Chapter 25

Cassandra’s slender fingers drifted from the taut planes of Thomas’s sculpted abdomen down toward the hollow of his navel. Each featherlight stroke set his nerves buzzing so fiercely that he felt as though he might fracture from the inside out. Thomas’s body quivered beneath her, a quiet quake that she remained blissfully unaware of. He bit down on his lower lip until he tasted iron—a sharp, copper tang of blood—desperate to still the tremors roiling through him.

Oblivious to his internal tempest, Cassandra pressed her face so close to his skin that she could feel its heat. Her eyes shone with fascination, as though discovering a hidden constellation etched across his torso. She murmured encouragements under her breath—soft, breathy words of admiration—while she explored that familiar terrain for the second phase of her carefully rehearsed “skinship.”

For Thomas, it was torture. Every caress felt like an electrifying probe, igniting embers of longing he’d long denied. He