I twisted in his one-armed grip and smiled up at his ruggedly handsome face. "Because you're not really dead, you asshole. You can only get me to cry when I think maybe you are, and I'd really, really prefer we didn't play that game again. Okay?"
Cass's lips pulled up in a lopsided grin. "I think we can agree on that one."
I blew out my breath in a sigh as I smoothed my fingers over the dressing that covered the side of his head and part of his ear. Then I stroked my palm ever so gently over his shoulder where his left arm was held suspended in a sling.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered for the thousandth time since shooting him.
He gripped my chin with his free hand, bringing my mouth to his for a long, lingering kiss. "Stop apologizing, Red," he murmured against my lips. "You did what you had to."
It still didn't make me feel like any less of an asshole. Our plan had been to shoot him in the chest where he wore a slim Kevlar vest. But when I'd seen where Chase had been positioned and the way the shadows were falling across the room, I'd known he wouldn't have been fooled. Not unless I made it as real as possible. So I'd done exactly what Chase had expected. Two bullets to the chest—one on the vest as planned and one through his shoulder to cause a believable bleeder. Then the headshot. That was the one that still made me feel sick when I thought about it. My hand had already been shaking from shooting Cass twice, and my bullet that was intended for the wine behind him had actually connected.
"I can't believe you watched your own funeral," I told him with a short laugh, changing the subject as I pulled away from his embrace and headed over to the huge flat-screen that now showed an empty chapel.
Cass followed me and picked up the remote to turn the screen off. "Why not? It's half the fun of being dead."
I bit my lip and shook my head. "The Reapers are going to be beyond pissed if they find out you're still alive."
Cass shrugged and threaded his fingers into my hair, twisting the strands and tugging my face back to meet my eyes. "Fuck them," he growled. "You're the only person on this whole damn planet I care about, Red. If that means playing dead for the rest of my damn life, then I'll do it."
My heart thumped against my ribs, and warmth rushed through my veins. "You're crazy, Saint," I whispered.
He gave me a faint smirk. "Crazy in love with you, Angel," he replied, then kissed me until I forgot how cheesy that line had been. Hell, he kissed me until I barely even remembered my name. But the point remained the same. He might be crazy in love with me, but the feeling was mutual. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him, including help fake his death.
My only regret was hiding our plan from Zed and Lucas. That was an oversight I was still trying to mend, but I simply had no good excuse. There was no plausible reason why Cass and I would keep that plan between the two of us... except that we hadn't known we were going through with it until it happened. It'd been a back-up plan at best.
"Is Roach doing what he needs to do?" Cass asked, pulling away to meet my eyes with a concerned frown. This was the part he hated, where he had to lie low at Zed's house and let everyone else continue like he truly was dead.
I nodded. "He is. The small amount of PCP you let through has all been recovered, and the Reapers who'd flipped to Chase's side are already dissolving in a vat of acid up in Canada. He'll do well, I think."
Cass gave a small nod. "And if he doesn't"—he shrugged—"I'll take care of it."
He tugged lightly on my hair, tilting my head back up again. "You look exhausted."
My answering smile was weak. "No shit. You have no idea how hard that was to sit there at your funeral and remember how close I’d come to losing you. Fuck, Saint, if my bullet had landed an inch to the left—"
"It didn't, though." He was firm in cutting me off. "So what do I have to do to make you forget about it?"
Warmth blossomed in my belly, and a sly grin curved my lips. "You're injured and supposed to be on bed rest."
"Fuck that," he grunted. "I don't need bed rest for a shoulder injury." His fingers released my hair and tugged the zipper of my dress down. The fabric slipped easily down my body, pooled at my feet, and left me in a strapless bra and thong set.
"Cass..." I started to say, but he cut off my flimsy protest with a searing hot kiss, stealing the breath from my lungs and filling me with burning desire.
I moaned against his mouth, curving my body against him as he deftly flicked open my bra clasp one handed, then tugged at the side of my thong. The message was clear as day, but after the day I'd had, I'd earned a bit of fun. So I slapped his hand away and danced out of his reach.
"Cassiel Saint, you're recovering from two bullet wounds and a hell of a bruise from the one that hit your vest. You're in no shape to be—" My teasing was cut short with a small shriek as he damn near tackled me onto the bed and flipped me over onto my stomach, and I dissolved into laughter.
"What was that, Angel?" he retorted, slipping his fingers under my thong and straight into my cunt. My laugh quickly shifted to a moan as I arched my back and pushed against his hand. Fucking hell, for only having one hand, he was far from awkward.
When I didn't reply, he stroked a finger over my clit, making me shiver. "That's what I thought. Now take this off before I tear it off with my teeth." He flicked the elastic of my thong, and I gave a small growl of protest. But I was also intuitive enough to recognize the shift in his tone, so I quickly scrambled to do as instructed.
"Cass," I warned, looking at him over my shoulder as he coaxed me onto my knees in the middle of the bed. "If you—"
"I'm fine," he growled back at me, undoing his belt and jeans with deft movements. "Trust me, Red; I'm a big boy."
The timing of that statement as he released his cock from his pants couldn't have been more perfect, and I licked my lips. "Hell yeah, you are."
He chuckled at my lame joke, his fingers wrapped around his inked dick as he met my eyes. "Face against the mattress, Angel. Don't move unless you're told."
Hot arousal filled my veins, and I did as he said, leaving my ass up in the air and on full display for his hungry gaze. "Happy?" I asked, an edge of teasing sass in my voice.
His gaze darkened, and his palm cracked against my ass cheek. "Not yet," he muttered, smoothing his hand over the sting in my flesh as I groaned and tried really hard not to move, per his direction. "But I can't think of a better way to celebrate my own death than this."
He thrust into me, his thick cock filling me up and making me gasp. He gripped one of my hips, pulling me back onto him as he pushed deeper. Then he smacked my ass again, and I yelped.
"Holy shit, Red," he hissed, his fingers kneading the hot skin of my cheek. "Fuck you're tight."
I almost laughed at that comment. He'd literally just smacked my ass so hard I yelped; of fucking course my pussy had reacted like a vice. But he started moving in me before I could get my sassy comment out, and within moments I'd totally forgotten what I was going to say.
Cass's one-armed grip on me was possessive and desperate, but I was finding it hard not to writhe. I wanted his other hand in play so damn badly. I wanted him to play with my clit or finger my ass or pull my fucking hair. Shit. I wanted all of that... all at once.