WIP Wednesday
Cassian week edition - The Other Side Of The Door Chapter 2 (AKA Mustassian)
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Cassian wakes up with his face buried in Nesta’s hair.
For one disorienting, impossible second, his entire body is relaxed and languid. His mind stays soft and half-submerged in dreams, caught in the hazy place between sleep and waking where consequences do not exist yet. The storm is still raging on outside, rain pattering against the roof and wind battering against the walls, but for Cassian the world has narrowed to the warmth of her breath against his chest and the clean, devastating scent of her.
She smells like honeysuckle and sleep-warm skin. Like the vanilla body wash she always claimed was nothing special, even though it used to cling to his sheets for days and ruin his life accordingly.
His nose is full of her.
His lungs are full of her.
His arms, he realizes with a slow, catastrophic dawning, are full of her too.
He opens his eyes to find Nesta draped over him like she has spent the night slowly conquering his side of the bed and then, finding no resistance, decided to annex him too. One of her legs is tangled between his, her knee pressed high against his thigh. Her arm is thrown across his ribs, her hand curled loosely in the fabric of his T-shirt. She’s tucked against his shoulder, her cheek resting on his pec. Her breasts are soft and warm against his side, rising and falling with each quiet breath.
Cassian stares at the ceiling, hoping for some sort of divine intervention. He doesn’t find any, but instead notices a suspicious water stain in the far corner, drops of water falling down onto the floor in a slow drip, drip, drip.
He tries to stay still and not breathe too deeply. He tries not to think about the fact that Nesta feels so goddamn soft and perfect against him, or about the heat of her body sinking into his, or about the way her soft mouth is parted against his shirt, her breaths like a warm caress he can feel through the fabric. He certainly doesn’t think about the last time she woke up in his bed, before things went to hell, with her hair tangled across his pillow and her eyes still sleep-heavy, pretending she hadn’t stayed the night on purpose.
Instead, he thinks about the way her breasts are pressed against him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, barely even a sound. Nesta shifts and every muscle in his body locks. She makes a small noise against his chest, something between a sigh and a soft whine, and nestles closer.
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Read chapter 1 here
