The heavy oak doors of the Royal Bedchamber slammed shut, sealing them in.
Cassian didn't bother with the lock. He just shoved Elian up against the wood, his mouth crashing down on Elian's with a hunger that felt less like a kiss and more like a demolition.
[System Notification: Safe Zone Entered.][Time Until Death: Paused.][System Warning: Heart Rate Critical. Dopamine Levels: Lethal.]
Elian's brain short-circuited. The last shred of his "Straight Bro" persona tried to pull the emergency brake—'Whoa, buddy, slow down, let's talk about sports'—but his Omega biology cut the brake lines and screamed, 'TAKE IT.'
Cassian's hands were everywhere. He tore the velvet coat—his coat—off Elian's shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. Then he went for the valet uniform. Buttons popped. Fabric ripped.
"You are overdressed," Cassian growled against Elian's throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over the pulse point. "Too many layers. I want skin."
