I got the job.
It wasn't glamorous. Wasn't powerful. Didn't come with a badge or a corner office or even much of a paycheck.
But it was mine.
Some remote gig writing ad copy for boutique brands—clean fonts, overpriced candles, minimalist skincare serums with wildflower names. It paid enough. Expected little. And most importantly, it reminded me that my brain still worked for something other than surviving sex marathons with an immortal goddess.
Tiffany was the first person I told.
I picked her up from school like always—2PM on the dot, AMG purring like sin under my hands. She slid into the passenger seat, dropped her bag with a huff, and gave me a once-over like she could smell a secret.
"You're grinning again," she said.
"I got the job," I replied, unable to fight the smile.
Tiff blinked. "Wait—like, arealjob?"
"As opposed to a fake one, yeah."
Her face split into a grin. "Holy shit, Cassian! You're officially employable!"
"I know. I'm as shocked as you are."
We celebrated the only way we knew how:ice cream.
A tiny shop just outside the old part of town, tucked between a used bookstore and a cat café. Tiffany ordered some monstrous triple-scoop situation that dripped down her hand before we even made it to a table. I got salted caramel and pretended I wasn't dying from hownormalthis all felt.
No magic. No mansion. Just sunlight, sugar, and a seventeen-year-old who kept pretending she didn't like me as much as she did.
She toasted her cone to mine. "Toresponsibleadulthood," she said.
"Cheers," I muttered, licking a drip off my thumb.
By the time we got home, the sun was beginning to slide low. The villa looked golden—honeyed light spilling across the stone, shadows stretching long through the windows. The villa opened the door before we reached it. Tiff disappeared upstairs, probably to finish homework she wasn't going to do.
And me? I had other plans in mind.
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I didn't knock.
Didn't need to.
The house had already announced me with warm lights and opened doors, its walls humming faint approval as I passed through. Maybe it knew. Maybe it was proud.
Or maybe it was just as hungry as she was.
I found her in the east wing, where sunlight never touched, where velvet ruled and the air always smelled like jasmine and dusk and the faintest trace of blood.
Seraphine lay sprawled across her chaise like temptation incarnate—wrapped in a crimson silk robe that barely clung to her shoulders, legs folded beneath her, a glass of something red cupped loosely in one hand.
She looked up and smiled as I entered, not the dangerous one she wore like a weapon.
The other one...The one that hit me like a warm hand on a cold day.
"I got it," I said, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. "The job."
Her expression didn't change at first—just a slow blink, a small tilt of her head—but her energy shifted. Her eyes sharpened, lips parting slightly like she was seeing something new.
"Did you now?" she said softly.
I nodded, still breathless from how fast I'd driven back. "Graphic designer gig. Freelance, remote. Steady work. Nothing too big, but... it's mine."
She set her glass aside and stood with the kind of grace that made time feel irrelevant.
Like she had all of it.
Like shewasall of it.
"You're proud of yourself," she said.
I nodded again, this time slower. "Yeah. I think I am."
She walked toward me slowly, feet bare on the warm stone floor. Her robe shifted with every step, hinting at curves I'd already memorized and still wasn't ready for. My heart beat faster, my palms itched to touch her, to ground myself against her skin.
She stopped in front of me, reached up, and cupped my jaw.
"You should be," she murmured, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. "Now you've found something to hold on to."
"I've got a few things," I said, eyes locked on hers.
That earned me the dangerous smile.
"Come," she said, voice a low, beckoning whisper. "Let me congratulate you properly."
I didn't argue.
She led me backward, toward her bed—this impossibly large thing made of sins and silk, black velvet sheets rumpled like they remembered every wicked thing we'd done in them.
She kissed me slow at first—lazy, molten, the kind of kiss that tasted like dessert and promise. I groaned into her mouth as her hands slid beneath my shirt, pushing it up and over my head.
"Still warm from the sun," she whispered, dragging her tongue along my collarbone.
I kissed her harder, desperate now, hands skimming beneath her robe, finding bare skin and nothing else.
Of course she hadn't worn anything under it.
She let it fall off her shoulders and puddle to the floor, and then she was naked in front of me—goddess, monster, miracle.
"I want to taste you," I rasped, falling to my knees before she could reply.
She gasped when my mouth met the soft inside of her thigh, a breathless, involuntary sound that went straight to my spine. Her skin was warm—fever-warm—like she burned for this, for me, and I kissed the spot again, slower this time, dragging my tongue along her pulse until I felt it jump.
Her legs parted on instinct.
Willing.
Welcoming.
And mine.
I gripped her thighs with both hands, thumbs brushing the curve where flesh met heat. She was already slick, already trembling, her breath catching as I mouthed higher, teeth grazing, tongue teasing, giving her everything but where she needed it.
"Don't tease," she breathed, voice already wrecked, hips twitching toward my mouth.
But Iwasteasing. Reverently. Worshipfully. This wasn't hunger—it wasdevotion. She opened like a secret for me, like something sacred, and I kissed her like one, tongue flicking out to taste her slowly.
She gasped again, louder this time, one hand tangling in my hair like a lifeline. The other clawed into the sheets behind her as she fell back onto the bed, head thrown back, spine arched like her body couldn't decide whether to escape or offer more.
I buried my mouth between her thighs andstayedthere.
Licking. Lapping. Tongue circling her clit in slow, agonizing patterns that made her writhe and curse and pant my name like it was prayer and profanity all at once. Her hips rolled against my face, greedy and desperate, and I let her ride it. Let her use me. Let her fall apart.
"Cassian—" she gasped, voice cracking, thighs clamping around my head.
I moaned into her, the vibration making her jolt, her nails digging into my scalp hard enough to sting.
She was so close I could feel it.
Tight and pulsing.
On the edge of something sharp and sweet.
I sucked her clit gently, flicking my tongue just right—and that was it.
Shescreamed.
The sound ripped out of her like something divine had been torn loose. Her whole body bowed, thighs trembling, hips bucking against my mouth as she shattered around me. Her orgasm hit like a wave—long, hard, unrelenting—her fingers yanking at my hair as if she needed something to anchor her to this world.
I didn't stop.
I licked her through it, soft and slow now, drawing every last tremor from her until she collapsed back into the mattress, breath ragged, lips parted, sweat glistening across her chest like dew.
She looked like sin.
Likesalvation.
When I finally rose again, she was panting—eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her forehead. Wrecked. Glowing. Perfect.
Her chest rose and fell in heavy, uneven waves, and her thighs still twitched beneath my hands.
She blinked up at me like I was both a blessing and a curse. Then her lips curled, lazy and satisfied.
And I—
I wasn't sure I'd ever wanted someone more than I did in that moment.
"I'm not done," she whispered, voice low, dark with promise.
"Neither am I," I rasped.
I climbed onto the bed, muscles still trembling from the last round, caging her body with mine. Her warmth pulled me in like gravity—inescapable. I wanted to sink into her and never come up for air.
But she had other plans.
"Let me ride you," she breathed, eyes glowing, already pushing at my chest with slow, insistent pressure.
I let her.
Didn't resist as she rolled me onto my back like she already owned the moment—because she did.
Her thighs bracketed my hips, heat radiating off her skin, her eyes locked on mine as she took me in hand andsank down.
One slow, unholy glide.
I choked on air. My back arched. My fingers fisted in the sheets.
Holy. Fuck.
She was molten. Tight.Soaked. Her body gripped me like it had been made to—like it remembered me, craved me,neededme. She didn't stop until I was buried in her to the hilt, and even then, she sat there for a second—just pulsing around me, clenching like a vice.
Her head fell back. A moan escaped her lips, low and broken.
She started to move.
Slow. Intentional. Hips rolling in a rhythm that stole my breath—like she was dancing, like every stroke was a fucking spell. I couldn't think. Couldn't speak. Justfelt.
Her hands ran over my chest, my shoulders, fingers dragging over sweat-slick skin like she was memorizing me in pieces. My own hands gripped her—her thighs, her hips, her waist. Every curve I could get my hands on.
And she—god, sherodeme.
Not like a girl trying to please. Like a womanclaiming. Each grind, each roll, was a command written in sweat and moans.
"You love when I do this," she murmured, voice all sin, her nails raking down my chest.
I groaned, bucking up into her, trying to match her pace—but she slammed me back down with her hips, her eyes dark with power. "Stay."
Fuck. She owned me. And I let her. Let her take it all—my control, my mind, my fucking soul—and turn it into ash. It's hers, Fuck it's hers....
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing my chest, her lips ghosting over mine like a dare. "Youlovewhen I break you."
I gasped, already unraveling. "I live for it."
She smiled like the wicked thing she was, thenmoved faster—grinding down in brutal, perfect rhythm, her thighs trembling against mine, hair falling in wild waves across her face as she fucked me like it was the last thing she'd ever do.
Slapping skin. Gasps. Moans. My name a broken thing on her tongue.
Every thrust took me closer.
Every sound she made ruined me.
I was so close it hurt.
And then—
I came with a sound that wasn't even human, my whole body bowing, locking up beneath her. I spilled into her like she'd torn it from me, like it was hers all along.
She followed a second later.
Her mouth opened in a silent cry, her body shuddering violently, hands gripping my shoulders like she might fall through the bed if she didn't hold on. Her walls fluttered around me, milking every last drop as she collapsed onto my chest, shaking, gasping, heart hammering against mine.
I wrapped my arms around her. Tight. Possessive.