Chapter Ten
MISHELLA
“Black.”
“Blue.”
“And red all over?”
I watch, a little stunned, as my quip elicits the same wide eyes and dropped jaws from my two best friends. Their matched reactions are not strange because they have dialed into the video call from different locales in Arcadia, but because they agree on something for the first time in thirty minutes. Granted, half that time has been spent studying the fifty evening gowns I have strewn across the largest of Temptation’s guest rooms, and I am in the worst mood of my life not brought on by my parents, but the tension flowing from the two has been palpable—until now.
“Did she just…make a joke?” Brooke ventures.
Vylet cocks her head. “I think so.”
“Everyone hold the line. I need to circle this day in red—somewhere.”
“Hmmm. Maybe America is a good influence on you, missie thang.”
I groan my way into a face palm. “Two weeks, Vy. I have been away for two weeks, and ‘missie thang’ is already out for some vernacular exercise?”
“Two weeks and three days,” Vy asserts. “Almost four. And I’ll give up ‘missie thang’ when you get rid of ‘vernacular exercise’.”
Brooke, who has given us a backup soundtrack of soft giggles, suddenly sobers. “Sorry, M. I’ve let her slide a little. Things have been a little…strange around here lately.”
“Strange?” I push aside a few of the dresses, needing to sit down. “That does not sound…good.”
Understatement. All the strain I have sensed from them is not my imagination—and I shiver just from wondering why.
“Oh, now you have her going, Brooke.”
“Have me going where?” I demand. “And why?”
“It’s nothing.” Brooke waves a hand in front of her awkward frown. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Probably?” My chest feels rubber-banded. “What does that—” I cannot finish. Coming from Brooke, who is married to the head of all Arcadian security forces, it could mean anything—but I force my mind away from the direst scenarios. The ones left behind are not the most comforting either. “Should Cassian be ordering the plane to take me home instead of sending me more dresses?” Because there will be more—of that, I have no doubt.
“All right. Hold on and chug a chill.” Vy throws up a speak-to-the-hand too, with much more purpose than Brooke’s fly swat. “The heightened security watches could just as well be practice drills, and—”
“Heightened security watches?” My optimistic resolve crumbles. My thoughts race, bringing up the period that changed so much for Arcadia three and a half months ago—thanks to the vigilante group who forced King Evrest to fake his own death, thrusting Samsyn onto the Arcadian throne. Thank the Creator, the movement was swiftly put down—though not the outside forces suspected of inspiring and funding it. “Are the…Pura…back?” I grimace, loathing even having to utter their name.
“No,” Vy protests.
“We don’t know,” Brooke says at the same time.
“Saynt.” His name shoots off my lips, an arrow off the bow of my fear. He is technically not a soldier yet, but desperate times beget desperate measures. Where is he, even now? It is a new day on the island. Is he getting ready for one of those watches? Surely he is not getting done with one. They would not place him on a dangerous night watch so soon. In so many ways, he is still just a boy…
“He’s fine, girlfriend.” Brooke’s words are jabbed with conviction, confirming she has checked that veracity herself. “If anything, he’s jonesing for action a little too hard for Samsyn’s liking.” She inhales with meaning. “But I know how the kid feels.”
Slowly, a smile returns to my lips. I hope she can see the gratitude behind it. I miss my feisty former boss—even her daily grumblings about the grind of being a princess instead of a warrior.
“Well…keep him in line,” I reply good-naturedly.
“We both are,” Vy assures. “Just like his big sistah would.”
“Speaking of keeping males in line…” Brooke exaggerates a brow waggle. “Can we get back to the subject—or should I say the confusing jerk—at hand?”
“And the fact that the blue gown will drive him more insane than the black?”
The dress Vy refers to, a sparkly pale blue sheath, is nearly the color of my eyes—not that Cassian will notice my eyes with its plunging neckline. Brooke’s top choice is a flowing black creation with an equally dramatic bodice: newly arrived from Milan, according to the curious little woman who has come every morning with fresh batches of gowns, per Cassian’s directive—or so she tells me. The man himself has not given me more than twenty words since our “discussion” in the study last week, choosing to work late and eat elsewhere—sometimes even just spending the night at the office. I have little hope that this Literacy Ball is going to change anything, but vow to give it a go.
And yes…perhaps there is a small part of me who wants to really be a princess for a night. Just this once…
“Show us both the dresses again.” Brooke’s request tugs my mind back to the present—away from its empathy with the sobbing sky outside. Like my spirit, the New York weather has been nonstop on the soggy for days. I welcome the chance to flip the smart pad screen, panning it across the bed. As I do, she emits a low whistle. “Daaammmn, girl. You know I’m not into apology by foof, but that man is trying to tell you something.”
“Concurred.” I change the screen back, to let them see my little shrug. “He is trying, I think…in his own weird way.”
Brooke laughs. “What man doesn’t have ‘his own weird way’?”
“Mine,” Vylet retorts. “What you see is what you get with Alak Navarre, thank the Creator. And for the record, I am keeping the hell out of him, so neither of you get any ideas.”
I move to the window seat. Gaze over the labyrinth of wet streets below, the streetlights and neon signs blended by the rain into a giant watercolor. I would have much the same view from Turret One, which is one floor directly above—but I have not returned to that space, perhaps in subliminal protest to the continued lockdown of the other tower. As long as it stays shackled, I cannot help but feel a similar weight, invisible but just as formidable, on my spirit.
“Can you just lend Alak out for a while?” I venture. “How long do you think it would take for him to rub off on Cassian, just a little?”
Brooke sighs. “I think that lesson has to come from you, girlfriend.”
Vylet smirks. “Which, coincidentally, might be best with a little…rubbing.”
Brooke peels off a giggle. I groan. Like old times.
Perhaps too much.
I bite my lip. Too late. The backs of my eyes burn. “Creator’s toes,” I whisper. “I miss you both so much.”
Stunningly, Vy is the first to sober on their end. Even more astonishing, her next words aren’t then just come home. She gives four even better.
“We are already there.”
As Brooke nods, her eyes are shiny too. “She’s right, shella-bean. We haven’t gone far…the same way you aren’t ever far from us.”
Now the rain falls inside too. I grip the smart pad as the flooding love of their friendship hits, a storm my heart has desperately needed. One awful sob overcomes another and another and another. They wait as only best friends can, their silence as perfect as a pair of hugs.
“I—I d-do not know wh-what—to do.” The confession finally stutters out. “I—I feel so much for him…”
So much. The new understatement. But I am so afraid of saying more. Saying it will make it real. Too real. And too much…
“I told you, B,” Vy murmurs after a pause. “Did I not?”
“Sure did,” Brooke replies.
“T-told her wh-what?” Despite the stammer, I sound shockingly pragmatic. At least I hope.
Vylet folds her arms, leans toward her camera, and nods with confidence. “That Cassian Court was going to be the man who changed you.”
They both smile. I blush furiously. “Wh-when did you tell her that?”
“From the second he first took your hand, at that reception.”
Brooke nods. “That is what she said.”
Vy maintains her close-up angle. Studies me with the intensity only possible in her big movie star eyes. “Mishella—”
I get in my turn at hoisting a hand. “No. Do not ask it, Vylet Hester.”
“—are you in love with him?”
Yes.
No!
“I—I do not know.” I let out a new moan, conking my head back against the wall. “By the Creator. I am a mess…”
“That’s all right.” Brooke’s interjection is as gentle as the rain against the glass. “Who said life is always neat and clean?”
“She did,” Vy snorts.
After joining my watery laugh to theirs, I mutter, “Point made…dammit.”
“Karma is a nasty bitch sometimes.”
“No,” Brooke interjects. “That little Prim what’s-her-name. She’s the bitch.”
I shake my head—more violently than I can believe. “It is…bizarre…but I do not believe that. She does have a connection to Cassian—”
“You mean hooks?” Vy charges.
“Perhaps even that.” My concession clearly spoils a little of her fun—the woman is always up for a rowdy debate—but I continue, “Though they are not romantic ones.” I shrug, trying to sort through my bafflement. It is no use. “Aggghh. There are simply things I do not know.” Rough breath in. Painful exhale. “Ghosts…he will not reveal.”
Silence. Contemplative but not uncomfortable. Though they are half a world away, sitting with my thoughts is so much easier with the sis-friend-hood around.
At last, Brooke penetrates the pause. “Well, I understand ghosts,” she offers quietly. “Samsyn carries a bunch. A real sucky hazard of the job.”
I meet her gaze, which has turned as somber as the thunderheads outside. “But he tells you about them, right?”
“Now he does. But we’re married, bean—and had six years of friendship before the rings went on our fingers. Things are very different for us.”
“Of course.” There is no use disguising my disappointment.
Brooke’s lips flatten. I know the look but have never dreaded it as much as this moment. Tough love. “Mishella…the plan right now is that you’re there for just six months. So now you have to ask yourself—is that a tolerable time to live with the ghosts?” Her shoulders rise then fall. “I can’t answer it for you, and neither can Vy.”
I swallow deeply. “I just want him to be happy.”
She sighs softly. “Perhaps that’s your problem, girlfriend.”
“Huh?”
“You already make him happy,” she contends. “But maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe you want something more than just that.”
“Just that?” I openly glower. What is she talking about? Are there “levels” of happiness I do not know about, like they talk about on the cable service ads on the television? Basic, deluxe, premium?
“I’m just saying that maybe you crave…more.” Her own face twists, as if a small skirmish is taking place in her head, before a heavy breath rushes out. “A more he’s not capable of feeling, or giving. Not right now.”
Not to you.
I let the words—hers and mine--descend into taut silence. That is usually what people do when their heart is scooped out of their chest…yes?
“Mishella—”
“Fine.” I abhor the terse snap, but cannot help it from spilling. I cannot bear a moment of her getting apologetic about it—or worse yet, pitying. “I—I understand, all right? And I am fine.”
“All right, stop.” Vy points a finger at her camera. “Do not punish Brooke for this. She is trying to help you see this clearly.”
I force my lips into a girl Buddha smile. Do not let the serenity climb anywhere near my eyes. Continue to let them simmer while rejoining, “I see everything just fine, Vylet Hester. Now…I am certain both of you have a busy day ahead. I shall let you get to it.”
I click my end of the call short without giving them a chance for farewells. It is a childish move—I am taking my sand toys and going home—but I cannot control the reflex any more than the frustration and fury spawning it. Both take over now, annihilating and untamed, then dump out in an unhindered flood. A long, lonely, ugly cry in a room full of silk, satin, and brocade—finery I would trade in a moment for the true fullness of Cassian Court’s heart.
CASSIAN
Holy fuck.
I must be dreaming.
“No shit,” Scott mutters, confirming I’ve let the words slip aloud. Not surprising—nor would I be stunned if it happened again, as my Ella from the cinders seems to float down the steps, directing her soft smile toward where I wait by the car.
I’m not there for long—as in bolting to get the jump on Scott, who’s done the “courtly” thing by stepping up to “collect” her for me—but I’m screwed for watching any man get near her tonight. Delaying the torture a little longer delivers a solid for all.
Annnd, we can start with the solid any time now…
But fate is already having his fun with me tonight. The fucker takes his sweet time about the kumbaya with my nervous system, letting lightning raze me as she steps closer. The skirt of her gown, made of something that looks like a cloud spun into fabric, swirls and sparkles against the stairs with every step she takes. I pray for a breeze, which would likely flatten the filmy fabric around her thighs…
And just like that, solid arrives.
Between my legs.
Focusing on things above her waist is an only slightly better solution. The gown’s strapless bodice is encrusted with gold and silver beads, with a band of the same defining the curve of her waist. While the neckline doesn’t plunge that far down, thank God, the beads have been glued to lead one’s eye toward the center—and the bit of her breasts that are revealed.
Too damn much for my liking.
Yet I can’t stop staring.
Fuck. Fuck.
I had to go and hire the city’s best hair and makeup to primp her too, didn’t I? Damn that Fabiola, rubbing something into Ella’s skin to turn it more enticing than it already is. The cream, or whatever the hell it is, gives her neck, shoulders, and arms some kind of iridescence…flooding me with visions of exploring all those planes with my tongue.
Not. Fucking. Helping.
My mind growls it out—like my body needs help remembering how long it’s endured without hers. How many days we’ve wasted in this balance between the heaven of where we started and the hell we’re most afraid of, both of us frozen on the tightrope, unwilling to move past the stupidity of surface niceties anymore. I haven’t helped the situation by practically living at the office, but coming home to a place that really is temptation for me now, with her scent and her presence in every molecule of the air, has been a fiasco I made no plans for.
Plans.
You actually started thinking of them in conjunction with this woman…when?
Something will have to happen soon. I admit it now. She’s not happy, and the sole plug she’s given me back to her joy is not a circuit I can connect—not without frying every inch of my psyche. I know that now too, courtesy of the erotic memories that assault my mind’s idle hours. Reliving every moment I’ve spent touching her, kissing her, fucking her, only clarifies the understanding. If she’s capable of consuming that much of me sexually, how much more will she gouge from me emotionally?
There’s no halfway with her.
Goddammit, there never will be.
Meaning I have to think about letting her leave.
“Bon aksum, Mr. Court.”
Especially if she insists on issuing a lot more greetings like that. Professional cool backlit with sensual music, making me a new fan of the whole boss-and-secretary thing…
“And good evening to you, Miss Santelle.”
And especially if I’ll keep being required to bend over her hand like this—snapping a certain something beneath the tux like a goddamn ripe cucumber.
“Well.” She yanks in a breath, lifting a shaky smile. I’ll take it. After ten days of watching the dry cleaners’ delivery guy get more friendly words than me, I’ll fucking take it. “Here…we are.”
Only by filling my lungs with air do I resist kissing away her nervousness. Instead, I go for a friendly smile and an overlay of charm. “It would appear so.”
“That tuxedo is on the cutting edge of…something.” She gestures with her free hand. “Fabiola told me. Several times.”
I press in my lips, working the dimples. No way have I missed what their deployment usually does to her libido—and friendly or not, I’m still not above a few dirty tactics. “I’m sure she did.”
She lowers her hand. Flits it at her skirt. “Well, you look very dashing.”
“And you look like something I’ve only ever dreamed.”
It wasn’t what I’d planned to say—though that isn’t astounding anymore; not when Ella’s involved. And dammit, I may be ready to think about letting her go, but sure as hell haven’t reached acceptance yet. Psychologically speaking, I’m in the “fight for it” phase.
I’ve fought for things a lot less important—
and won.
“Should we be off?” I murmur, tucking her hand beneath my elbow.
Her flits at the dress turn into full twists. “Sure. Um—I mean—certainly. Of course.”
I mold my hand over the back of hers. “It’s okay, Ella. I already know you’re going to be the most beautiful one at the ball.”
It’s also what I’m afraid of.
She licks the seam of her lips, looking tempted to fully bite despite the contours of lip rouge representing at least thirty minutes of Fabiola’s time. “I suppose I shall do,” she finally mutters. “I mean…for the hired help.”
I halt where I’m at. Slide my grip to her wrist and twist in—though now, we’re close enough to the Jag that I have to let her go. She dives into the backseat like a pony let off its training harness—after a charming greeting and smile for Scott.
I remain rooted in place. Carefully reel back the ire that’s just tumbled in with her. Tug hard at my jacket—and with gritted teeth, order my cock to a stand-down too.
Fighting for this shit just got very serious.
Scott bounces on his toes, his normal puppy-bright self. “And good evening to you as well, Mr. Court. To the Public Library, right?”
“Not. Yet.”
The puppy freezes. “Sir?”
I don’t swerve my glare from its angle into the car—and the lofty posture of the woman inside, thinking she’s stilled me on the tightrope yet again. “Take the long way there,” I command tightly. “A couple of times. No,”—I stop, one hand on the open door—“just keep driving, until you hear from me.”
Scott, not being stupid, raises the driver barrier the second he starts the car.
I’m not a stupid man either. As soon as we roll, I reach and brace Mishella by the hips. Haul her over from the spot beneath the opposite window, until she’s in the middle of the bench seat—right next to me.
“What on—”
“Be quiet, Ella.” With a violent thwick, I pull a seatbelt out. Snap it into the holster at her hip, securing her arm to her side in the doing.
“Cassian. What the hell are you—”
“I said be quiet.” I let her glimpse my eyes, on fire with rage, while pressing her other arm to her side. “You’ll have your chance to speak—momentarily.”
Thwick.
Since the seat can accommodate three, one of the seatbelts descends the opposite direction.
Clack.
I slam the buckle in, ensuring the straps are crisscrossed over her arms and torso. Now, the belts rise and fall with the frenetic pumps of her lungs. Hell. That neckline isn’t as demure as I first thought. The sight of her breasts, creamy and gorgeous and just an inch from spilling full nipple, take my cock to something between throbbing and unbearable. Not that I help matters by leaning over and clamping my hands over her wrists—but dammit, this shit has gone on long enough. If I’m going to be ordering up the plane to take her back to Arcadia tomorrow, she’ll fucking hear out my side of all this first.
“I—I object to this!” Her eyes fire at me, bright as sun through blue glass. Her breasts show subtle pink strips from where they push at the straps. Goddamn. Why didn’t I think of doing this a week ago?
“Are you in any physical pain?”
Her lips, already open to rage at me more, clamp shut. Pop back open to retort, “I—you’re—”
“Hurting you?” I volley. “In any way at all?”
“Well—no. But—”
“Then you’ll sit right here—and listen to me.” I take in her open astonishment—and actually share some of it. My first sight of her full anger is more potent than I ever expected. She’s an extra shot at last call. A hard bite into a jalapeño. A scoop of phaal curry. Intoxicating. Blistering. I want more and hate myself for it.
“Listen to you?” Her eyes narrow. “All I have wanted to do is listen to you, Cassian. I begged you to let me do just that—”
“When you were calling the subject matter.” I constrict my grip. “Well, now I’m calling it. And the subject tonight—is you.”
Her mouth opens again. Releases nothing but pissed-off little grunts, as her brain clearly struggles for a comeback. “There—there is nothing about me worth—”
“Oh no? Except the fact that you have labeled yourself everything from my fuck friend, my booty call, and now my hired help?”
I push deeper into her personal space, until my hips prod her knees apart and I breathe in her perfect scents. That exotic vanilla of her hair, its up-do layered with products from Fabiola’s arsenal. Equally exclusive perfume—Chanel Grand Extrait, Fab’s favorite—jasmine and rose in a lush mix. The creamy luxury of whatever the hell makes her skin shimmer like this…and feel this damn good.
So. Damn. Good.
“Goddammit, Ella,” I finally snarl. “You are none of those things. You never have been. How can you think them, let alone speak them?”
We both breathe harder. Our gazes meet and tangle. “Cassian.” It’s a sob, and I’m glad of it. I rejoice in her conflict. Good. It’s been hell for you too. I hope it’s been a lot of hell.
“Do you really think you’re just a toy to me? A trinket I wanted and went after, like a car or a house or a suit?” I spit the final syllable, hating the raw emotion I swore not to expose—then even more for the surge of satisfaction as she flinches. “Did I experience something different, the moment our hands first touched…the second our eyes first locked?” I drill my stare harder into her. Slip my hands down until our fingers lace. “Was I the only one who thought the whole room had fallen away—hell, the whole damn island—until it was just you and me, standing on a rock in the middle of that ocean, put there by destiny?”
“No.” As she rasps it, her fingers curl into mine. Her face lifts, eyes searching into mine. “No. You…were not…the only one.”
More feelings hit. They’re like waves in the sea I’ve just evoked: some fast and powerful and violent, some deep and rolling and continent-changing. I grit my teeth, willing them to get the hell over with things and drown me, but they’re a storm surge, relentless against the ramparts of my spirit and soul. They tumble in, taking over my dark corners—the places I’ve vowed no one will get to, ever again. But here my Ella is, not just flooding them. She’s changing them. Moving my continents…
“Then why?” I finally grate. “Why do you reduce it all to such ugliness? Why do you brand my heart with nothing but dollar signs—when I would have cut the fucker right out of my body and given it to your father, if that’s what he demanded?” Maybe that would’ve been the better call, anyway. Inside my chest or out, the thing is destined to beat on empty space without her. Maybe that’s better, in the end—more bearable than the memories, the helplessness, the pain.
Her lips tremble. Her eyes shimmer. “Is that the key to knowing that heart, then?” A sound chokes from her throat, bitterness that doesn’t make it to a laugh. “Because that is all I want, Cassian. Can you not see? The same way you have taken my heart, my life, and given them so much more meaning and worth…all I want to do is the same for you. To show you—”
“Show me what?” I release the burst without restraint or balance. Isn’t this what you want, Miss Santelle? Glorious, violent honesty? Fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s do honest. “You want to show that you can ‘get’ to me? That you can make me give you the ‘ghosts’, so you can—what—exorcise them for me? That the power of your adoration is going to ‘change’ me? Christ.”
The last of it scorches my throat—burning past my crumbled resistance, overcoming the flood, eviscerating everything inside with its rage and shame and scorn. With a terrible growl, I let up on her arms. With another one, set her free from the seatbelts. But the fire sweeps in, worse than before. It slams me to my haunches, coiling fists against my gut, fighting its incursion—and losing.
The car takes a corner. It’s a gentle roll, but joined with the heat in my psyche, is enough to pitch me forward once more. My head swims, dizzy. My heart lurches, lost.
“C-Cassian?”
I watch my fist, clenched against the limo’s gray carpet, vanish beneath the volumes of her skirt. Jerk it back, twisting it against the center of my chest. “Get away, Ella.”
“No.” Tears crack her voice, and I steel myself against them. Stiffen myself against the perfect warmth of her hands, pulling on the back of my neck, the whole of my scalp. “No. You do not want that.” She draws me closer. Tighter into the embrace of her softness, her fragrance…her light.
It is time to live in the light…
Denial explodes from my soul. Churns in my chest. Snarls up my throat. “Leave. Me. Alone!”
Alone is the only place that makes sense.
Alone is the only place I won’t hurt you.
The only place you won’t hurt me.
But she pulls me harder—how the fuck did she get so strong?—and I’m letting her—how the fuck did I get so weak?—and her fingers dig into my face, forcing it up, commanding me to take in every breathtaking inch of hers. Yes, even the tears streaking it. Even the smudges of her lipstick, from where she’s buried her face into my hair. But especially the glory of her eyes, adoring me…ambushing me…
“You are not alone.”
Before she forces me closer, and kisses me.
And kisses me.
And kisses me.
I am helpless against the magic of her lips. Consumed by the power of her embrace. Hardened by the nearness of her body.
Suffused by the force of her light.
“Fuck.” It’s helpless and guttural, as she washes over me…into me. “Fuck.”
I lurch up, matching the force of her mouth with mine. Suck her in, feasting on the wet, warm depths that haven’t been mine for so long. Too damn long…
Moans escape us. Our mouths reverberate with the sounds, inciting more heat through our limbs. Ella’s hands cascade to my shoulders, finding their way beneath my jacket then scratching at my shoulders through my shirt. I go at her with the same ferocity, wrapping one arm around her waist, sliding the opposite hand beneath her bodice.
“Oh!” It sparks off her lips, high-pitched and breathless, as soon as I find her first full nipple. I tease a finger across the tight peak. Then another.
“So hard,” I utter against her lips. “So erect. So perfect.”
She mewls as I glide my touch to the other. “They have been like this…all week.”
“Really?”
She meets my frown with a kittenish smile. “Side effect of the injection. And being without you.”
I lean in, kissing her deeply once more. “I’ve missed you too. Dammit, armeau…like missing my own legs. One day, I even forgot what day of the week it was—in the middle of a huge meeting, at that.”
We laugh together. It feels so fucking good that I slide my eyes shut, savoring the emotional orgasm of the moment, praying the blinding blast of it lasts forever.
The glaring light of it…
I bolt from the recognition by losing myself in another kiss—and dragging her into its illicit darkness with me. Plunging the corners of her mouth with open, wicked, searing abandon, rolling our tongues until we both can’t breathe, then pulling us both even deeper into the lusting, wild abyss…
Yes.
Yes.
This is what we need. If only for now, this is what we can claim as right between us. This is where I can give her exactly what she wants. I pull back, letting her see exactly that in my gaze, before spinning her around and making her face the seat. I tug at her arms, directing her to spread them out—then press in and down, letting her feel every hard, lusting inch of my body.
I dip in, fitting my mouth against her neck. Snarl again, reveling in the hammer of her pulse under my lips.
“Cassian.” She battles to lift up, hitching her shoulders against my chest. Mewls with passionate force as I push her back down, skating my hands down her arms, twining my hands over the backs of hers. “Oh, please…”
“Please what, favori?” I softly bite her shoulder. “You want to keep talking about the light…” Another bite. Harder. “Or do you want a trip into the darkness?”
Her breath expels in a needy rush. “By the powers.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Take me…down,” she finally pleads. “Into the…darkness. With you, Cassian. With all of you…”
As soon as the concession leaves her lips, I start shoving her skirts up. It takes a shorter time than I’d estimated to find her ass, barely sheathed in a thong surely mandated by Fabiola, but right now I’m certain I could locate this woman in another galaxy if forced to.
Appropriate imagery—since I damn near see stars the moment my fingers glide beneath those scant panties, to the wet perfection between her legs. “And all of you too?” I work my fingers beyond her damp curls then between her slick lips, stroking the inlet to her tunnel with the rhythmic touch that drives her crazy. In return, her thighs clench, her whole pussy shivers.
“Yes. Oh dear Creator; yes…with all of me!”
At first, I can only grunt. The heaven of touching her again, along with the hell of controlling my cock’s reaction, are a purgatory too intense for words. My brain scrambles, trying to tell my body what to do. Unlatch pants. Pull down zipper. Get yourself out of these fucking briefs.
Another grunt, rapidly turned into a groan, as I lube myself with pre-come. Wildly unnecessary. “So wet,” I growl, stating the obvious. “Christ, Ella. Your cunt is dripping.”
She whimpers. “Take it. Take me. Into the dark. All the way. Please…”
I shove her panties farther aside. Notch my agonized crown against her tight cushions. “This isn’t going to be gentle.” It’s not an apology.
“Thank the fucking Creator.”
I lunge.
She screams.
We shake together, our bodies roaring in gratitude. I’m seated inside her, naked and pulsing, head to balls. Fucking heaven.
My forehead falls to her collarbone. My hands force hers outward, stretching her…until she’s crushed against the seat beneath me.
I pull out. Nearly all the way.
Thrust in again, deeper than before.
Again.
Again.
Scott keeps driving. Around us, the city thrums with horns and hawkers, sirens and shouts, rock music and rowdy madness—but in here, in the haven of our darkness, there is only the wet rhythm of our bodies, the climbing force of our passion…the precipice to which we climb, aching to fall over together once again…
“Cassian. Oh…my. Cassian!”
“I know, sweet armeau. I know.”
“So…close. I…am…so close.”
“Widen your knees. It’s going to spread everything for you.”
I feel the exact moment she complies. Before she can even cry out, her walls clench in, surrounding me in the heated vise of her body. My dick answers with a swell of pressure, punching me deeper in, pulling me closer to the sublime end of my sanity. To make it better for us both, I add a subtle roll at the end of each thrust. If the seat is grinding her clit as I think it is, the effect on her arousal will be—
“Cassian! Fuck!”
Damn. Damn. That word, on her lips…even my hair follicles sizzle. I sink my teeth into her shoulder, and don’t relent one inch on driving hard into her sweet, tight body. “You like that, favori?”
“Uh,” she gasps. “Uh-huh…”
“Of course you do. My perfect girl.” I run my hands back up, cupping beneath her bodice. Pinch her nipples again, reveling in her throaty cry, before delving my hold back beneath the dress. My hands dive in, bracing her hips. My head fits against her neck. “My perfect girl, in the dark…where it’s filthy and hot, and my cock is buried so deep inside you…”
She inhales, shaky and edgy. Exhales between her teeth, as her hands fist around the seat buckles. “Yes,” she pants. “Yes. More. Take me there. Take. Me. There.”
And…that’s it. Her plea snicks open the lock on my remaining restraint. With a punishing pace, I fuck her body back onto mine. I ram forward with the same force, feeding her the dialogue she craves with equally nasty intensity.
“The only place I’m taking you is under me, woman.”
“Yes…”
“Taking my cock…bare…hard…deep.”
“Yes!”
“Your cunt will keep taking it…and so will your clit.” The tiny tremors of her nub, now flicked by my balls, have not escaped my attention.
“Yes, Cassian. Yes.”
“Without barriers this time.”
“None!”
“Feel me filling you…invading you…making you hotter by the moment, until you think you can’t stand it anymore, and—”
Her shriek finally breaks in. “I cannot! Creator help me—Cassian, please—I cannot take it anymore!”