Why put myself through that torture again? One last night is all I want. Then we can go our separate ways.
No matter how much it hurts.
Traffic again is awful, maybe even worse since everyone’s off work and it’s a Friday. The cabbie hits the brakes hard and smacks his horn repeatedly, cursing at the car in front of him when it comes to an abrupt stop. Caden’s arm falls to my shoulders with the jolt and I bump against him, reaching out to rest my hand on his hard, warm thigh to brace myself.
“Sorry,” I mutter, about to remove my hand when he places his free hand on top of mine, keeping it in place.
“I don’t mind,” he murmurs, his voice so deep it feels like he’s touching my heart, my soul. “Keep your hand there.”
Slowly I look up at him, his dark eyes filled with so much emotion, his hair falling across his forehead. He looks sweet. Lost. Nervous. Hungry.
I feel the same way.
His other hand streaks across my shoulder before lifting to toy with my hair and I scoot closer, resting my head against his chest, my hand gripping his thigh, never wanting to let him go. We sit like that for long, quiet minutes and I try to match my heartbeat to his, my breaths so that I’m inhaling and exhaling to his steady rhythm. Doing so helps me feel connected to him, like I’m a part of him. And when he leans into me, his mouth at my temple, his fingers playing with the neckline of my dress, I close my eyes.
And let myself fall under the spell he’s so skilled at creating.
His fingers dip beneath the fabric of my dress, skimming along my collarbone. Darts of molten-hot pleasure shoot through me, and my breath grows shallow, my head dizzy. I swallow hard and lift my head to look up at him, only to find him already staring down at me. The hunger in his gaze is amplified and his lips part, as if he wants to say something.
But he remains silent, which is probably best. Words aren’t necessary any longer. Empty promises would remain just that … empty. Tonight is about connecting one last time before saying goodbye. For good.
My heart seizes at the thought, so I push it away.
Dipping his head, his mouth brushes mine and I breathe into him, the relief that floods me undeniable. I took for granted how delicious his kisses are, his taste, his tongue, the hum that sounds from deep in his chest when my tongue touches his. His fingers grip my shoulder; his hand clamps down over mine, which still rests on his thigh. But this is as far as I’ll take it. I don’t want to get out of control.
I’m done doing that. Being out of control only hurts.
So when I break the kiss first and pull away from him slightly, he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t try to keep me close, either. We resume our position from only moments before, his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest. I can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath my ear and it makes me smile.
He’s just as affected as I am. I find that reassuring.
It also makes me sad.
I slip the key card into the slot and the light blinks green. Pushing open the door, I enter the room, Caden right behind me. He slams the door and turns the lock, the click loud in the otherwise quiet of the room, and I go to the dresser, setting down my purse before I step out of my shoes. I wriggle my toes, sighing with relief, and I hear Caden’s chuckle.
A chuckle I’ve heard many, many times these last couple weeks. But somehow, this one is different. Deeper. Darker. I glance up to find him watching me, his gaze locked on my feet, his mouth curved in a faint smile.
“Hurting?”
Nodding, I hold my foot out and wiggle my toes again for his benefit. “I go a few weeks hardly wearing heels and I guess my feet have to get used to them again.”
“Torture devices,” he murmurs as he points at the bed. “Sit down.”
I frown. “Torture devices? Men never protest when they see a woman in heels.”
“Oh, they’re definitely sexy. I’m not denying that. But you must admit they torture your feet.” He nods toward the bed. “Sit down, Rose.”
“My grandma told me from a very young age that beauty is pain.” I go to the edge of the bed and sit, surprised when he kneels in front of me, holding out his hand.
“Give me your foot.”
I do as he commands, a gasp escaping me when he holds my foot in his hands and begins to rub. Good lord, that feels good. He presses hard, his fingers moving in circles across my heel, then the center of my foot. He pulls on my toes, each of them giving a little pop, and I’m surprised at how good that feels. He keeps massaging, his thumbs working my aching muscles, and I close my eyes, a low moan escaping me.
“Is this okay?” he asks hoarsely.
I nod, unable to speak. His thumb moves slowly over the top of my foot, his gaze dark, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and heat pools low in my belly.
“Want me to stop?” His voice deepens, sounding like pure sex. I had no idea a foot massage could be so sensual. “Rose?” he asks when I don’t say anything.
My eyes pop open and I furiously shake my head, making him smile. He carefully sets down my foot and grabs the other one, giving it the same luxurious treatment for long, delicious minutes until I feel like I could melt. His hands start to wander. Fingers circling my ankles, tickling the backs of my calves, behind my knees, making me giggle.
My skin grows warm when I feel his intent shift. The air becomes thicker, heavier. His touch bolder as his breathing deepens. Mine catches in my throat and my eyes are narrowed into slits as I watch him slowly work his way up my leg. Until his hand disappears beneath my skirt and is touching my thighs. I widen them for him shamelessly, wanting him to slip those magical fingers beneath my panties so he can find out just how wet I am for him.
I’m completely soaked—my body aches for his touch. This moment is so charged, everything feels that much more intense, and I know why.
Because this is the last night we’ll be together.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs as he trails one finger along the inside of my thigh, stopping just as he reaches the spot between my legs. My thighs are quivering; my breath leaves me in shaky exhales. I’m so aroused I can hardly take it, and it all started with him rubbing my feet.
But really it all started when he rushed to my defense at the party in Cannes. When he kissed me by the pool and then ran away. I was hooked. I wanted more. I wanted my adventure, and I got it in the form of Caden.
“Your panties are wet,” he tells me, his deep voice drawing me from my thoughts as his fingers graze the front of my underwear. “You’re always so damn responsive, Ro.”
“It’s because you know just how to touch me.” I brace my hands on the edge of the mattress, my breath hitching in my throat when he slips those magical fingers beneath my panties and touches my pussy. My thighs fall open as much as they can, though they’re restricted by the skirt of my dress, and when he slips his long finger deep inside my body the moan that comes from my chest seems to rattle my bones.
“Lift up,” he demands tersely, his other hand shoving at my skirt. I lift my butt, reaching for the fabric so it bunches around my waist. My flimsy panties aren’t much of a barrier and he tears into them—literally rips the fragile lace, and then he bends forward, his mouth on my pussy, his tongue lashing against my clit.
His gaze directed on my face as he devours me.
“Oh, fuck.” The words are a whisper of sound. It almost looks vulgar, how we’re positioned. My legs are spread, the panties hanging in tatters, my skirt shoved almost to my breasts. Caden’s nestled between my thighs, his mouth working my pussy, his big hands gripping my knees, holding me wide for him. I lift my hips, another cry falling from my lips when he sinks his tongue inside me.
I throw my head back, my eyes sliding closed as I concentrate on the feel of his wet, wide tongue swirling around my sensitive flesh. He licks my clit, sucks it between his lips, his fingers digging into my skin as he braces my knees, and then his mouth is gone.
My eyes fly open and I stare at him. His expressi
on is wild, his chin covered with my juices, his lips glistening as well. He’s still fully clothed and I want him naked. I want to come. I want his mouth back on my pussy. I want it all.
“I want to watch you come,” he tells me, his voice low and deep and making me wetter. “It’s my favorite thing. Are you close, Ro?”
I nod and lift up so I’m almost but not quite sitting. “So close,” I murmur.
His gaze flares with heat. “I want you to touch yourself.”
I frown. “What?”
He smiles and darts out his tongue, flicking my clit with just the tip. “Rub your clit. Show me how you like it. And then I’ll join in. The two of us can make you come hard. I know it.”
Oh, God. He’s probably right. But I’ve never touched myself in front of another man before. I’ve never felt comfortable doing that sort of thing because it feels so intimate. Private.
“Do it,” he urges with a nod of his head. “Touch yourself.”
My hand slides down my belly, tangles in my pubic hair, and then I’m touching my pussy. I reach with my index finger, pressing it against my clit, and I hiss in pleasure.
“That’s it, baby. Keep touching your clit,” he encourages just as he settles his mouth on my pussy once more. His tongue flicks against my finger and I press my lips together to keep the moan contained.
There’s something to be said for containment, for prolonging the pleasure. He knows what I’m doing and he smiles against my pussy and continues to lick it. My pace increases as I circle my clit again and again, my hips working, his tongue flicking against my flexing entrance before thrusting inside. I start to rub in earnest when I feel my orgasm barrel down on me, coming at me faster and faster until it breaks me apart and I gasp out a hoarse, “I’m coming,” as a warning.
The shudders wrack my body with such intensity I buck against his face, my hand falling away from my clit as I collapse backward on the bed, my eyes tightly closed as my body shakes. He lifts up and away from me, I hear him hurriedly shedding his clothes, and then he’s looming over me, crawling onto the mattress, crawling onto me.
“Ro.” His voice is a heated whisper caressing my flesh and I open my eyes to find him watching me with his dark gaze. Bending over, he takes my mouth, the taste of me clinging to his lips and tongue. I kiss him back without restraint, my hands sliding over his naked skin, and when he breaks the kiss I growl with frustration. “Let’s get this dress off of you,” he murmurs as he lifts himself off me.
Somehow, working together, we get me naked. We’re both on our knees facing each other, his hard cock brushing against my belly, our hands in each other’s hair as we kiss. I scoot closer to him, my hands sliding all over his smooth skin, across his chest, his pecs, down along his stomach. I curl my fingers around the base of his cock and stroke him, smiling against his lips when I feel him shudder in reaction to my touch.
“You keep doing that and I’ll come all over your hand,” he mutters like a threat.
It’s a threat that thrills me, though. I increase my pace, making him curse, and then he’s grabbing me by the shoulders and tossing me onto the bed, my head hitting the pillows just as he positions himself over me. I spread my legs to accommodate his body between them and then he’s buried deep inside me, to the hilt, his balls brushing my pussy as he holds himself there for long, delicious seconds.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his jaw, his chin, his lips. Slowly he begins to move, hot and heavy deep inside me, my inner walls grasping greedily around his length with every slip and slide. He’s lost all finesse, all sense of control, as he increases his pace and pounds inside of me. I take it. I revel in it. The sound of our skin slapping together, the wet sounds of my pussy as he dives in again and again, the moans and the creak of the bedsprings and his harsh breath, his words sharp as he declares he’s going to come.
I love that he’s lost all control. I hold his head to mine and whisper in his ear, encouraging him. Before Caden I would never have said any of these words, but he’s taught me well.
“You feel so fucking good,” I whisper. “Fuck me harder, Caden. Make me come all over your cock. I want to feel you come inside me. Please.”
“Ah, shit,” he chokes out, lifting himself so he’s propped on his hands, which are braced on either side of my head. His hips work, his cock slides deep inside of me, and then he stills. That telltale indication that he’s about to come and there’s no going back.
“Fuuuck.” He draws the word out and slams into me one more time, just as I feel the first spurt of semen inside of me. He grunts and thrusts, coming again and again, filling me completely before he collapses on top of my body with a shuddery sigh.
No condom again. How could we be so stupid? It’s as if we come together and I can’t even think. I hadn’t lied when I said I was about to start my period. Any day now it would make its monthly visit, though I really should consider going on the pill …
Why? Not like you and Caden are a permanent thing.
Ugh.
I wrap my arms around his back, slide my hands down to his butt, and hold him there, savoring the throb of his still hard cock deep inside me. I feel full of him, full of his cock. He surrounds me, his come in my body, our skin sweaty and sticky, his mouth at my ear, our legs tangled.
“You’re gonna kill me, Ro,” he whispers long minutes later when he finally pulls himself from my body, the dribble of semen that coats my pussy a foreign sensation.
“You’re going to kill me too,” I murmur, my eyes closed, aftershocks still coursing through my body. I reach for him but he’s not there, and when I crack my eyes open I see he’s standing beside the bed, his expression one of horror as he stares at me.
“I didn’t use a condom.”
I sit up, wincing against the delicious ache between my legs. “I know.”
“I came inside of you.”
Nodding, I stretch my arms above my head, letting them drop when I see the freaked-out expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? We just took a huge-ass risk,” he says, his voice rising. “What if I got you pregnant?”
I shrug. Why am I so nonchalant? I should be freaking out just like he is. “What if you did? Would that be so terrible?” I can’t believe I just said that. I almost want to snatch the words back and pretend I never said them, but it’s too late.
“What the fuck are you saying, Rose? We’re not prepared to have a baby. You’re too young. I’m too young. We’re not even a … thing. We wouldn’t work in the real world and you know it. I’m not good enough for you.” He waves a finger between the two of us and I can feel my anger rise at his words, at the look on his face.
He’s horrified. And I hate that.
“I’m not pregnant.” I climb off the bed and pad toward the bathroom, feeling his gaze following me the entire way. “Stop worrying. I’m not trying to trap you.”
“Rose, wait a minute! I never said that,” he calls after me.
“You may as well have,” I call back, shutting the door behind me and turning on the water. I bend over the sink and splash the cold water on my heated cheeks, pressing my eyes closed when I feel the sting of tears threaten.
I will not cry. I refuse to cry. He’s not worth my tears.
But they fall anyway, sliding down my cheeks. I keep the water running so he doesn’t hear my sobs and I know, without a doubt, it’s over between us. Done. He’s right. We’re not meant for the long term. This was fun. A self-indulgent adventure I so desperately needed to have. Tomorrow I return to the real world, and someday I will look back on this moment in time with fondness.
As I stare at myself in the mirror, though, it doesn’t seem possible. I’m crying. My heart hurts. I may be thinking all the right things, but I don’t believe them. I think Caden could be the man for me.
Too bad he doesn’t feel the same way.
Chapter Twenty-three
Caden
Dear Rose,
At first, I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t let me tell you the truth last night. Why you didn’t want to yell and scream and cry at me for what I’ve done. Because I’ve done you wrong and you know it. Maybe not personally, though I have to admit, my lack of using a condom not just once but multiple times is incredibly stupid and you should hate me for that alone. I hate me for it.
But for whatever reason you don’t and I’m not sure why. I know I don’t deserve you. I’m not worthy of you. You’ve told me before you hate it when I say that but it’s true. I’m not a good person. You make me want to be good, just for you, but I know that’s not enough. I’ve made too many mistakes in my life and I don’t think you could ever forgive me for them. Ever see me as the man I want you to see. The one who cares about you and would never hurt you.
I’m too lost to be saved for you, Ro. I hate that. But I have to be straight with you.
Whatever Violet and Ryder told you … it’s the truth. I’m a thief. When we first met, yes, I saw you, a beautiful woman, but what really drew me to you was that damn necklace. The Poppy Necklace. I had plans to steal it that night.
But then I met you. And you changed … everything.
That’s what I do, you see. I steal, mostly jewelry, though when I first started out, I was a pickpocket. It all came about when I was fifteen and realized that we had no more money. My mom had zero skills and couldn’t work, besides the fact that she was a nervous wreck and on all sorts of medication. What my father did wrecked her completely. I hate him for that.
I hate myself for what I’ve become.
Stealing wallets soon became too risky and the payout wasn’t worth the risk, so I changed my strategy. The person who gave me the idea? Your sister Lily.
I feel like shit for taking those earrings. Did she ever mention that to you? That her earrings were stolen? I took advantage of her when she was drunk and pulled the diamonds right out of her ears. It was so easy. Too easy. I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for doing that. More like I got a thrill. After that I was hooked.