All Chapters of His Dirty Little Secret : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Cassidy’s POV“To unbreakable teams,” I echoed, clinking my glass against his, the crystal chime ringing clear and bright in the quiet penthouse, like a bell tolling in a vast, empty cathedral. The Cabernet slid velvety across my tongue—dark cherry notes laced with a subtle hint of oak and black pepper, warming me from the inside out like a slow-burning fire. I took a lingering sip, savoring the richness, my eyes locked on Dante over the rim of the glass. He set his down on the coffee table with a soft clink that echoed faintly against the marble floors, his intense blue gaze pulling me in like an inescapable gravity, deep and unyielding, reflecting the city lights twinkling through the rain-streaked windows beyond.He didn’t sit beside me on the sectional, as I’d half-expected. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence towering over where I lounged against the plush leather cushions, one knee sinking into the seat next to my thigh with deliberate intent. The air between us thickened i

Cassidy’s POVI lay there for a long moment, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart as it slowed beneath my ear. It was grounding in a way nothing else ever had been—solid, present, unignorable, like the beat of a drum calling me back to earth after the whirlwind of pleasure we'd shared. Dante’s hand moved through my hair in slow, unhurried strokes, the kind meant to soothe rather than stir, his thumb occasionally brushing my temple as if checking that I was still here with him, still real in this cocoon of warmth we'd created.The penthouse felt different now, transformed by our intimacy. Quieter, warmer, less like a fortress of glass and steel and more like a place that had finally been claimed by breath and laughter and the small, human mess of living. My things were scattered here and there—books stacked crookedly on the console table by the window, their spines worn from late-night reads; a mug I always forgot in the sink, its rim stained with

Cassidy’s POV “That’s the point,” he said, his tone warm. “You’ve had enough structure today—classes, texts, all that noise. This is about letting go. Breathing without an agenda.” The road responded to his words like it understood the assignment, loosening its grip on the city inch by inch, block by block, until the concrete skyline thinned into shadows and then into nothing at all. The towering buildings that had loomed like silent sentinels gave way to sparser suburbs, their manicured lawns glistening under the moonlight, front porches lit by soft yellow bulbs where the occasional late-night smoker puffed clouds into the air. Traffic lights disappeared one by one, their red-amber-green cycles replaced by unbroken stretches of highway. Billboards faded from view—those garish ads for fast food and lawyers promising justice—yielding to dense clusters of trees that lined the roadside like ancient guardians. The air itself felt different—cleaner, cooler, heavier with the scent o

Cassidy’s POV The road dipped and straightened, trees swallowing the stars one by one until the sky narrowed back into strips of darkness between branches, like a curtain slowly drawing closed on a performance we weren't ready to end. The car's interior filled with a softer quiet now—comfortable, settled—like we’d said all the important things under that vast sky and didn’t need to fill the space just to prove something. The engine's hum was a gentle underscore, blending with the occasional whoosh of wind through the still-cracked window, carrying faint hints of pine and earth that clung to us like souvenirs from our escape.Dante reached over at a red light—the first we'd seen in miles, a stark reminder that the city was creeping back—his fingers finding mine without looking, as if drawn by some invisible thread. He didn’t squeeze hard. Just rested there, warm and present, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand, a silent check-in that said more than words could. Stead

Cassidy’s POV Morning arrived quietly, no alarms blaring, no urgency demanding we rise. Sunlight spilled across the bed in pale gold strips through the gaps in the curtains, warming my face until I stirred, blinking against the brightness. For a second, I forgot where I was—disoriented by the unfamiliar peace—then I felt the weight of an arm around my waist, solid and protective, and everything settled into place. Dante's breath was warm against my neck, slow and even, his body curved around mine like a natural shield, our legs still entwined from the night's lingering passion.I smiled before I even fully opened my eyes, savoring the rare luxury of a slow wake-up. The room smelled of us—faint traces of last night's pine-scented air mixed with the musky evidence of our passion, a heady blend of sweat and desire that clung to the sheets like a secret. Under the covers, our naked bodies tangled, skin still flushed from the exertions that had carried us into the early hours, every brush