For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, the air heavy with tension and unspoken desire. His dark eyes widen slightly, drinking me in, something softer flickering across his sharp, chiseled features—as though he's surprised, maybe even a little undone by me.
I'm bare beneath the blanket, trembling, skin flushed, and yet it feels as if every nerve in my body recognizes him before my mind can even process it. A part of me screams that this is madness—that I wanted something simple, safe, human. David. His laughter, his warmth. But that part feels small now, like a whisper against a storm. One look in Grayson's eyes and I know: nothing else will ever quiet this ache.
My chest is tight, air refusing to fill me. This shouldn't be happening. I should push him away, run, lock every door. But I already know if I ran, that pull would drag me back. There's no escaping him—only delaying what feels inevitable.
"Cassidy…" His voice is low, rough, but there's warmth threaded through it, like he's afraid to frighten me.
I can't speak. I can barely breathe.
The blanket does little to shield me from the weight of his gaze, the pull radiating from him. The blanket feels like a shield made of paper, fragile and laughable against him. My arms clutch it tighter, as if cotton could stop teeth, or hunger, or fate. I know better. Deep down, I know better. And even now, as I stand there shivering and vulnerable, the ache in me reminds me of what only he seems able to stir.
He takes a step closer, cautious but unrelenting, as though he doesn't want to spook me.
"I didn't think… you'd be like this," he murmurs, voice thick with awe more than anything else.
I swallow, heart pounding in sync with the heat coiling through me, unable to resist, unable to step back. Each step I don't take backward feels like a choice I'll never reverse. The dread curls warm inside me, tangled with the heat. Want and terror bleed together until I can't tell them apart anymore. I'm drawn to him—every part of me insisting I need to let him in.
I shift aside. My heart hammers as he crosses the threshold, careful as though he's afraid to overwhelm me with his presence. The air feels charged, heat between us sparking like an electric current. Every fiber of me aches to surrender, to unravel the mystery binding us together. I wonder if this is how falling feels, not graceful or romantic, but violent—a plummet I don't have the strength to resist. Maybe I don't even want to.
In this moment, I know—there's no turning back.
Grayson's gaze dips, and a shadow flickers across his expression—something like hurt, not cruelty.
"I can smell him on you," he says quietly, a wince in his tone even as the words come. It isn't accusation, only a reluctant truth.
My stomach twists anyway. I flush, clutching the blanket tighter. "It's… it's just… I wanted—"
"You wanted what?" His eyes search mine, hazel softened by something I can't name. "You think he could ever understand what this is for you?"
He gestures, gentle rather than sharp, toward the ache coiling through me.
I swallow hard, heat creeping up my neck.
"I… I don't know. I just…" My voice falters. "I thought—maybe…"
"You don't have to pretend." His tone is soft now, almost mournful. "No one else could quiet this—this hunger in you. No human, no distraction, no touch but mine. And I wish it weren't so."
My knees nearly give out. The ache tightens, relentless, nearly unbearable, and even with the blanket around me, every nerve feels strung tight, begging for release.
"I… I don't understand," I whisper, trembling. "Why… why me?"
His hand hovers inches from mine, hesitation drawn across his features, restraint hard in the lines of his body.
"Because you're bound to me," he says softly. "Because whatever this is—it chose us. I want you to know, Cassidy… it isn't a prison. Not if we face it together."
The truth strikes me hotter than anything David could offer. The ache flares sharp, snapping my breath into jagged bursts. I can't fight it anymore—not fully. My body is calling to him.
Grayson's eyes darken, still hungry but tender too, carrying something patient, something careful. "Cassidy… you need me."
And in that moment, every rational thought, every memory of safe, ordinary touch, fades into the background. All that's left is the pull—raw, insistent, and him.
I can't think. I can barely breathe. Every nerve in my body is alive with fire, the ache pulsing so violently it drowns out reason. The blanket is useless. My hands shake as I clutch it to my chest, but my body already remembers him in some instinctive way.
Grayson takes a slow step closer, eyes locked on mine, hazel burning with that impossible hunger tempered now with care.
"Cassidy…" His voice is low, velvety, coaxing. "You don't have to fight alone. Let me."
The words alone make my knees weaken. My breath hitches as the heat curls through me, every pulse in my veins screaming his name.
I can feel him—so close, so real, so impossibly dangerous. My hands drop the blanket. I'm naked. Vulnerable. Trembling. And all I can think is how wrong this should be—how exposed, how dangerous. But the ache is merciless, and even as dread coils in my chest, my body leans toward him like it already belongs.
He moves closer, and I can smell him—metallic, intoxicating, sharp and sweet all at once. My stomach clenches, hips shifting almost instinctively toward him. I reach out without thinking, hands pressing to his chest, feeling the hard lines beneath his shirt. His skin is cool yet burning under my touch, a contradiction that sends shivers racing through me.
Grayson's lips crash against mine in a searing kiss—slow at first, teasing, then deep, insistent. His tongue claims my mouth, forbidden and addictive. I moan, arch into him, my body already begging. My hands claw at his shirt, fumbling until he pulls it over his head in one fluid motion. His skin against mine is a shock—cool but burning, making every nerve scream. I press closer, desperate, my nipples grazing his chest. The contact shoots sparks to my core, wetness slicking my thighs. My hands fly to his now bare, sculpted chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles. My nails dig in just enough to elicit a growl from deep in his throat.
His hands are on me now, rough and possessive, gripping my waist, pulling me flush against him. I feel the hardness of his arousal pressing through his pants, and the ache between my thighs intensifies, wetness pooling as my body prepares for him.
"Grayson," I whisper, my voice hoarse, pleading.
His hands skim my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. I shiver, hips rocking forward of their own accord. He dips his head, mouth hot against my throat, my collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat beading on my skin, fangs grazing my skin without breaking it—yet. The threat of it, the tease, makes me gasp, my hips grinding against him in desperate need. I whimper, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. He chuckles darkly against my neck.
His hands slide lower, cupping my ass, lifting me slightly as he backs me against the wall. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, feeling the cool air on my exposed core. He frees himself from his pants with one hand, the other holding me steady. His cock is hard, thick, and impossibly ready, the tip brushing against my slick folds.
He pauses, eyes burning into mine, fangs glinting in the low light.
"Say you want this," he demands, his voice a rumble that vibrates through me.
"I want you," I breathe, and that's all it takes. He thrusts into me in one powerful motion, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that borders on pain but explodes into pure, intoxicating pleasure. I cry out, my nails raking down his back as he begins to move, each thrust deep and primal, claiming me.
Our bodies slam together—frantic, raw, animal. His hands are everywhere, pinching, squeezing, gripping until I gasp. His mouth drags across my collarbone, sucking, biting, leaving fire. The metallic scent of him fills me, sharp and dizzying. Skin on skin. Wet, desperate sounds. Heat building, unbearable.
He thrusts deep, hitting a spot inside that makes my vision blur. Again. Again. I meet him stroke for stroke, nails raking down his back, drawing pinpricks of blood. The copper tang mingles with his scent, heady, intoxicating. My legs tighten around his waist, urging him deeper. It's nothing like with David; that was tender, human. This is raw, otherworldly, a fire that consumes without mercy.
I ride the wave, hips locking to his, the ache twisting tighter, tighter—until it breaks. Pleasure slams into me, brutal and blinding. Terror flickers underneath—because if he can undo me this completely, then I'm already his. I come hard, clenching, screaming his name into the dark. He follows soon after, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his release flooding me in a way that feels eternal, binding.
When he finally takes me in his arms fully, skin against skin, every nerve in my body is alight. I collapse against him afterward, breathless, flushed, trembling, and I realize the truth: David's touch, warmth, sweetness… it was comforting, but this—this fire, this hunger, this tether to Grayson—is something else entirely. Something only he can satisfy.
He holds me close, fangs hidden, restraint in his grip, and yet the pull between us thrums like a living thing. My body is spent, my mind reeling.
We're still standing there, bodies pressed together in the raw quiet after, when Grayson leans down and slips an arm under my legs. My voice catches—somewhere between a sigh of surrender and the shiver of knowing I'm caught in something I can't escape. My arms loop around his neck, instinctive, my cheek pressed against the cool firmness of his shoulder.
"Shhh," he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing my temple. "I've got you."
He carries me down the short hall toward my bedroom, moving with sure, unhurried steps. If this bond is a chain, then I'm not just letting it slip around my wrists—I'm pulling it tight myself. Some stubborn half of me still whispers that I'll regret this, that it's a prison wearing the disguise of a promise. The other half… the other half is already lost.
The door waits open, shadows soft in the dim light. He lowers me to the bed with care, as though placing something breakable, precious.
Then he slides in beside me, drawing the blanket over us both. His arm curls around me and pulls me against him, my head finding its place at his shoulder. The coolness of his body makes the heat still lingering in mine feel almost feverish, grounding me.
His hand strokes slowly through my hair, down the line of my back, until the last tremor leaves me. The ache has eased, finally, but the bond hums steady inside me, an unshakable tether.
"Sleep," he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead, soft enough it almost doesn't feel real. "I'll be right here."
And with his words winding around me like a vow, my eyes close, and I fall under, safe in the circle of his arms.