by Cassia Leo
I sigh as I also lean back on the sofa and stare out the huge window at the dazzling lights. “The police said she was drunk when she ran into a sign in front of an apartment complex a few miles away, way past the drugstore where her prescription was waiting for her. But I know she wasn’t drunk. I just… I know it.”
He sits up a bit straighter and turns his torso toward me. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you know?”
“Because… Of the few memories I have of my mom, she was never drinking. I saw my dad drink a lot, but never once did I see my mom drink alcohol, not even a beer.” I look into his gray eyes. “I’ve never said this aloud, but I think my mom was killed by…” I shake my head, stopping myself before I make a huge mistake.
“Killed by who?” he urges me on.
“Nothing. No one. I just… I know she wasn’t drunk.”
He scoots closer to me, and my heart races as his large hand lands gently on my face. I have to mentally remind myself why I’m there: for my dad’s insurance claim. I can’t fall for someone who works for the company that destroyed our lives.
His gaze falls to my mouth, lingering there for a moment before returning to my eyes. “Kara,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “Your vulnerability is breathtaking.”
I don’t know if I should stop him and make him promise to do something about my father’s insurance claim before I have sex with him. I don’t know how blackmail or coercion work. All I know is there is something about Cash that is both powerful and yielding all at once. Something that makes me want to tell him things I’ve never told anyone.
I absolutely cannot stay the night here after we have sex.
“I have to say something,” I say, grabbing his face to stop him before he kisses me.
“What is it?” he replies, his eyebrow cocked.
The scruff on his jaw is rough beneath my fingertips, and I find it comforting. My stomach flutters as I stare into his silver-gray eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just spit it out already? He obviously likes me. I doubt he would be totally opposed to helping my father out, unless I’ve completely misunderstood his character up to this point.
“Kara, what is it?”
I shake my head as I get a firmer grip on his chiseled face. “Do you have a condom?”
He pauses for a moment, as if he’s contemplating whether to call me out on this. He knows I wanted to say something more important than Do you have a condom? Not that condoms aren’t important. But he decides against questioning me. He lets go of my neck and stands up, holding his hand out to me.
This is it. My window of opportunity is closing and I don’t have the courage to stop it. I can’t decide if this is because I’m afraid he’ll say no to helping my father or because I’m afraid he’ll throw me out if he finds out why I came here.
I take his hand and let out a nervous giggle when he yanks me up roughly and I land in his arms. “Impressive,” I remark. “How long have you been practicing that move?”
He leans forward, his lips hover over mine. “Sweetheart, I’ve been training for this day all my life.”
Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and sets off toward a staircase.
I clear my throat as I notice the veins in his neck popping out from the force required to carry me. “Um… I can walk.”
He glares at me. “What part of training for this my whole life do you not understand?” he replies, then he stops on the fourth step and tosses me up in the air.
I scream so loud I can hear the echo as he catches me safely in his arms. “You jerk!” I shout, smacking his chest.
He laughs as he carries me up the stairs and into the loft area, where he sets me down. “Hey, you basically challenged my manhood when you offered to walk. I can’t let you get away with that.”
“Challenged your manhood!” I scoff as I turn around to get a better look at the loft.
It’s as pristine and white as the downstairs, but with splashes of gray and green here and there. The white comforter on the bed looks thicker than my mattress. I’ll bet his bed cost more than my car.
His hands land on my belly as he comes up behind me, pulling me into him as he whispers in my ear, “I know that bed looks comfortable, but that’s not where we’re having sex tonight.”
I chuckle nervously as his hand slides beneath the waistbands of my jeans and panties. “Where are we going to have sex?”
He kisses my neck, drawing out the suspense as his hand finds it way between my legs. My eyelids flutter as he slides his finger inside me. My heart pounds heavily in my ears as he shoves it in deeper, until I feel I sharp pang of pleasure coming from within. He curls his finger and my body spasms as he moves the tip gently back and forth, as if he’s coaxing my orgasm to come to him, submit to him.
“We’re going upstairs,” he breathes into my ear, making no move to remove his hand from between my legs.
My legs become wobbly and he tightens his hold around my belly with his other arm. “I can’t,” I whisper. “Oh, God.”
“You can’t, what?” he replies, his voice a low growl daring me to stop this intense pleasure.
“I… I can’t stand it. Oh, my God. I’m gonna come.”
He pulls his finger out of me and drags my moisture forward to firmly caress my clit, which sends me straight over the edge. The muscles in my thighs quiver as I throw my head back, panting heavily as the orgasm rocks me to my core.
“That’s it. Get nice and wet for me,” he urges me on as he continues to stimulate me.
“Oh, my God. Stop. Please stop.”
He chuckles. “What did I tell you? In the bedroom, I call the shots. Is that clear?”
My body convulses and I’m unable to speak as he rubs my clit until I’m way past the point of orgasm. All I can do is nod as he brings me to the brink once again, but pulls his hand out of my pants before I can finish this time.
He clutches me tightly to him to keep me from collapsing. I’m breathing so hard, all I want to do is lay in that comfy bed until I’ve recovered. He gives me about ten seconds to catch my breath before he turns me around, his arm still locked around my waist as he reaches up and traces the finger he used to make me come over my lip.
I can smell my musky scent and I wish I’d had a chance to shower after my shift. Just as this embarrassing thought flashes in my mind, he brings the same finger to his mouth and slides it inside. He sucks on it a moment then nods as he slides it out of his mouth.
“Very nice. Do you want to know what you taste like?”
I swallow hard. “What do I taste like?”
“Like a cross between an earthy beer and black tea. It’s really quite intoxicating. I can’t wait to put my mouth on you.” He kisses the corner of my mouth and my fingers close around his tie. “I’m going to make you come so many times, you’re gonna lose count.”
Cash takes me up to the third level of the penthouse, where there’s an empty studio space. He leads me through a set of French doors out onto a large veranda with a cozy outdoor bed clothed in sumptuous linens. And true to his word, he makes me come more times than I can count. And just when I think I’ve made it through this evening in tact, something shifts.
He flips me onto my back and looks into my eyes as he moves in and out of me. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
Such a simple question, usually uttered in the midst of complicated situations. But there’s nothing complicated about this. It’s just sex, right?
7
Cash
I lift her leg as my cock digs deeper into her and the gasp she lets out is too sexy for words. Resting my elbow on the pillow, I brush her hair out of her face, looking into her eyes as I await the response to my question. Her eyebrows knit together as she pants heavily. There’s something there in her eyes. Is it fear or something else?
“I… I’m thinking… I’m gonna come.” She closes her eyes and turns her head away.
To say I’m disappointed
with this response would be putting it mildly. Not that I don’t want her to come, but she’s very obviously hiding something from me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about women it’s that they will almost never decline an opportunity to tell you how they feel, unless they’re hiding something. I’m disappointed in Kara’s lack of communication, yet intrigued by the possibility of finding out more about her.
My cock seems to like her. The angle of her pussy is perfect, clinging to my dick in all the right places. Her clit is easily identifiable and she seems to come easily, though that could be from the long hiatus since her last boyfriend. And I saw a delicious sparkle in her eyes when I rubbed the tip of my cock over her ass. She’s dirty enough to let me in the backdoor without a wedding ring. But it’s not just my cock that wants to know her.
There’s something dark behind those brown eyes, something she won’t let anyone see, probably not even her closest confidantes. I want to see it. I want to pull it out of her and lay it bare. I have a feeling whatever it is will change me.
I grind my pelvis against her clit and her eyes flick open again. Grabbing her jaw, I turn her face so she’s looking me in the eye. Her mouth hangs open, small whimpers issuing forth as her pussy clamps down on my cock.
“I’m coming,” she whispers.
I hold her gaze as we both come together. I’m breathing so hard, every time I exhale the hair around her face flutters. Something about this makes me grin and she gives me a genuine smile in return.
“How many times did you come?” I ask as my cock twitches, releasing its final spurts into the condom.
She shakes her head. “I don’t remember.”
“I told you you’d lose count.” I pinch the top of the condom tightly around the base of my cock and pull out of her slowly so it doesn’t leak, then I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Come with me.”
After a long, luxurious shower, I convince her to stay a while longer so she can eat something, since I did hear her stomach growl at least twice while we were having sex. It’s fun to see how far I can push her out of her comfort zone. She promised she wasn’t going to spend the night, but I have a feeling she won’t need much convincing to break this promise.
“What do you want?” I say, opening the refrigerator door. “I’ve got some plain yogurt, some leftover shrimp wontons, and some paleo wraps. I can make you a wrap with some shrimp wontons and yogurt.” I smile as she cocks an eyebrow. “Or we can just order pizza.”
She looks me up and down. “Are you going to put on clothes before the pizza guy gets here?”
I glance down at my naked body then I look at her body, which is clothed in a bathrobe I gave her. “We might get the pizza free if he’s gay or just plain terrified.”
She nods. “Yeah, because you totally can’t afford pizza, Mr. Three-Level Penthouse.”
I close the refrigerator door and round the kitchen island toward where she’s sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Then, you answer the door and I’ll lie on the sofa naked while you feed me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not answering your door. This isn’t my house.”
“You can’t answer my door?” I remark, spreading her knees and slipping my hand between her legs, smiling when I find she’s already slick with moisture. “But you can rub your wet pussy all over my bathrobe?”
She tries to suppress a smile when I pull my hand out from between her legs and lick it clean. “Fine. I’ll answer the door, so you don’t have to put clothes on.”
Before the pizza arrives, I get dressed in some boxers and pajama pants, rendering our argument moot. I answer the door, because I don’t want anyone other than me seeing her in my bathrobe.
This is partially because of what I know will happen if the media finds out I’ve brought yet another girl to the penthouse, just four days after the last one was taken away in an ambulance. But it’s mostly because I feel a bit protective over her. I don’t want anyone to see her in that robe and imagine what she looks like underneath.
Jesus Christ. I need to get a grip on myself.
I grab us each a beer and turn on the news on the flatscreen in the den to catch up on the day’s news while we eat. “So, how did you get the job at the club?” I ask as I set a slice of pizza on her plate. “I’ve heard you can only get a job there if you’ve worked one of the big tournaments or you’re in good with Mick. Which is it?”
She grabs her plate and sits cross-legged on the sofa next to me. “I basically begged for the job. Mick didn’t want to hire me because my dad was banned from all casinos on the Strip years ago.”
I laugh. “Whoa. You didn’t tell me this. Why was your dad banned?”
She stares at me wide-eyed as if she’s revealed too much. “He was a card counter. Not a big deal,” she replies, turning her attention back to her pizza.
“Not a big deal? That’s a pretty big deal if he’s the one who taught you how to deal. That means you probably grew up playing the game. Am I right?”
She chews her pizza slowly and looks a bit uncomfortable as she gulps it down. “I really don’t want to talk about my dad.”
I stare at the slice of pizza in my hand for a moment, then I set it down as I realize this is what she’s hiding. Her father is the key to knowing the real Kara.
I set my plate of pizza on the coffee table and turn to her. “Hey, you wanna—”
“Oh, my God. Is that you?” she interrupts me, pointing at the TV.
I whip my head around to look at the screen and, sure enough, there’s the picture of me and Rosie entering the lobby four nights ago. We both look equally blasted and she has her hand on my ass. This is embarrassing enough, until I hear the commentary from the CNBC reporter.
Is Cash Westbrook, Executive Vice President of Westbrook Oil and notorious Las Vegas party boy, being forced out of Westbrook Oil following his latest publicity gaffe? Sources close to the company tell us the board is in talks with investors, and Cash himself, to see how they can minimize the financial fallout from his latest antics. Our source claims Cash is very interested in coming to an agreement with the board and investors, even if that means he must step down from his position at the helm of the $80-billion conglomerate.
I turn off the TV and toss the remote onto the coffee table. “That’s not true,” I say, unable to look at Kara to see her reaction. “I mean, the part where they said I’m in talks with the board. That’s bullshit. They’ll do what they want, with or without me.”
She sighs as she places her plate on the table. “I should probably get going. I have to get up early to take—my friend to an appointment.”
We both stand up at the same time and I grab her wrist and gently pull her toward me. “You don’t have to leave,” I say, grabbing the waist-tie on the robe and slowly pulling it until it comes undone. Slipping my hand inside, my fingers whisper over her smooth hips as I whisper in her ear. “Stay the night and I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”
She laughs. “That’s very tempting.”
“They’re my specialty. I call them the Westbrook Oil Spills.” I tilt her face up and smile as I look her in the eye. “But I can’t make them just for me. When I’m alone, they get too salty from all the tears that inevitably fall into the batter.”
She shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “Is that how you get all the girls to come up here? Promising them pancakes?”
“Those days are over.”
“Right,” she replies skeptically.
I move my hand down to her perfect ass and pull her body flush against me, so she can feel my growing erection against her bare pussy. “If you go out there right now, there will be paparazzi waiting to ambush you the moment you exit the property. They’ll follow you to your house. Just stay until morning and they’ll be gone.”
Her eyelids flutter as I slide my hand forward and down between her swollen folds. “Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?”
I stroke her clit as I brush my lips over her jaw. “Nothing you can�
�t get out of if you spend the night.”
She locks her arms around my shoulders as her legs begin to twitch. “Show me the bedroom.”
I’m not at all surprised when I wake at seven in the morning to find the other side of my bed empty and cold. I’m tempted to try to go back to sleep so I can wake up again and get a do-over. Maybe next time I open my eyes Kara will still be there.
I decide to get out of bed, but just as my feet hit the floor, I notice something on the floor. A condom wrapper from last night. And not just one. There’s a trail of condom wrappers leading into the master bathroom.
The trail stops in front of the vanity. Just above the vanity, scrawled across the bathroom mirror, is a phone number written in pink lipstick. I smile as I touch the tip my finger to the kiss mark on the bottom-right side of the mirror.
I shake my head as I think of Kara’s words from last night: Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into.
I don’t know, but I can’t fucking wait to find out.
I’m showered and dressed before the cleaning lady arrives at eight. “Take the day off,” I say, grabbing Norma’s shoulders and turning her around toward the front door, where she just walked in.
“It’s Sunday, Mr. Westbrook,” she replies in her thick Spanish accent. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”
I laugh. “No, no, Norma. You didn’t do anything wrong. And you’re right! It’s Sunday. I’m giving you the day off. Go spend some time with your family. Go to church, or whatever you do. Take your kids to the park. ¡Disfruta! Enjoy!”
She stops at the door and looks back at me like I’m crazy, then she slowly reaches for the front door handle. “Okay,” she says softly. “I come tomorrow?”
