Cass stirred, half-awake, the edges of her consciousness blurring between the remnants of sleep and the reality settling around her.
She was sore.
Her hands hurt from pulling on the ropes, her core hurt from the pleasure; the way Uriel had pushed her past the point of control, to a place where nothing else existed but him. She'd splintered into so many pieces that, afterwards she'd lay dazed and in tears, unable to form words or thought.
And Uriel had been right there to catch her.
Cass was used to men who left. Men who took their pleasure and found the door the minute they could stand again. But Uriel had taken off his clothes and pulled her to himself. He stroked her hair while murmuring sweet nothings to her in Russian. Then he'd carried her to the bathroom, put her in a bath where he'd meticulously cleaned her body and rubbed salves on her rope burns.
The aftercare grounded them both and gave them a moment to slip out of D/s mode and back into Uriel and Cass mode, meaning banter ensued. It was hard to be snarky when he'd just had his fingers in her and she was naked but she made it work and Uriel matched her snark with his insufferable humor.
Now, she was very tired, very sore and very very ready to fall back asleep.
For a moment, she simply lay there, sinking in the cozy, warm weight of the sheet cocoon she was tucked in. She hadn't realized Uriel wasn't in bed until she heard his voice, low and sharp, slicing through the quiet of the room.
But then, she heard it—his voice, low and sharp, slicing through the quiet of the room.
"I do not tolerate incompetence," he hissed into his phone. "Svoloch'! You better get it done, or that'll be the least of your worries," Uriel growled, his words laced with anger, a harsh edge to his tone. The person on the other end said something and he replied in an angry stream of Russian, the syllables flowing fast and clipped, thick with an accent that made the language sound even more dangerous than it usually did. "Then fix it! Yebat'!"
Cass's eyes fluttered open, her heart racing for a brief second as she processed the sound. Her gaze found him standing near the window, his back to her, the hazy morning light casting his silhouette in sharp relief. He was shirtless, the taut muscles of his back shifting as he held his phone to his ear.
"I do not fucking care. Get it done or both you and Nikandr are gonna mysteriously disappear. Ponyal?"
Uriel turned, his eye catching hers. His expression softened, the storm behind his voice evaporating the moment he realized she was awake.
"The good detective should consider that privileged information," he teased, amusement flickering in his eyes.
Cass blinked sleepily, her body too exhausted to form any coherent thoughts. "Mm… whatever you say…" she mumbled, her voice groggy as she let her eyes slip shut again.
But she knew she would not forget. Uriel could dance around her questions all he wanted but if she was going to be sleeping with him then she was going to figure him out. Just more… discreetly. And— she yawned— after she was fully awake.
Uriel's chuckle was the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her back under.
☼
The second time Cass woke, the room was silent. She stretched slowly, wincing at the soreness in her limbs. Her body felt heavy, sated in a way that was equal parts thrilling and exhausting. Blinking against the bright light streaming through the window, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and glanced around the room.
The bed was still a mess of sheets, her clothes from last night still on top of the drawer Uriel had kept them on. But on the bedside table, a neatly folded set of clothes—a huge, white T-shirt that decidedly smelled like Uriel and a pair of black shorts—sat waiting for her. A note, written in sharp, neat script, was tucked under the clothes.
'You know where the bathroom is. I'll be downstairs.'
Cass's eyes flicked to the door on the left. She hadn't even noticed it the first time she was in the playroom when he'd taken her through the door at the right of the entrance which led to the den. The left, inner door was the bathroom and the thought of a hot shower was far too tempting to pass up.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her muscles protesting as she stood. Her feet padded across the cool floor, and she opened the door to find the same sleek, modern bathroom waiting on the other side. The large mirror above the sink reflected her disheveled state—wild, tangled sex hair, lips slightly swollen, eyes still heavy with sleep.
But it wasn't the exhaustion or the messiness that caught her attention.
It was the marks.
Hickies bloomed dark and purple along her clavicle, the ghostly shadows of Uriel's lips and teeth tracing the skin. Her wrists bore faint red lines from where the ropes had pressed against her as she'd struggled. A sharp pang of heat ran through her as the memories flashed—his hands, his voice, the feeling of being bound, helpless and completely his.
Cass swallowed hard, her reflection staring back at her with wide eyes. Slowly, she traced the faint, red lines on her wrist. Giving herself to Uriel the way she did still felt surreal and she wasn't sure she'd ever shake off the feeling. The tears, his comfort, the physical and mental surrender. It felt so unlike her to let go of her constant need for control and the constant tension that plagued her mind, and had allowed herself to just be in the moment. With him. It was a bit terrifying how much she craved that now, how freeing it felt to relinquish the reins.
She had wanted this. All of it. But seeing the evidence on her skin was a reminder of just how far she'd fallen into this new reality. This was part of her life now. There was no going back.
Shaking her head, she stepped into the shower, the hot water washing away the remnants of sleep and easing the soreness in her muscles.
The bath was a fast one and getting dressed, even faster. By the time she made it downstairs, dressed in the borrowed clothes that smelled faintly of him, her hair still damp from the shower, the scent of pancakes filled the air and she could hear Uriel Serpov humming along to something.
Cass paused in the doorway of the kitchen, her eyes landing on Uriel, who stood shirtless at the stove. His broad back was a canvas of ink, the twin vipers curling up his spine in a deadly dance, their heads resting just below his neck. His muscles flexed as he moved, his shorts slung low on his hips, revealing the sharp V that disappeared beneath the waistband when he turned to pick something from the counter.
She swallowed hard, her mouth going dry as her gaze lingered on the sculpted lines of his abs.
Uriel finally looked up, catching her staring. He slipped his headphones down to his neck and his lips quirked into a knowing smirk as he caught her gaze. "Eyes up here, detective."
Cass blinked, her cheeks flushing. "Shut up," she said simply, refusing to look away. After everything they'd done last night, she wasn't going to play coy now.
He chuckled, setting a plate of pancakes down on the counter. "Eat."
The tension that had gripped her chest eased a little at his casual tone, and she crossed the room to sit at the table. The smell of pancakes was tempting, but she couldn't shake the sight of him out of her mind. The way his tattoos moved with his muscles, the easy confidence in every step he took.
Uriel wasn't anything like he seemed to be. He was a businessman who owned a goth-themed coffee chain but he was also mafia, he was both those things and a model. The normalcy did make it difficult for the average person to pick up on his more criminal activities but that couldn't have been the only reason.
She cut into the pancakes, watching as he started up on another batch. "Why did you become a model?" she asked, watching as Uriel flipped another pancake in the pan.
Uriel glanced over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips. "Maeve."
Cass raised an eyebrow. "Maeve?"
"She dragged me to a photoshoot one day. The model flaked— he'd come down with a cold and insisted against infecting the rest of the crew. Fair. But I'd escorted her to the shoot and she begged me to step in." He shrugged. "I was bored, so I agreed. Big mistake. The next thing I knew, people were calling my offices, wanting to know who this 'mysterious hunk of a man' was."
"I'm pretty sure nobody said that," Cass deadpanned.
Uriel winked. "Close enough."
Cass shook her head, laughing softly. "So, you literally became every woman's wet dream because you were bored?"
Uriel turned to face her, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Good to know I'm your wet dream." He flexed his pecs in time with his words. "But honestly, I can't blame them. After all, I am hot."
Cass groaned, her face flushing as she muttered, "You're insufferable."
Uriel chuckled darkly, his voice dropping lower. "Funny, that's not what you were calling me last night when I had my fingers buried deep in your pizda."
Her cheeks burned at the memory, heat coiling low in her belly as his words sent a rush of desire through her. She glanced away, trying to hide the effect he had on her, but it's not like she could look away for too long. He wasn't lying, he was hot and, standing before her shirtless and perfectly sculpted, it was essentially a moth to a flame situation.
She was the moth. And— with the way his muscles rippled as he moved and the sunlight caught the lines of his tattoos— he was the flame.
He turned back to the stove, flipping a pancake in the skillet with practiced ease and Cass couldn't help but stare at him. The heat inside her hadn't cooled. If anything, it had intensified.
Suddenly, she was hungry for something else entirely.
She stood, walking toward him slowly, her fingers twitching with anticipation. He didn't notice her approach, too focused on the pancakes in front of him. But when she reached him, her hands slipped around his waist, her fingers sliding down to the waistband of his shorts.
Uriel tensed, his breath hitching as her hand brushed against him. "Cassandra," he husked, his voice low, dangerous. "What are you doing?"
Cass leaned in, pressing her body against his back. "I was hoping it'd be obvious by now," she murmured, her voice low and teasing.
Uriel's jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the spatula. "I didn't give you permission to touch me."
She felt a drop of pre-cum leak from his tip and she collected it, using it as lubricant to stroke him more comfortably as she fondled his balls with her left hand.
Uriel groaned, a low, hungry sound erupting from the back of his throat and Cass's lips curled into a smile. "But you're not telling me to stop."
Uriel cursed lowly in Russian and shut off the cooker. His muscles coiled tight with tension. "If you're going to get me off," he growled, "then do it properly."
With that, he grabbed her wrist and pulled his shorts down, freeing his cock completely of the material. His grip was firm and possessive as he began to thrust against her hand, his body hard and hot under her touch, his breathing roughening with each stroke.
Cass bit her lip, her own arousal building as she felt his control slipping. Uriel hadn't allowed her to touch him last night, he hadn't even taken off his clothes. He'd focused on her entirely but that didn't mean she didn't think about how it'd feel to watch him cave— how it'd feel to bring hardass, tough as nails, insufferable Uriel-fucking-Serpov to his knees with her touch. Well, now she knew. Short answer; it was hot. Long answer; it was hot as hell.
As her hand moved over him, she felt a little bit drunk on power. She could see why Uriel enjoyed being a dom. It was thrilling, watching someone tense, hearing their rough groan that slipped from their lips. Just like she was watching him tense and savoring his rough groans. For all his sharp commands and direct orders, Uriel was letting her have this moment, letting her do to him what he'd done to her. He'd welcomed her submission, pulled it from her like a personal object he'd set out to retrieve but this— this somehow balanced it out. It was a quiet understanding that even when she was on her knees, there were moments where she could bring him to his. The thought made her heady.
For all the control he wielded, there was something intoxicating about watching him lose it.
Uriel's growls grew louder, his hand gripping her wrist tighter as he roughly fucked her hand, his thrusts becoming more erratic with each stroke. Cass matched his pace as best as he could. It didn't matter if her wrists hurt, it didn't matter if the grip he had on her wrist would probably leave another mark alongside the rope burns; she was going to make Uriel Serpov shake.
"Yebat', Malen'kiy volk, I'm close," Uriel ground out.
Cass smirked, "Then come for me."
The chance to say that was too good to pass up.
With a guttural groan, he came, his hot release coating her fingers.
Cass pulled her hand free slowly, waiting for him to turn around to bring it to her lips. Without breaking eye contact, she licked her fingers clean, her tongue tracing over each one slowly, deliberately.
Uriel's breath was still coming in short gasps, his good eye dark and intense as he watched her. He looked dazed, like she'd just knocked the breath out of him.
"Thanks for breakfast," Cass said sultrily, her voice low and teasing as she wiped her hand on the back of his shorts, dragging her hands over his ass. "But I've got to get to work."
And with that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Uriel standing there, his gaze burning into her back as she disappeared through the door.