Coming right off the rooftop, the air around them still electric, Sienna tugged at her hand gently, needing distance, needing air. But Cassian didn't let go.
His thumb made one last slow pass over her knuckles, then released her hand only to press it against the small of her back as he guided her toward the elevator.
The ride down was silent.
Too silent.
Her heart was still beating in her throat. She could still feel his fingers on hers. Still see the way he looked at her while playing.
"Let's go home," she muttered.
Cassian just smirked and opened the car door for her.
Once inside, the quiet cocoon of leather and dark tinted glass did nothing to cool her down. He started the engine, backed out, and headed toward her apartment without needing to ask for directions. Of course he knew. Of course he remembered.
And then his hand landed on her knee.
Just—there. Casual. Possessive.
Her brain stuttered.
Her thighs clenched.
He didn't look at her. Just kept driving like it was nothing.
Except his thumb moved. Just a little. A slow circle on her skin that shot straight up her spine.
"You're tense," he said.
She scoffed, looking out the window. "I wonder why."
He hummed. "You know what I can do with these hands. You've seen what I can do."
Her breath caught.
"Cassian," she warned, voice shaky.
He smirked but didn't push—at least not with words. His fingers slid an inch higher.
Her skirt rode up slightly with the motion.
"Stop," she whispered, weak.
"You could just say what you want, Sienna."
"I want to live. We're going to crash."
He chuckled, dark and amused, but let his hand slide down—only to rest the back of it against her inner thigh, knuckles brushing heat.
"I won't do anything," he said, voice rough. "Not unless you beg."
Her whole body flushed. She was going to combust. Right there in that car.
She didn't push him away this time. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Every nerve in her body was on fire.
His hand didn't move, but the weight of it… the heat… the knowledge of what those fingers could do…
She bit her lip.
And he knew.
Of course he knew.
Her panties were soaked.
She was practically grinding against the seat without meaning to. And when she looked over—finally—his jaw was tight, one hand gripping the wheel, the other still burning a mark into her skin.
Then he hit the brakes a little too sharply at a red light, and the jolt sent his fingers sliding—pressing firmly, perfectly, against her clit through the soaked fabric of her panties.
She gasped. Actually moaned. The sound breaking out of her throat, hot and helpless.
Her entire body clenched. Her knees pressed tighter, grinding into his hand without permission.
She was about to tell him to pull over when he said, "We're here."
She blinked.
Looked around.
And sure enough, it was her street.
"What—how—"
He laughed. "You looked like you were about to combust. I didn't want your neighbors to see you come apart in the passenger seat."
She was still trying to form a reply when he parked, unbuckled, and leaned over—pulling her into his lap in one fluid movement.
She yelped. "Cassian—"
But his mouth was on hers before she could finish.
A kiss. A real kiss.
Hot. Open-mouthed. Tongue. Teeth. Desperation.
She moaned into it, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. His mouth was wild against hers—needy, breathless, devouring. His hands gripped her ass firmly, spreading her over the hard bulge beneath her, grinding her down with maddening precision. Every movement he guided sent sparks ricocheting through her core.
"Fuck—Sienna," he groaned into her neck, voice strained and deep. "You're gonna kill me."
She was panting now, frantic, her forehead pressed against his as she rocked harder. His hands slid up under her skirt, kneading her through the thin lace of her panties, finding the wet spot he'd created and pressing into it.
"Cassian—God—" she whimpered, her voice cracking with need.
"That's it," he growled, fingers tightening around her hips. "Ride me. Use me. Come for me."
She could feel every pulse of blood in her body—hot, hungry, spiraling. She wasn't even aware of what she was saying anymore, only that her body was wound so tight she was on the edge of breaking.
He angled his hips just right, grinding up into her as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of her panties and found her clit again—bare, slick, aching.
And that was all it took.
She shattered—came with a cry that got muffled against his neck, her nails digging into his shoulder as her body spasmed, thighs trembling around him.
It wasn't gentle.
It was raw. Messy. Helpless.
And when it finally passed, she slumped against him, boneless and dazed.
Cassian was breathing hard, his erection still pressed against her, his arms locked around her like he was holding onto his own sanity.
He was shaking.
Still hard.
"Can I come inside?" he asked, breathless.
She slid off his lap slowly, legs barely steady.
"No."
He groaned, watching her walk to the door with nothing but hunger and regret in his eyes, a very real problem still straining his pants.
"Goodnight, Cassian."
"Evil woman," he muttered as she disappeared inside.
And she smiled.