Chapter Seven
Calum Price was such a fucking…man.
From his hard body, to the way he kissed her, to the way he groaned when he bit her. Even better was the way he growled when she bit him. Or, no. The way he tangled his fingers in her hair when she sucked him, moaning and whispering curse words in between snarls of arousal? So fucking good.
But the best was the authoritative swiftness with which he brought her to her feet.
“My turn.”
He kissed her—hard—as he backed her up to the massive bed. “Get on your hands and knees.”
Bossy.
Oh dear God.
She moved up onto the bed, darting a glance over her shoulder as Cal crawled up behind her, his hand snaking around her waist while the other one grabbed her ass.
Needy and desperate.
Oh. She loved it. She absolutely loved it. She’d only dared to ask one partner—Jerry—to be bossy with her, and it had been half-hearted because he was too afraid to hurt her. That wasn’t a bad thing, but the problem was, he didn’t get off on it.
It was a bad thing because it’d made Becca feel dirty for wanting it, and that had been the end of that. And, the end of Jerry.
But right now? Becca didn’t feel dirty. She felt like the sexiest goddamn woman on the planet. Arching her back, she wagged her ass back and forth like a cat in heat, desiring only to tempt Cal into having his way with her.
“Jesus.” Cal spread her ass and pussy and then impaled her with his thumbs. Both. At once.
The result was a full-body arch, and Becca keened with the pleasure of penetration.
“So fucking hot.” With one thumb still inside, he withdrew his other to rub her clit. “So fucking wet.”
“Cal,” she panted over her shoulder. “Please.”
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm…” He drilled her with three fingers instead. “In a sec.”
Becca hung her head and closed her eyes as Cal fingered her. One finger, two fingers, three. Then back down to two until suddenly there were no fingers, and before she could protest, she felt something even better.
Something soft and wet nudged her clit back and forth. Cal licked along her opening, sending fluttering twinges into her tummy.
“Lie on your back.”
Thank God. Becca’s arms didn’t want to hold her up anymore. Not with all the wonderful conflicting sensations going on. Warm, wet, and tender versus hard, demanding, and possessive. Yet the contrast was what made it all so wonderful.
Once on her back, Cal crawled between her parted thighs, pushing them wide. Demanding and gentle all at the same time.
“You have a pretty pussy, miss.”
No one had ever said such a thing to her, but it was perfect, particularly when Cal fit his hands beneath her ass and tilted her to the angle he needed so he could taste her.
Becca experienced a mystical moment where she felt as if her earlier thoughts had conjured what was happening right now. Cal’s head between her thighs, enjoying her body. Even in the dim light, it was possible to see the contrast of his hair against her thighs. It was exactly as she’d imagined.
No.
It was a million times better.
His mouth was warm and wet as his tongue prodded her clit, penetrating her folds, while his fingers joined in. For whatever reason, Becca was able to open to him in ways she hadn’t before. It was a fleeting realization, and then it was gone because all she cared about was the delicious sensation of his mouth on her. Sucking. Licking. Penetrating. Biting.
Oh God.
“That’s it, Bec,” he murmured after lifting his head. “God, you love to have your pussy kissed, don’t you?”
“Cal…”
“What about this?” He bent down again, this time it was his teeth on her clit, tugging gently before licking again.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
He did it again, and Becca was transported to the cosmos where everything was energy and light and weightlessness and mystery. Where stars were imploding and galaxies were exploding.
“Jesus. I love the way you come.”
And then Calum rolled out from between her legs, found the wallet he’d left on the bedside table, fished something out—please let it be a condom—and was back in bed beside her, like he’d never been away. Like time really was a construct of an earthly existence and meant nothing in the realm where she currently existed.
“I need to be inside of you. I need to see,” he whispered hotly in her ear.
“What do you need to see?” Was he in outer space with her, suspended in a state of ecstasy like she was? It sure as hell felt like it.
He kissed her lips until they were bruised. “I need to see if you fit me as well as I think you will.”
“Yes,” Becca sighed. “Oh fuck, yes.”
He spread her thighs with his knees, wriggled his hips until he was positioned at her entrance, and thrust.
All. The. Way.
Stars blinked on and off behind Becca’s eyelids. He was indeed a perfect fit.
…
It was the next day, and the late-afternoon sun blazed down on the white tile surrounding the pool. Thank God for the shade of the awning set up over the portable stage where Cal sat, waiting for the kickoff of the pageant, which was the bathing suit competition.
“Don’t think of it like a beauty pageant,” Eddie John had said, “It’s more like a combination of a pageant, a reality TV show, and a good old-fashioned cat fight.” The thing setting this apart was that this was not airing on any television network. This was going to be streaming live. Already, they had over a million subscribers, and according to one of the assistant producers, the numbers were growing every second.
Everyone, Cal and contestants included, had been reminded numerous times that this was live and that editing would be minimal. As far as Cal was concerned, it was a clusterfuck, and it hadn’t even started yet. At least he didn’t have to do the Bachelor thing and go on individual dates with the women. His publicist had made that very clear.
“It’s too dangerous for you. Even with all the waivers, you need to keep an arm’s length distance.”
The producers had agreed, reluctantly. But he was required to spend a good percentage of the shooting with his shirt off.
Fucking ridiculous.
The fifty contestants were just now lining up outside the tents where they’d been waiting. Spectators were milling about behind a fenced barricade, and Cal craned his neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of a floppy hat.
Kevyn—with a Y—Khan was pacing and talking into one of those headset microphones, looking like a douche.
“You ready?” Eddie asked Cal from below the stage. “You’ve got everything you need?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got the tablet with the contestants who will be moving on?”
“Yes. It’s on the table there.”
“You’ve prepared your lines.”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Eddie repeated. “Okay. This is it. It’s all live, so let’s keep it lively, people.” Half turning, he spoke into his own headset, instructing the contestant handler to inform the women they needed to be ready to “strut their stuff” in five minutes.
There was an unsettled sensation in Cal’s stomach. It wasn’t nerves. It was something else. While the idea of this whole sham looked good on paper, now that he was actually here and it was all about to begin? All he longed for was his penthouse in Manhattan, for the rooftop patio where he and his bull mastiff, Duke, liked to hang out, him drinking Scotch, Duke curled up by his feet…
And Becca Evans.
God. Last night had been a fucking revelation. He’d had some pretty fantastic sex in the past, but what had happened between him and Becca…? That was something else. Something he couldn’t even name. And when he’d woken up and she’d been gone, for the first time in his life, he’d been disappointed.
“Okay, we’re ready to go live in ten, nine, eight…”
Cal tucked the memories from last night away in another compartment in his brain. He needed to focus as Kevyn kicked off the contest.
“…and all of this: this incredible resort, these stunning women, are all here because of one man. One very eligible man. Mr. Calum Price!”
Calum stood up and waved to the accompaniment of cheers both from the crowd and—he was pretty sure—from some canned source. Shortly after he sat down, the swimsuit portion of the day began, and gorgeous, leggy women paraded toward him along a runway, stopping in front of the platform on which he sat, wearing nothing but barely there bikinis while their introductions were broadcast on a jumbotron screen behind where Cal sat.
Cal couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that enjoyed the show. Thoroughly.
He was a man, first and foremost.
However, the over-the-top antics of the women—encouraged by the organizers—became tiring very quickly. Women bending over and wagging their asses at him when their names were announced. French kissing their own hands, touching themselves, doing sexy little swivels with their hips. Until…
“I’m Grace Evans, from Madison, Wisconsin. I love fashion, old movies, and trying new things in the kitchen…”
Becca’s sister walked up the runway, wearing an elegant red-and-black one-piece bathing suit. As far as coverage went, it was on the high end of the scale, where the low end was nipple tassels and G-strings. She moved gracefully, with perfect posture and her head held high. She didn’t smile that too-wide, fake smile like so many of the other girls did. Hers was soft. Almost shy. Her shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back on one side again by the same red, tropical flower—good branding—and seeing her walk toward him set off fireworks in his gut. Not because of who she was, but because of who she reminded him of. Though there was very little physical resemblance between the sisters. While Grace was beautiful, Becca actually exuded more sex appeal.
When Grace stopped in front of him, she did not do anything lewd or crude, and instead of blowing him a kiss, she waved. A simple, friendly gesture that had him waving back.
Twenty minutes later, Kevyn Khan joined him on the podium and instructed all the girls to line up along the walkway.
“Thank you all for that amazing show. And thank you for coming to the Playground of Paradise Bay Resort and for entering the Miss Temptation Pageant. You are all beautiful women, and Mr. Price would be honored to go on a date with any one of you. So, without further ado, here’s a word from the man himself, Mr. Calum Price!”
One of the organizers appeared with a live microphone and handed it to Cal, who turned to face the women.
He blinked. This was all so strange. None of these women knew him, and if they did know who he really was and where he came from, would they still be interested?
Cal highly doubted it.
Cynical?
Maybe.
Accurate?
Absolutely.
…
Becca sat at the desk in the villa, her computer setup showing the live feed from the Men’s Magazine channel and her cell phone showing the images that were recording from Grace’s flower.
“Smile with your eyes, keep your mouth closed,” she instructed Grace. “The key is to always set yourself apart.”
Thank God Grace was listening this time.
No more embarrassing comments on the state of Becca’s sex life.
The contest feed zoomed in on Cal’s face, and Becca’s whole body broke out in a sweat. She still couldn’t believe what had happened last night, couldn’t believe that the man on stage had been between her thighs, making her come three times.
Jesus H. Christ.
She pressed her thighs together to quell the lingering tremors.
All day long, she’d been replaying snippets from the evening, which made it incredibly hard to concentrate on her sister as her eyes continually strayed to Cal.
That man did things to me that are probably still illegal in some states.
“Good afternoon, ladies. I want to thank all of you for being here. For wanting to go on a date with me.” He paused as he waited for the cheers and excitement to die down. “And for just being your beautiful selves.”
Something hot and spiky jabbed the inside of Becca’s gut.
“It was a one-time thing, Becca. You can’t possibly expect anything more,” she muttered to herself.
“Did you say something?” Grace whispered in response.
Shit. She had to do a better job of keeping her internal monologue inside, particularly given that Grace was listening.
“While I wish I could get to know each and every one of you, one week is not enough time to get to know fifty women,” Cal continued. “So…we are going ahead with the first round of eliminations…right now.”
Becca leaned forward. There was a gasp of shock and murmurs of disappointment from the contestants.
“On my tablet are the names of twenty-four women. These are the women who received the most votes via the live feed on the bathing suit portion of the competition. For those who are eliminated today, I am sorry that your time in the competition has been cut short. However, to thank you for participating, each of you will receive a gift bag courtesy of our sponsor, Men’s Magazine, which includes…”
He listed the contents of the gift bag, but Becca wasn’t listening. “Eliminations already,” she muttered. “Did they tell you about this?”
“No,” Grace whispered in reply. “I had no idea.”
“Grace, honey. Don’t speak, remember?” Becca instructed. It didn’t matter how many times they’d done this, Grace always needed to be reminded.
“Okay, but then don’t ask me questions,” she said under her breath.
“It was rhetorical.”
“What?”
“Shh.” She had to think. And pace.
Okay, Grace had a 50-percent chance of moving on in the competition. Not bad odds.
But not great ones, either.
She had to get down there.
“I know you don’t want to be left in suspense for long, so let’s get started. If I call your name, please step forward. You will be moving on to the next round of the competition.”
Grabbing her beach bag, Becca hurried from the room, her flip-flops thwacking the bottoms of her bare feet as she ran down the path toward the event location beside the main pool. The names of the contestants who would be continuing in the pageant could be heard through her earpiece, but as she neared the event stage, she could also hear the names over the loudspeaker.
“Gabby Albright.”
“Tiffany Funk.”
“Margo Miller.”
Twenty names had been called. No Grace. With each ballot that was drawn, the probability of Grace being chosen decreased exponentially. She was now at four out of thirty. That was only a 13.333-percent chance of being chosen.
Shit.
Pushing her way to the front where the barrier separated the spectators from the contestants, Becca elbowed her way along the line to be as close to Grace as she could get. Which just happened to be in Calum’s line of sight. Except he wasn’t looking her way.
Grace Evans, Grace Evans, Grace Evans…she chanted in her head.
“Number twenty-three…” Bongo drums.
“Kaitlyn Jones.”
The probability that Grace’s name would be drawn was now less than four percent. Shit.
“And finally, number twenty-four…” More drums, even louder this time.
Calum swiped the tablet. He read it, hesitated, and then lifted his gaze. “The final contestant to move on in the pageant is…” Somehow their eyes met and without skipping a beat, Cal said, “Grace Evans. Please step forward.”
Was that a wink?
It didn’t matter. He’d chosen Grace.
“Oh, thank God,” Grace’s voice was in her ear.
Becca couldn’t tell if she’d said anything else because Kevyn’s booming voice came over the sound system. “Thank you to all our contestants. Would those who were not chosen please follow Marta—she’s waving right there—where you’ll be presented with your gift bags and treated to an amazing afternoon at the spa.”
There was grumbling in the ranks of women who were directed toward the event tent by not only Marta but a bevy of muscular men all wearing tight black T-shirts and headsets. Once they had exited, Kevyn came back on. “Congratulations to those remaining in the contest.” He flipped his hair and flashed a toothy smile. “As you know, this contest is live, and we’re all about taking it to the next level.” Kevyn walked amongst the women, and Becca’s anxiety over Grace not being chosen sprouted into something sour as she watched the jerk swagger past. She should lower her gaze, but she couldn’t help herself. She stared at him, wishing she had telekinetic powers that would create the daggers she was imagining.
“So, who wants to go to the next level with me?” He stopped beside a tall brunette. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Margo Miller.”
“Do you want to go to the next level with me, Margo?”
“Oh, yeah. Though I’d prefer going there with Mr. Price.”
“You’re breaking my heart, Margo.” Kevyn feigned injury and then turned toward the stage, pointing at Cal. “But Mr. Price is the man of the hour. What do you say, Cal? Should we take it to the next level?”
Becca rolled her eyes and muttered, “My God, he is the biggest turd in the world.”
“Yep.” Came Grace’s reply.
“Shh.”
“Sorry.”
Becca sighed, reminding herself that Grace simply couldn’t help herself.
“Who else wants to take it to the next level?” Kevyn shouted.
There were murmurs of assent from the contestants remaining.
“Louder, ladies.” He pumped his arms, as if that would pump up the volume. Kevyn turned the mouthpiece of his microphone toward the crowd, who shouted and whistled.
Becca cringed.
“Okay, follow me, and I’ll lead you to your next surprise. The first real competition of the week.”
The crowd followed Kevyn along a path that took them to the beach, where a pit had been dug in the sand and filled with mud. Becca wasn’t able to follow because of the barricade, but it was all shown live on the jumbotron screen.
Once everyone had congregated in the new location, including Cal, Kevyn continued his over-exuberant spiel.
“For the second half of today’s competition, the twenty-four remaining contestants will be paired off…” He paused dramatically just as a bunch of mini-fireworks went off on the outer edges of the beach. “For a mud-wrestling competition!”
The crowd went wild.
Becca’s heart sank, and deep inside of her head, she heard Grace’s soft voice saying, “Becca, I can’t.”