His fingers whispered across my cheek, drugging me better than any other substance. "I want to own every inch of you."
His mouth crashed against mine.
My God, what’s happening to me?
My lips swelled beneath his, aching to be devoured. His tongue pressed hard and fast, massaging with slippery heat. Gone was the taste of watermelon, replaced with pure lust.
I melted in his arms, giving in completely. I wanted him naked. I wanted to be naked. I wanted to revel in being naughty just once.
Grabbing his gaping dressing gown, I panted, "Fuck me, Cas Smith. Throw me on the bed and—"
The door knocked, dispersing the magic weaving between us, slamming me back to reality.
Chapter 4
I LOCKED MYSELF in the bathroom.
A mirror image of my hotel room, the space was completely untouched save for the body wash bottle left on the rim of the over bath shower.
Cas chuckled through the door. "If you’re running from me, you know you can’t hide—especially after saying ‘fuck me, Cas’."
Why do I let him speak to me like that?
And why do I secretly love it?
I panted, grateful for some space before I combusted. Every inch of me burned. "I’m not afraid of you," I whispered under my breath, staring at myself in the mirror. Oh, God. I looked like I’d been kissed within an inch of sanity—my expression was completely glazed with lust.
Saff, you look demented.
And wild.
Rubbing my hands over my face, I wished I still wore the makeup the movie producers had put on me. The fine micro minerals that made my cheekbones look like sculptured blades, the soft as silk foundation that made my skin glow like honey, and the pouty pink lipstick that made me look as if I’d been adored by some sexy prince.
I must’ve scrubbed up pretty well because the director couldn’t take his eyes off me. In his mid-thirties, Felix Carlton was said to be the next Spielberg, and the fact they’d been able to secure him for a romantic suspense was the best thing that could’ve happened for the production.
"You’re Saffron?" he’d asked, letting himself in, unannounced, to the changing room I shared with three other prospective actresses. We’d been shortlisted from the hundred or so interviews that morning.
I stood, dressed in the aquamarine ball gown my character wore in the final scene when her lover catches her cheating on him with one of her yoga client’s husbands.
Felix Carlton was one word…dashing. Straight from a Jane Austen period drama, he wore pleated grey trousers, a white shirt with no tie, and a shiny grey waistcoat. He even had a handkerchief peeking from his shirt pocket.
His dark hair was cut into a modern style with short back and sides with the strands longer on top to flop gallantly over his forehead. His face was kind, fierce, dominating, and understanding, all at once. And those eyes—the calculating brown that hadn’t missed a thing in every shot, that directed with effortless skill and intelligence.
"You were really good," he’d said, coasting to my side and looking me up and down. He’d completely ignored the other actresses. "I think you’d play a murderous Lucy Larson."
I’d kept my head straight, and heart full of business. "Thank you very much, Mr. Carlton. That means a lot."
He’d smiled, showing white perfect teeth and a dimple in his strong chin. "Please, I have a feeling we’ll be working a lot together. Call me Felix."
I jumped as Cas slammed a fist against the door. "Lace? You can’t hide in there all night. We now have a room full of sugar and alcohol, but I personally guarantee I’m not going to enjoy them nearly as much as I’m going to enjoy you."
I shook my head, shoving all thoughts of Felix Carlton from my mind.
Pointing a finger at my reflection, I murmured, "Don’t let this ruin you. Take what he gives you and don’t look for more. One-night—remember that."
Please don’t let me get hurt.
Turning to leave the bathroom, I noticed another terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door. There were no toiletries other than the hotel-supplied shampoo and body lotion, and the only sign of Cas’s existence was blood on a hand towel and crimson tissues in the metal basket.
How badly had he been injured when he returned from wherever he fought? Who was there to make sure he opened his eyes and survived after losing?
I doubt he’s ever lost.
The memory of the way he moved when we first met—that cold calculation of knowledge that he punched life in its face and won, sent awe filling my heart. To have that confidence…
"I’m counting to three. If I have to come in there, the first time will be for my pleasure not yours. But, hell, you might actually like that."
My stomach flipped.
His finger tapped on the door. "One…"
Shit!
Grabbing the spare robe, I shrugged into the thick comfort, and belted it against my Agent Provocateur underwear.
What are you doing, Saff?
No amount of clothing would save me—just added more of an incentive to strip me as quickly as possible.
"Two…" Cas growled.
"Thr—"
I wrenched the door open before he finished. He paused, hand raised. His eyes fell to my hidden body, a laugh tumbling from his mouth. "Fuck, I didn’t think I’d find you any hotter, but damn, woman, I think I just came."
My eyes flared. "What?"
He wrapped an arm around me, moulding me to his chest. With one hand, he grabbed mine, and with no foreplay whatsoever, wrapped my fingers around his cock. It didn’t matter it remained hidden—barely—by his dressing gown, or that the material was thick and hid the silky heat of him—my core detonated with tiny sparks.
"You’re trying to hide what I already know is under there. It makes me fucking hard." The agony in his voice couldn’t hide behind lust. He was honestly in pain with need.
Fisting my blonde hair, he tipped my head back, forcing himself into my hand. "Like what you feel?"
His lips landed on mine before I could reply, kissing me hard, possessively—so damn thoroughly, I couldn’t breathe.
He thrust into my palm.
My fingers tightened around his erection. "Yes, I do like what I feel." My voice turned breathy. "A lot."
He groaned, kissing me harder, forcing my mouth wider. I submitted to his control, moaning as his hands roamed, fingers digging into my skin.
Yanking me from the bathroom, he trapped me against the wall again. His breathing stuttered and tripped. "I like what I see—" His fingers tugged my belt, undoing it with one pull. The gown gaped, revealing the black and silver lace of my bra. "I love the shadows of your nipples through this material." His neck bent; I cried out as his mouth settled hot and fierce around the throbbing bud. His tongue swirled, drenching the bra in saliva and need.
My heart plummeted off a cliff as he pushed aside the remainder of the gown, nudging my legs apart with his knee. "And I love the glimpse of your cunt through these delicious panties." His strong fingers cupped me boldly, holding me as if I belonged to him.
Which I did, in that moment. Utterly his.
Wetness melted faster and faster. He didn’t move or stroke, just held me as I trembled in his grip. "I can feel your heat. Fuck, I want to be inside you."
His lips stole mine, his head tilting to kiss so deep. I sucked in a breath, drugging myself on his flavour.
His fingers drifted sideways, inching toward the side of my G-string.
I froze, desperate for more, terrified of what was to come. I would explode. There was no other conclusion to the build-up twisting inside.
My knickers came away, eased open by his mind-numbing touch.
Just as his finger grazed bare flesh, he broke the kiss, panting, "Just so I’m not breaking any laws…how old are you?"
How old was I?
He expected me to remember when his finger was fractions away from claiming me?
He teased me, fluttering his touch over
the entrance to my pussy. I moaned, my eyes snapping closed.
"Answer me, Lace. I’m struggling to restrain myself. The minute I drive my finger inside you, it’s over. You’ll be naked, and I’ll be driving into you until we both combust."
"I’m—I’m—"
His finger pressed in a little, stealing my ability to stand. "What are you—twenty-one? Twenty-two?" His voice was guttural—as affected by touching me as I was.
Growling with frustration, he withdrew his finger.
Squeezing his cock, that still rested in my hand, I rushed, "Twenty-two! I’m twenty-two."
"Thank fuck."
He seized my mouth again and I screamed as his finger shot upward, driving deliciously hard inside. "Oh, God."
My lips bruised, his teeth punishing the tender flesh.
"Goddammit, you’re wet." His finger pulsed, rubbing the perfect spot, making me buckle and writhe.
His mouth never unglued from mine, annihilating my thoughts. His tongue dove in time with his finger, thrusting deep, retreating, then taking me all over again.
Gasping against my mouth, he muttered, "You’re young enough to do something reckless— " he kissed me deep and swift "—but old enough to know the consequences."
I narrowed my eyes, fighting against the crest of pleasure. I didn’t like the way he said it. "Why does that sound as if it’s a threat and a challenge all in one?"
He grinned, lips wet and swollen. "Maybe it is." He kissed me again, shoving aside words in favour of taste. His proximity burned like a naked sunbeam against my already hot flesh.
"Tell me what you like." His finger curled inside, rubbing my G-spot. Spasms shot from my core and down my legs. I couldn’t do anything but take what he gave.
Driving his hips into my hand, his cock swelled. "Feel what you’re doing to me. Fuck, just touching you makes me want to come."
I gasped as he drove particularly hard inside. "I don’t know what I like—"A moan wrenched from my lungs as he hooked his finger, pressing another one deep. The luscious feeling of being stretched sent my mind washing with white noise.
"You like that?" His teeth captured my bottom lip. "You like my fingers inside you?"
I shivered, my knees buckling. "What are you doing to me?"
He groaned as I rocked on his hand, seeking more from his stupefying touch. "Chemistry, Lace. It’s not me. It’s something that’s fucking magic between us."
I’d never put much stock in lust or connection, but shit, he was right. I didn’t know him. I didn’t care what his favourite food or colour was. I didn’t care, and I didn’t need to care. My body was the leader in this interlude, and my mind…all it had to do was feel.
His lips stole mine, kissing while thrusting his cock into my hand. I tightened my fingers around him, giving him friction. My heart clamoured in my ears as his tongue stole the rest of my sanity. I’d never been kissed like this.
Never been consumed.
He was right. When this was over, we would be walking away missing a tiny piece of us—a tear that would forever whistle in the winds of time—never to be repaired.
His thumb circled my clit while he mimicked the action with his swirling tongue. Everything he did stripped me of worries, drenching me in his enviable confidence.
Shoving aside his robe, I gasped as my hand dove between his legs and found his bare cock. It scorched my fingers, jerking with angry need.
"Fuuuck," Cas grunted, throwing his head back as I pressed a thumb against the tip and encircled the rest with eager fingers.
Power surged through me, sweat beaded between my breasts, and my mouth watered to taste him. I wanted to kneel before this unique stranger and give myself completely into his control.
Cas’s eyes flashed with black desire, his messy blond hair ruffled as if it suffered an overload of electricity. His face contorted as I stroked him. "You’re going to fucking kill me."
His head bowed, lips crashed, tongues danced.
We kissed.
We rocked.
We drove each other to the pinnacle of lunacy.
Then he pulled away. His cock slipped from my grip. My hand throbbed with the phantom feel of his hard heat.
I flinched as his fingers left me empty. With a gentle smirk and blazing eyes, he linked those same wet fingers with mine, pulling me from the wall.
Silently, he guided me toward the bed.
Awareness for more than just his mouth and fingers reminded me that room service had been delivered. I’d totally forgotten.
On a large tray at the foot of the bed rested two dishes covered by silver covers. A chilled bottle of champagne perspired in a blanket of ice in a black bucket by the bedside table.
My heart couldn’t calm down. How quickly my life had deviated off course. An hour ago, I was running for my life from a fire. Now, I was ruining myself with a stranger who fought for a living.
Not ruining.
Evolving.
I needed experience to draw on for the erotic scenes I would be made to play. If I could recall tonight as acting material, I would be forever hailed as the best sex-scene actress ever.
Cas leant over the tray. His robe hung open, flashing me hidden hard flesh. I shivered in anticipation as he inserted his finger into the hole of a silver cover and whipped it off.
"That looks incredible." My mouth watered at the scrumptious cheesecake with chocolate curls and raspberry coulis.
Cas looked up, his eyes dropping to my flushed body, no longer hidden by the fluffy gown. I’d let it fall from my shoulders, puddling onto the floor. I didn’t need it. I was too hot. And besides, I planned on being very naked in the next five minutes.
"Looks sweet, but not as sweet as you," he murmured. With a soft smile, he removed the next cover. A three-tiered ice cream sundae with strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla and a single glazed cherry on top. He smirked. "Could have potential."
I swallowed, my body making it known that’d been hours since I’d eaten and every cell was dust thanks to the incinerating lust this man caused.
"Looks delicious."
"Probably are," Cas whispered. "However, I’m sure a mix of you and sugar would be better." Sticking a finger—the same finger that’d been inside me—he scooped up some ice cream and sucked it slowly. His eyes flashed. "Mm, I was right. Saffron and vanilla—my new favourite combination."
I stood frozen to the spot. My suddenly dry mouth hankered for some crisp champagne. He had no shame, no guile, no filter.
I loved it.
My eyes flickered to the ice bucket.
Cas noticed.
With a low chuckle, he strode forward and grabbed the neck of the bottle. With sexy eyes—ffiercely intelligent and cagey, he whispered, "You want some of this?"
What will he do?
I nodded.
Coming closer, he smiled. "I think you deserve a reward. Open."
When I didn’t move, he frowned. Placing a tingling hand on my shoulder, he turned me around and backed me toward the bed. With conquering pressure, he pushed me into a sitting position on the mattress.
"Open," he repeated, towering above.
He looked like a menace, a God…a demon.
My pussy clenched. Slowly, my lips fell open.
He bent to grab my hair. His fingers looped with my strands, tilting my head back. With intensity echoing off his body, he raised the ice-cold bottle of alcohol and splashed bubbles into my mouth.
I flinched as coldness trickled down my throat. Missing my lips, a path of champagne cascaded down my chin, running a swift path to my cleavage.
Cas ducked, his tongue lashing out to lap up the mess. I moaned as he followed the trail, capturing a nipple in his intoxicating mouth. I didn’t need alcohol to become drunk. I already was—on him.
He stood upright, eyes burning into mine. "What do you prefer?"
"Prefer?"
His lips twitched. "Chocolate or vanilla?"
My attention darted to the ice cream sundae.
r /> "As a rule I don’t eat things that are bad for my health." He ran the tip of his finger from my bottom lip, down my sternum, over my belly, before stopping on my core.
I gritted my teeth as he pressed against my clit, pleasure thickening my blood.
"However, I plan on eating you, and if I’m going to break rules, might as well do it thoroughly."
His finger pressed harder, sending shooting stars into my womb. I panted, "And why would eating me be bad for your health?"
He shook his head slightly as if amazed. "You already know, Lace. My tongue will never taste the same way once I’ve licked you, and my cock…well, that might just be ruined forever once I fuck you."
My heart catapulted around my ribcage, careening into bone. "You can’t say things like that."
"Like what?"
I sat up, looking directly into his endless blue eyes. "Like that. It confuses me. I know whatever is going on with us will only last a few hours. I—I want you, but I don’t want you inside my head."
Pain shadowed his eyes then disappeared. Bending over me, he kissed me fleetingly. "I’m already in your head, Lace. Just keep me out of your heart and you’ll survive." Lust blanketed him again, hiding the snippets of vulnerability.
Who is this man?
"Time for dessert." His voice whispered into provocative darkness. "When this is over I want the bed smeared with chocolate and cream and you painted in cum and cake."
Holy shit.
My mind filled with images of him smearing me with chocolate and licking it off. I wanted that way too much.
What’s happening to me?
I’d become a nymphomaniac.
The conundrum of a dirty talking fighter, coupled with flashes of whatever lurked in his soul, undid me. I’d come into his room as a knotted string. Knots upon knots all tied tight and unchangeable. But every moment I spent with him untied each one until he forced me from string to unbound ribbon.
Still holding the bottle by its neck, he drank deeply. His throat contracted once, twice, as he gulped down chilly bubbles. His wet lips glistened in the soft lighting. "Take off your bra."
Breathing hard, I reached behind and fumbled with the clasp. It snapped open, relaxing around my chest with a sigh as if it couldn’t wait to be thrown away.