CHAPTER 18

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Cassian

I wake slowly, my mind clawing through the haze of sleep, only to be greeted by...restraints? My hands are tied—tied—together above my head with what feels like a silky scarf. I tug instinctively, confusion snapping me fully awake. The room is dim, shadows stretching across the walls from the glow of the street lights outside.

Then I see her.

Zara.

She's perched above me, her dark hair falling around her face like an amazing thundercloud, violet highlights catching the faint light. The faint light casts shadows and I can't clearly see her face, making her more mysterious than she usually is. It's quite appealing really. Her hands are braced on my chest, her eyes locked on mine, and the look she gives me is enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

"Morning, my Phoenix," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. "Or should I say extremely early morning?"

"What the—Zara?" My voice comes out rough and hoarse, and I tug at the bindings again, my body jolting with adrenaline and something else. Something like lust. Her position isn't helping either.

"Shh," she says, leaning closer until her lips are just a breath away from mine. "You've been a very bad boy, haven't you?"

I blink up at her, completely lost. Bad boy? What the hell is she—?

Then she starts to move. A slow grind of her hips against mine, and my brain short-circuits. My thoughts scatter, replaced by a visceral heat that floods my body. I don't know whether to laugh, yell, or beg, but every nerve ending in my body is on fire, tuned to her.

"Zara..." Her name leaves my lips like a plea, but she presses a finger against my mouth, silencing me.

"Not a word," she says, her tone sharper now, commanding. "You don't get to talk, my Phoenix. Not until I'm done with you."

Her hips rock against mine again, and my hands instinctively flex against the restraints. I've never felt this kind of heat before—this completely overwhelming mix of desire and frustration. She's in control, and as much as it's driving me insane, I can't deny the thrill racing through me.

"Valentine," she says suddenly, her voice laced with something darker, "she thinks she can steal what's mine." My brow furrows, confusion breaking through the haze that's pounding through me. "Valentine?" I manage, my voice muffled. Her glare is enough to silence me again, but the jealousy burning in her eyes makes my chest tighten– both in pleasure and agony. She's serious. This isn't just playful teasing—this is Zara staking her claim in the only way she knows how. I am torn between feeling triumphant that her feelings for me are so strong that she got jealous like this and agony since she thinks I would even think of another person except for her. Heck, if only she would let me explain... As I open my mouth to defend myself, she quickly swoops down and covers my mouth with hers.

"You're mine, Cassian," she whispers, freeing my mouth and moving her lips to brush against my ear. "Every fucking inch of you. Mine to play with and mine to fuck. Nobody else can have you."

Her words send a shiver down my spine, and I groan and pant trying to focus on her and get her to understand that she is my only one and I do belong only to her. But her hips started drawing tight little figure eights concentrated on one particular spot and the feel of her thighs over mine, the satin of the pyjamas, and how hot my girl looks right now, I quickly lose myself completely, the room dissolving into heat and shadows and the intoxicating feel of her.

.

.

.

The next day, Zara acts like nothing happened. She's calm, composed, and completely focused on the project, while I... I can barely look at her without my mind flashing back to last night. Her hands on me, her body against mine—it's all I can think about.

          

We're sitting side by side, reviewing the previous set of photos we've taken. Zara's pointing out lighting adjustments and color corrections, but I can't focus. Not when the faint scent of her shampoo—something citrusy and fresh—fills the air around us.

"You're quiet today," she says, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye.

I clear my throat, forcing a smile. "Just tired."

Her lips twitch, like she knows I'm lying. "Uh-huh. Sure, my Phoenix."

Her hand brushes mine as she reaches for the mouse, and my breath catches. It's nothing—just a small, accidental touch—but it's enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. I swear she notices because her eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze for just a moment too long before she turns back to the screen.

I mentally groan. That look just brought back memories that are completely not work appropriate. Damn her.

Later that evening, we gathered near the basketball court for yet another impromptu session. We had quite a few of these lately. While most of us got a hang of the basics, we still suck compared to her. At this point she feels like an NBA player or something to all of us. She still hates teaching us, but she is trying. And I am surprised she is even willing to do that in the first place. She is still an enigma to me. And there we go again. Memories of last night flooded my mind for the millionth time today and I freak out at the thought of getting a hard-on again at an inappropriate time.

Zara steps onto the court, brimming full of confidence. "Alright, listen up!" Zara claps her hands, the ball tucked under one arm. "Today, we're stepping it up. I'll show you how to improve your form on layups and quick pivots. You've played a few times already, so no excuses. Let's get serious." Aarya groans, wiping her forehead dramatically. "Can't we just stick to dribbling? My layup last time almost turned into a somersault."

"That's because you don't bend your knees enough," Zara says, rolling her eyes. "And your balance fucking sucks. Watch." Zara takes two precise steps forward and leaps gracefully, the ball rolling off her fingers as it arcs into the hoop with a clean swish. The ease with which she moves has everyone staring in awe.

"See? Easy." She smirks, catching the ball as it bounces back. "Now, it's your turn. Start with your dominant side." She moves through the group, correcting postures and pointing out flaws. Her hands lightly adjust Aarya's grip, guide Adrian's pivot– I am totally not jealous of that! , and—finally—she reaches me.

"Alright pretty boy," she says, tossing me the ball. "Show me what you've got." I dribble once, then twice, trying to mimic her smooth movements. I take the two steps and jump, but the ball hits the rim and bounces off. "Not bad," Zara says, stepping closer. "But your angle's off. Here—bend your knees more, and aim higher. Follow through with your wrist." She steps behind me, her hands lightly brushing my arms as she adjusts my posture. Her breath tickles the back of my neck, and my pulse quickens.

"You're holding the ball too stiffly," she murmurs, her voice low, making the entire moment quite intimate. Her breath brushes past my ear and I suppress a shiver. Geez, memory alert! My junior stood at full mast again. There goes my hard work of trying to keep him down. "Relax. Feel it. Like this." Her hands cover mine, guiding the motion as she helps me aim. The warmth of her touch, the faint brush of her chest against my back—it's all too much, and I miss the shot entirely.

"Focus, dumbass," she says, her tone sharper now, but there's a slight teasing lilt to her voice. "Hard to focus with you breathing down my neck," I mutter, glancing back at her. Her eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. There's something electric in the air, something only we can feel.

"Try harder," she says, her lips curving into a smirk as she steps away.

Seriously. Damn her. I wanna go die. Die after a thousand cold showers tonight preferably. Or even right now. I don't mind. This is too much torture of little old me.

For the next hour, it's a whirlwind of movement, laughter, and tension. Every time Zara brushes past me, her shoulder bumping mine or her fingers grazing my arm, it's like an electric current zipping through me. At one point, she's explaining the finer points of a defensive strategy to Aarya, her voice low and focused. I should be listening—I am listening—but all I can focus on is the way her lips move, the curve of her jaw, the way her hair clings to her damp skin.

"Got it?" she asks, turning to me suddenly.

"Yeah," I say, even though I have no idea what she just said.

Her eyes narrow, but there's a hint of amusement in them. "You're fucking hopeless right now, pretty boy. You sure you ok?" the last bit comes out with a knowing look in her eyes. Seriously. Why would she ask it if she already knows?! Isn't this too unfair for me. I just wish I could grab her by her waist, grip the back of her neck and kiss her to make this urge fade. I want to grab her ass cheek in one hand while my other hand goes down her– there I go a-freaking-gain!

"Hopelessly distracted," I mutter, and the words slip out before I can stop them.

Zara freezes for half a second, her eyes locking on mine. Then, just as quickly, she looks away, tossing the ball back to Aarya. "Keep practicing," she says, her tone brisk, but I catch the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. She brushes past me and whispers, " Good, the only one who can distract you is me. Keep getting distracted by me. You have my complete permission to do so."

Ugh. Great. Now my life just got a little bit harder. Why? Because I have permission to fantasise about my dream girl all I want. Seems like I have to prepare a cold bath full of ice in it since a shower won't cut it any longer. But never have I so eagerly looked forward to the night falling.

Author's Note:

Final Draft: 1715 words

feedback guys? 

less spicy? enough amount of spice for the first time? expected more?

 I am trying to have like a build up but I need feedback so I can try accommodating you guys if it goes with my plot line obvio... but yeah! do leave comments and votes you guys! it's kinda a satisfaction and also a encouragement that I am not a horrible writer... so yeah... 

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