When Love Finds Its Way Back (Cassienne and Dreston) novel Chapter 124

Chapter One Hundred And Twenty–Four: I Won’t Climb On Top Of You.

The kiss ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Cassienne gasped softly, her chest rising and falling unevenly as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

The warmth of Dreston’s lips still stayed on hers, and it was firm, steady, unexpectedly tender. When he pulled away, he did not step back immediately. His gray eyes lingered on her face, searching, measuring, soft in a way she had rarely seen before.

Then a slow smile curved his lips.

“Come,” he said quietly, his voice low and warm. “Let me dry your hair before we go to bed.”

For a second, she simply stared at him. Let him dry her hair? Five years of marriage and he had never done something this simple. Something domestic, or intimate. Yet now… it felt natural.

He guided her gently toward the vanity, his hand barely touching her back. Cassienne sat before the mirror without protest, her reflection staring back at her with flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips. She looked different tonight, she looked Softer and vulnerable.

Dreston moved behind her. She watched him in the mirror as he retrieved the hair dryer, plugged it into the socket, and switched it on. The low hum filled the room, not loud, just steady.

Then warm air touched her scalp. And she closed her eyes.

His fingers moved through her damp hair carefully, lifting sections, separating strands so the heat would reach evenly. He was surprisingly gentle. No impatience. No carelessness. His knuckles brushed against the nape of her neck, and she felt a tiny shiver travel down her spine.

Why does this feel so… intimate? It was only hair. But it wasn’t.

It was the quiet attention. The care. The deliberate effort.

She watched him again in the mirror. His expression was focused, almost protective. Every time his fingers brushed her ear or the side of her neck, her breath caught.

Her heart beat faster. This is dangerous. Because this was the kind of tenderness she had craved for

years.

When her hair began to dry, he slowed the dryer, using his fingers to guide the strands so they would fall properly. Once he switched it off, silence filled the room again.

He reached for a comb. Cassienne’s eyes widened slightly. He’s really doing this.

He combed through her hair carefully, starting from the ends and working upward so it wouldn’t tug. When he finished, her long black hair fell down her back in soft waves.

Then, he met her gaze in the mirror, and smiled.

“You look beautiful even without any makeup on.”

ur Won’t Climb On Top Of You

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The words were simple. But they struck her harder than she expected. Her throat tightened.

She had spent so many years trying to look perfect in front of him. Trying to be enough. Trying to earn a glance like the one he was giving her now.

And now he says this so easily?

She looked away quickly, afraid he might see how much those words affected her.

“Don’t say things like that,” she murmured, but there was no real resistance in her tone.

“Why?” he asked softly.

She didn’t answer.

Because if she did, she might tell him the truth, that she had waited five years to hear something like that.

Now, he stepped back, giving her space. “Let’s sleep,” he said.

They moved toward the bed together. Dreston reached for the extra pillows again, intending to rebuild the familiar barrier between them.

But Cassienne’s hand shot out instinctively, stopping him.

“There’s no need,” she said quietly.

He paused.

She avoided his eyes. “What if my mother walks in? If she sees a barricade between us, she’ll start asking questions.” 1

A small silence settled between them. Then she added awkwardly, “I promise I won’t climb on top of you again.”

For a split second, Dreston stared at her. Then he laughed. A real laugh that was deep and warm.

Cassienne couldn’t help it. She laughed too. And the tension eased.

“Good,” he said lightly. “Because I don’t think I would survive that twice.”

Her cheeks burned.

They slipped under the covers, lying on their sides, facing each other now. No pillow wall. Just a small space between them.

Their faces were close.

The dim bedside lamp cast a soft golden glow across her features. He could see every delicate detail, the curve of her nose, the faint shadow of her lashes, the way her lips parted slightly when she breathed.

“This is going to take practice,” she whispered.

Twenty–four Won’t Climb On Top Of You

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“It will,” he agreed.

They talked quietly about practical things, how they would behave in front of her mother, how they would leave for the office together, how they would return home together. What stories to maintain. What not to mention.

“We’ll handle it,” Dreston said calmly. “Just act naturally.”

She almost laughed at that.

Naturally? Nothing about this felt natural. Yet somehow… it did. For a moment, silence returned. Their eyes remained locked.

Memories threatened to rise–memories of long dinners alone, of quiet tears, of standing outside this very bedroom door wondering if she would ever be welcomed inside.

She pushed it away. Not tonight. Not when things feel… different.

She yawned softly. The long day had finally caught up with her.

“I’m tired,” she murmured.

He nodded.

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