29

Ophelia

"Ophelia," Cas groans, hands tangled in the back of my hair as I take him deep within my throat.

He's sprawled out on one of the expensive-looking leather sofas in his study, head thrown back and face twisted up in something I almost might call pain, if I didn't know better.

I hum around his cock and he groans again, fingers tightening in my hair as he thrusts into my mouth where I'm kneeling on the rug beside the sofa. He's right on the edge, barely in control of himself. The heady rush of power that runs through me when I glance up from under lowered lashes makes me crave nothing more than to send him tumbling right over that edge.

Picking up the pace a little, I draw him deeper, absolutely merciless as I push him closer and closer.

"Ophelia," he gasps. "I'm going to—"

He moves like he's going to pull out of my mouth, but whatever good manners he thinks he's trying to preserve, fuck that.

Before he can withdraw, I reach up and back and cover both his hands with one of mine, squeezing in a silent command to keep them right where they are. I relax my jaw and let him move me just how he wants, fuck my mouth just how he wants.

Cas gives in to that command without a fight, surrendering completely.

Wild, uncontrolled, he uses me to find his pleasure. He comes with one last buck of his hips, holding me to him as he spills into my mouth, down my throat, a desperate, broken moan echoing in his chest.

"Fuck," he pants, head thrown back and eyes closed.

I slide off of him and take my sweet time torturing him just a little more as he comes down from his orgasm. I explore him with lips and tongue and teeth—the firm muscle of his thighs and the deep vee at his hips, the lean expanse of his abs and chest, lithe and coiled with power. By the time I make it to his throat, he's regained a little of his sanity.

"That was selfish of me," he grumbles. "I should have—"

"Cas," I interrupt, pressing a quick kiss against his lips before standing to search for my clothes. "Stop. You got me off twice in the last twenty minutes. There's nothing selfish about letting me return the favor."

He grumbles a bit more, but doesn't say anything else as I pull on my underwear and jeans. He just watches, eyes still hooded with pleasure.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure how we even ended up here.

Just a half hour ago we were seated on opposite sides of his wide mahogany desk comparing notes on the case, and before I knew it he had me sprawled out on that desk, head between my thighs. A couple of orgasms, a couple of bites, and here we are, sheepishly pulling our clothes on as afternoon sun streams in through the window.

I'm a little quicker than Cas in covering up, and I take the opportunity to shamelessly admire him as he finds his own clothes in a heap near the sofa.

He truly is breathtaking. All long, lean limbs and muscle, every single movement graceful and controlled.

"See something you like?" he asks, lips quirked in amusement when he catches me staring.

I just shake my head, turning back to the scattered pages of notes on the desk. "We won't get anywhere with this if we keep getting distracted."

"We weren't getting anywhere anyway," Cas says, stepping behind me and pressing his bare, muscled torso against my back. I shiver when his lips find the mark at the side of my throat, the one he just reopened a few minutes ago. Healed over, but still tender and pulsing as he presses a kiss there. "And I, for one, find our other activities a much more rewarding use of our time. Since we seem to have hit a dead end."

He's right.

Maybe not about how productive a use of time it might be to trade oral when we've got other work to do, but definitely about being at a dead end.

We've made no progress identifying the other two supposed victims or determining what kind of connection they have with the campaign. However stupid Haverstad might be for cooking up this plan in the first place, he's apparently got people working for him who know how to keep a secret. We've run down every half-baked lead we've been able to come up with, and have nothing to show for it.

It's left us with a lot of time on our hands and not a whole hell of a lot to do with it.

Well.

Other than jumping Cas every single chance I get.

I have never, in my entire life, had sex this good.

And even though I know I shouldn't be so fixated on or distracted by it when there are more important matters at hand, I can't seem to get myself to stop.

To be fair, neither can Cas. Between the two of us, it's like we're trying to set some sort of record for orgasms achieved in a single week.

In his bed, in the shower, in the kitchen and study and against the foyer wall when we could barely keep our hands off each other as we stepped through the front door last night.

Even once in my van, when Cas found me out there grabbing some clothes and got all brooding and bossy with me when he thought I was getting ready to move out of his house.

Fat chance of that.

Another stupid decision, probably, but one I'm not willing to reconsider. Between the massive bed, the fireplaces, the ridiculously luxurious kitchen and bathrooms, I'm absolutely going to enjoy his house as long as I'm welcome in it.

Even if I'm not sure exactly how long that will be.

Cas made it pretty damn clear seven years ago he wasn't interested in a bloodbond. Or, at least, not one with me. Though I suppose it's possible for things to change with time, I can't imagine a few days of good sex are enough to shift that fundamental truth that's been hanging around the back of my mind for the last few days.

There's no future for me and Cas. Not really.

Even disregarding the fact that I'll be back on the road when things are wrapped up—maybe back to Seattle, maybe somewhere warmer to pick up some jobs over the winter—he hasn't given me any sign that he's looking for… more than this.

And I'm alright with that. I am.

I think I am.

More than anything, I don't want to ruin this. If growing up with a family and circle of community who are mostly all going to outlive me by centuries has taught me anything, it's not to dwell on the future, and not to let tomorrow's worry steal today's joy.

So I'm going to savor this. I'm going to savor Cas and this time together and not worry too much about how it's all going to end.

"Enough for today," Cas says, still teasing kisses and little nips against my neck. "We both could use a mental break, and I've got somewhere else to be tonight."

He steps away and starts gathering up papers from where our earlier activities scattered them across the desk and onto the floor.

"Alright," I say, trying to stifle my curiosity and ignore the urge to ask him where he's going.

We've already agreed to be forthcoming with each other about anything that has to do with the case, so I have to trust that whatever it is doesn't concern me. It probably has something to do with whatever other business he gets up to.

I'm guessing that business has to do with dealing art, or jewels, or information, or maybe just anything that's got a steep price attached to it, based on the bits and pieces of information and off-hand comments from Cas I've been able to string together. But he hasn't talked a lot about it, and again, I'm not going to pry.

I'm not going to try to make this thing between us into something it's not.

But Cas has always been annoyingly preceptive. He glances over, eyes narrowing like he can read all that painful curiosity on my face.

"I'm going to a party," he explains. "And while I'm there, I plan on catching up with an old friend who might so happen to have a lead on a set of jewels I'm after. Martin's never one for doing business during any normal hours, so it's my best chance to catch him."

I let out a thoughtful hum and stoop down to gather a paperweight and a handful of pens littering the ground in front of the desk, trying my best not to seem interested.

"You could accompany me, if you wish."

I stand and face him with an arched brow. "You need help with the job?"

Cas chuckles softly and shakes his head. "No, I can't say I need much assistance with this one. Martin's always more than forthcoming with the pieces he's looking to sell and acquire."

"Then why do you need me to come?"

"His gatherings are usually quite entertaining. He considers himself not just a connoisseur of art and antiquities, but of people, and prides himself on collecting a very large and very eclectic circle of friends."

"I'm still a little foggy about what that has to do with me."

Cas lets out a long-suffering sigh, though when he steps around the desk to stand in front of me, buries a hand in my tousled hair and turns my face up to look at him, there's nothing but warm amusement in his voice.

"I'm asking you to come because I think you might enjoy yourself. And because I'd like to have you there."

"Oh." My mind spins for a moment as I mentally reframe the proposition.

It sounds like… a date.

Which, given how precarious everything feels between us, seems like it might be a really stupid idea.

"Yes, oh . And if you'd like to keep it in more professional terms, I'll also have you know that Martin has a predilection for making friends of somewhat ill-repute. So who knows? You may find yourself some new clients."

Okay, so maybe not a date.

But it's still nice of him to invite me, and I'm still curious and bored enough with the case stalled out to accept the invitation.

Even if that means making a decision I might regret, getting closer to him than I should, slipping just a little further into something I can't look at too hard, not right now.

"Alright. I'm in."

Cas severely undersold Martin's party.

Two hours in and I'm having the time of my damn life. I'm sitting with a couple of mountain lion shifters—twins, who are pretty much indecipherable from each other. They seem very, very interested in the work I do, especially as it pertains to an ex-employee of the beauty products company they founded, who may have run off with some trade secrets.

It's not just business tonight, either. I've had at least a dozen different conversations with the rest of Martin's guests. Orcs and demi-fae and nymphs, a handful of shifters and even a minotaur who's currently chatting with someone I'm assuming is a shade, though it's hard to tell as the mass of deep black shadows only rarely configures itself into a human-shaped form.

I've been flying solo for most of the evening, though Cas and I find our way back into each other's orbit every now and again.

Whether he's angling for time with Martin or simply enjoying catching up with other acquaintances, I'm not sure, but as my conversation with the mountain lion shifters ends, I take the brief moment alone to scan the room for him.

Cas seems in his element here, at ease, completely natural in this informal setting with this motley of paranormal folk. Exuding the charm which comes so naturally for him, he's flitted from group to group all evening.

Sitting on one of the stools at the wide oak bar, turned toward the room, I let my eyes wander until they find him again. He's deep in conversation with an orc, laughing at whatever was just said, and my heart does a funny little flip in my chest.

It makes me wonder who the real Cas is.

The charmer who took me up to a rooftop to stare breathlessly down at a city of stars, or the ruthless, commanding vampire who stormed into Philippe's office.

Or maybe he's someone else. Maybe the truth of him is closer to those rare times I've seen him unguarded.

In his bed, after confessing the truth of his past in a bitter, self-flagellating tone that sounded like he was expecting me to flee the room and never turn back. Or back on that roof seven years ago, all the harsh, disappointed lines of his face illuminated by the city below.

I am no means and no end, sweet Ophelia. I am no thing to be used, even for a creature so beautiful as you.

How often in his centuries has Cas been seen, valued, held, and cherished for who he is rather than what he can offer?

And does he still harbor any belief that I see him as some means or some end?

All those tangled thoughts are interrupted by a tingle at my throat, a wave of awareness washing over me as Cas looks my way across the crowded room.

It might just be me and him alone in the moment.

Suspended in our own little world, a slow warmth washes over me as he makes his way to the bar. It flows from my throat, down over my chest, my belly, lower, until he reaches me with a knowing smile.

Cas plants his hands on either side of me, making a cage of his body as he leans in close and brushes his lips over his mark.

"Where are your manners, sweet Ophelia? Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to stare?"

I try—and fail—to mask the hitch in my breath. "Nope. Must have missed that lesson."

He clicks his tongue. "It's even more rude to sit all the way over here, looking at me like that, rather than coming over and claiming what's yours."

There's still a light, provoking edge to his voice, and I know I shouldn't read anything into it. I shouldn't think of him as mine , and I shouldn't take a bit of teasing to be anything it's not.

Cas pulls back slightly and checks his watch, a small frown turning down the corners of his lips.

"I have to leave you for a few minutes," he says, sounding like he really wishes he didn't. "Our host is about to make his customary, fashionably late entrance, and I'd like to get the chance to speak with him before he's had too many glasses of champagne."

"Go," I say, shooing him away lightly. "I'm fine. I'm sure I can make some more new friends."

"I won't be long," he says softly, brushing a kiss against my lips.

"I'll hold you to that," I murmur, then nod toward the side of the room where an utterly unique looking man has just walked in. Slight in stature, with pointed ears and arresting, impossibly blue eyes. Despite that stature, he fills the space with his presence in a flamboyant mauve suit and a larger-than-life laugh as he greets his guests. "Guessing that's Martin?"

Cas follows my gaze and nods.

"Go," I urge him again.

He does, shooting me one last apologetic smile.

It leaves me alone on my barstool for a few more moments, watching him with a strange hollow ache in my chest, before I shake myself out of it and get back to the party.