She's tasked with styling him for his cover shoot...and he doesn't take no for an answer.
❧ 𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌 is a fresh-faced, twenty-four-year-old small-town girl just trying to make it in the Big Apple as a fashion stylist. With her...
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❦
𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐕𝐄
🎵 "Gangsta"―Kehlani
I took a sharp breath in as Cassian set the spatula down, closing the distance between us.
He gently pressed on my hips without looking at me, causing me to walk backward and hit the island. "More of me?" he wondered in a deep rasp, making goosebumps on my skin.
"I was in the moment, Cassian," I lied, totally chickening out.
He shook his head, pulling my chin up with one finger. "But it wasn't a lie, was it?" he asked arrogantly, demanding an answer, his fierce eyes never straying away from mine.
I couldn't answer, so I just licked my lips.
He didn't like that because he hovered his face down toward my neck, fanning his Moscato breath across my ear. "Which part of me do you want more of, Maeve?"
"Cassian," I whispered breathlessly. "Please," I begged, wanting him to back away and take the attention off me.
He reached his hand down to the inside of my thigh, making me gasp lightly. "Tell me to stop," he gritted huskily, slowly cascading his hand upward, raising it millimeter by millimeter. "Tell me to stop, Maeve," he begged, his breath shaky.
I didn't want him to; I wanted to feel his hands on me.
We were breathing heavily as his hand was about to meet my clothed core. Right when he was about to caress me, I murmured, "Stop."
He took his hand away, letting out a hefty breath. "Fuck, Bella," he sighed heavily, shaking his head.
I looked over at the stove to see the noodles for the baked ziti boiling over, making me gasp. "Cassian, the pasta!" I urged, making him snap out of his daydream, turn off the burner, and move the pot away.
We both slightly chuckled, but I could tell he was still tense.
Did I lead him on that much?
He prepared the dish after preheating the oven. I watched as he was so meticulous with his hands, putting it together perfectly.
Oh, those hands. Those strong, veiny, sexy hands.
As he opened the oven door to place the dish in, I still felt like there was a bit of tension between us. "Cassian, it's not that I don't trust you, it's just―"
"But you don't," he bit back as he shut the oven, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel he'd been using.
"I―"
He faced me, saying, "Maeve, I was very open and honest about my past, and of course, I am clean and not like that anymore, anyway,but, baby...you can't be leading me on like that and giving me false hopes."