”

His eyes drop to the tear slipping down my cheek, lingering there before drifting lower—to my lips. His jaw tightens, the noticeable clench sending a jolt of unease through me. The air shifts, and then he leans in, as if he’s about to…

Instinctively, I shove him away, the reaction visceral and immediate, as if my body moved before my mind could catch up. Frustration builds inside me, the constant back-and-forth of this stupid game pushing me to the edge.

Callum chuckles, but there’s something soft in it now.

“Shut it,” I mutter, turning to walk toward the palace again, my pace quickening.

“Oh, I’ll shut my mouth, Princess ,” he calls after me, his tone teasing. “If you open yours.”

I stop in my tracks, his words cutting deeper than I want to admit.

I should be angry—furious even—but something else stirs beneath the surface.

A bitter enjoyment. Callum using my title like that, the way Casper does—turning ‘princess’ into something far more intimate, as though it’s his own personal nickname.

It’s infuriating and yet, somehow, amusing.

He’s cunning, silver-tongued, but undeniably clever. A strange mix of irritation and reluctant admiration churns inside me, making it impossible to simply dismiss him. If things were different, if we weren’t enemies, maybe we could have been something else entirely… maybe even friends.