39. CASSANDRA

My chest heaves as Carson fumbles the old key into the lock with one hand. The other grips my hair and locks me in place on top of his open mouth.

Our weight is against the door when it finally swings open, sending us crashing into the suite. My ass rams into the corner of an antique bureau, knocking it back several inches on the dark mahogany floor.

The room is lit with a single lamp on the nightstand next to a four-poster canopy bed. Carson effortlessly lifts me off the floor and tosses me on top of it. It’s so soft, I feel like I’m landing on a cloud.

He tears off his tux jacket and hurls it in the general direction of the door. I reach up and help him with his bow tie, sliding it off in a single tug. He props himself on top of me on the bed with his left hand and undoes the top button of his shirt with the other.

I finish with the rest of the buttons, laying bare that sculpted torso. The shirt joins his jacket on the other side of the room. All of this is so new to me, and yet with Carson it feels like I’ve done it a thousand times.

Suddenly I’m compelled to just squeeze his pectoral muscles. They’re so solid, so smooth. My hands explore the rest of him, running down the xylophone of his ribs to his abdominals. I count the lumps under my fingers: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

Now that my hands are in the neighborhood, they might as well take care of these pesky suspenders. Two quick squeezes on the silver clips and they going flying backwards. Then my hand reaches for the clasp of his pants.

Carson’s mouth disengages from mine with a wet smacking noise. He fixes me with his gaze.

“What’s the matter?” I breathe.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks, his chest heaving. “I only want to do this if it’s what you want.”

I grab him and press my body against his bare chest, feeling the unyielding softness there.

“I’ve never wanted anything like I want this,” I whisper in his ear.

That may very well be the truest thing I’ve ever said in my life.

As if on cue, his pants hit the floor and puddle around his ankles. He kicks them off and stands there a moment, wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of long black socks.

I try to stop it, but the giggle escapes me.

“Oh baby,” I purr. “You are so sexy.”

He holds up a finger.

“Hang onto that thought.”

In two seconds the socks are flying across the room like a pair of blackbirds on the wing.

That’s when I see the massive tent under his boxers, and I gasp.

He reaches under me and lifts me from the bed, turning so that he’s sitting on the bed and I’m standing in front of him.

“I’ve waited for this my whole adult life,” he says, his eyes wide.

“Then I better not keep you waiting a second longer,” I say, reaching behind me and sliding the zipper down the $14,000 plum dress until the slider hits the spot where my back meets the cleft of my ass.

I shiver and the dress falls to the floor, exposing me to Carson’s greedy gaze. He looks me up and down, every curve, every freckle, every single flaw, laid bare in front of him.

In spite of myself, I bite my lip. I’ve never wanted anyone’s approval so badly.

His mouth drops open.

“You’re perfect,” he growls.

I reach forward and pull his face to my breasts. He kisses them gently, stroking the undersides with both hands. My whole body trembles at his touch as he runs his fingertips along the sides, then glides around to the hollow of my back.

As he does, I close my eyes and drop my head back. The warmth of his mouth as it closes over my pale pink nipple is delicious. They’ve both been bullet-hard since we entered the elevator, begging for this attention. And truly, I’ve been running on a low ebb of desire ever since Carson stumbled back into my life.

He alternates between my breasts, kissing one gently while massaging the other. He starts out slowly, gently, then changes to scraping the edges of his front teeth up and down them. The sensation is so powerful, so delightful, that I almost lose my balance. After long moments of this, he wraps his tongue around the nub again and applies pressure, sending a flood into the slit under my panties.

Without thinking, I reach down between his legs and reach through the fly of his boxers to the hardness within. It’s so hot to the touch, like a branding iron wrapped in silk.

“Unhhh,” he groans against my breasts. My heart soars. I’m so glad I’m making him feel as good as he’s making me feel.

Well, maybe not quite that good. But I can try.

Carson stands and his shorts drop to the floor, leaving him totally nude in front of me for the first time in our lives. It’s like looking at Michelangelo’s David in the low light of the bedside lamp. Every perfect curve, every angle, delineated by shadow.

Except he’s considerably better endowed.

I can’t imagine ever seeing another man naked – anyone else would pale in comparison. For a split-second my mind threatens to go to the other contestants in the Chase, but I clamp it down instantly.

I’m not with one of them. I’m with Carson. And if this is a dream, I never want to wake up.