Chapter 3

Maya woke up sore.

Not the gentle, pleasant ache of a good night. This was deeper. A dull, throbbing reminder between her legs that still pulsed every time she shifted against the sheets. She could feel him—still. The stretch. The bruises blooming on the backs of her thighs where the railing had bitten into her skin. The faint, sticky evidence that he had come inside her and left it there like a brand.

She stared at the ceiling of the unfamiliar loft for a long time, one arm thrown over her eyes, trying to convince herself that last night had been a mistake she could simply erase.

It wasn’t.

Her body knew it. Her cunt was still soft and swollen, sensitive enough that the brush of the sheet made her bite her lip. When she finally dragged herself into the shower, the hot water stung the scrapes on her thighs and the faint crescent marks his fingers had left on her hips. She stood under the spray longer than necessary, fingers drifting down almost against her will, sliding through the slickness that hadn’t fully washed away.

She came with his name trapped behind her teeth.

It only made her hate herself more.

By the time she dressed—high-waisted trousers, silk blouse buttoned all the way up, hair pulled back into a severe knot—she had constructed an entire narrative. Last night had been stress. Loneliness. Two years of celibacy catching up with her in the worst possible way. It meant nothing. He meant nothing. She would avoid the elevator, take the stairs, and pretend Cassian Hale did not live one floor below her.

The universe, of course, had other plans.

She stepped into the hallway at 8:12 a.m. with her laptop bag over one shoulder and her coffee in hand, fully prepared to walk the twelve flights down.

The elevator doors were already open.

Cass stood inside, leaning against the back wall in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching her like he’d been waiting.

Maya’s stomach dropped.

For one long second neither of them moved. Then the doors started to close and some self-destructive instinct made her step forward instead of back. The doors sealed shut behind her with a soft mechanical sigh.

The air inside the small metal box turned thick.

Cass didn’t speak. He just looked at her—slow, thorough, the exact same way he had looked at her last night while he was buried to the hilt. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, lingering on the high collar of her blouse like he could see straight through the fabric to the marks he had left.

Maya kept her eyes on the illuminated numbers.

12.

11.

10.

Her pulse was a frantic drum between her legs. She could still feel the phantom press of his cock stretching her open. Could still hear the wet sound of him fucking into her over the city noise.

Cass shifted his weight. The movement was small, but it brought the heat of him closer. She caught the faint scent of his cologne and underneath it, something darker—skin and sex and the memory of last night.

“You’re limping,” he said quietly.

Maya’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His voice was low, almost conversational. “You’re walking like I spent half an hour rearranging your insides against a railing.”

Heat flooded her face. She refused to look at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Remind you how hard you came on my cock? Or remind you that you begged for it harder?”

The elevator slowed at six. Neither of them got off. An older man started to step in, took one look at the tension crackling between them, and backed away with a polite cough. The doors closed again.

Maya’s fingers were white around her coffee cup.

Cass leaned in just enough that his breath brushed the shell of her ear.

“I can still feel how tight you were when you came the second time,” he murmured. “How you clenched around me like you were trying to keep me inside. You always did that. Even when you were pissed at me.”

She turned her head sharply, finally meeting his eyes. “It was a mistake.”

Something dark and satisfied flickered across his face.

“Was it?”

The elevator reached the ground floor. The doors opened onto the lobby. Maya stepped out first, spine straight, refusing to look back. She felt his eyes on her the entire walk across the marble floor. Felt them like a hand between her shoulder blades.

She didn’t breathe properly until she was outside on the sidewalk.

---

Work was a blur of meetings and spreadsheets and forced smiles. Maya sat through a two-hour strategy session with her thighs pressed tightly together, trying not to think about the way Cass had pushed his cum back inside her with two fingers like he was sealing a claim. Every time she crossed her legs the ache flared, sharp and wet, and she had to dig her nails into her palm to stay present.

By lunch she had checked her phone seventeen times.

No messages.

She told herself she was relieved.

At 2:47 p.m. her phone buzzed against the conference table.

One new message.

Unknown number.

She knew who it was before she unlocked the screen.

**Still wet for me?**

Maya’s breath left her in a quiet, shaky rush. Heat flooded low in her belly so fast it made her dizzy. She stared at the four words until they blurred.

Around her, colleagues continued discussing Q3 projections. Someone asked if she agreed with the new timeline. Maya made a noncommittal sound and locked her phone without answering.

She lasted eleven minutes.

Then she unlocked it again and typed.

**Who is this?**

The reply came almost immediately.

**Don’t play dumb, Maya. I can still taste you.**

Her thighs clenched under the table.

**Last night was a one-time thing.**

**Was it?**

**Yes.**

**Then why are your hands shaking right now?**

Maya looked down. Her fingers were trembling around the phone. She shoved it into her bag and forced herself to focus on the presentation for the rest of the afternoon.

She failed spectacularly.

---

By the time she returned to the building at 6:40 p.m., her entire body felt like a live wire. She took the stairs all the way to the twelfth floor, refusing to risk the elevator. Her legs were burning by the time she reached her door. She fumbled the key, got inside, and locked it behind her with more force than necessary.

The loft was quiet. Too quiet.

She dropped her bag, kicked off her heels, and walked straight to the bathroom. The mirror showed a woman who looked composed—hair still neat, blouse still buttoned—except for the faint flush high on her cheekbones and the dark hunger in her eyes.

Maya stripped slowly. Every piece of clothing that hit the floor felt like armor she no longer had the right to wear. When she was naked she stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself properly for the first time since last night.

Faint bruises on her hips in the shape of his fingers.

A scrape on the back of one thigh.

Her cunt still looked soft and used.

She pressed two fingers between her legs and found herself soaked.

A broken sound escaped her throat.

She lasted another four minutes before she grabbed her phone.

**You’re an asshole.**

The reply was almost instant.

**Come downstairs.**

**No.**

**Then open your door.**

Maya’s head snapped up. She walked barefoot to the front door and looked through the peephole.

Cass stood in the hallway, still in the same black shirt from this morning, one hand braced on the wall beside her door. He looked calm. Controlled. Like a man who already knew how this night was going to end.

She rested her forehead against the wood.

“Go away,” she said, loud enough for him to hear.

His voice came through the door, low and rough.

“Open it, Maya.”

“I said no.”

A soft, dark laugh. “You’re naked on the other side of this door, aren’t you? Fingers already between your legs. Trying to convince yourself you don’t want me to finish what I started last night.”

Her free hand curled into a fist against the wood.

“You’re wrong.”

“Then prove it. Open the door and tell me to leave while you look me in the eye.”

The silence stretched.

Maya’s heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She knew—knew—that if she opened this door, there would be no pretending afterward. No more neat little narrative about stress and loneliness and one-time mistakes.

She unlocked it anyway.

Cass didn’t wait for an invitation. The second the latch clicked he pushed the door open, stepped inside, and kicked it shut behind him. His eyes dragged over her naked body in one slow, devastating sweep. The hunger that flared in them was almost violent.

“Look at you,” he said softly. “Still trying to pretend you’re not mine.”

Maya lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

Cass reached out, caught her by the throat—gentle this time, just enough pressure to tilt her head back—and walked her backward until her spine hit the wall.

“Then why,” he murmured, thumb stroking the underside of her jaw, “are you already dripping down your thighs?”

She had no answer that wasn’t a lie.

Cass leaned in until his mouth brushed hers, not quite a kiss.

“This is what denial looks like, baby. You saying no with your mouth while your cunt begs me to ruin it all over again.”

Maya’s breath shuddered out of her.

He smiled against her lips—small, sharp, triumphant.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

She didn’t.

His free hand slid between her legs, two fingers pushing into her without resistance, and Maya’s head fell back against the wall with a broken sound that was half moan, half surrender.

Cass’s voice was pure sin against her ear.

“That’s what I thought.”