He picked the second dice and his brows lifted. I raised my head, struggling to see it. A six. My fantasy dissolved, and I glanced at the handcuffs with trepidation.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I—”
An alarm blared, a light flashing from the corner of the room, the loud siren scaring the hell out of me. I screamed, and he lifted me to his chest and rolled, gathering me against him. “IT’S OKAY,” he yelled, his voice barely audible even though it was directly in my ear.
His hands cupped either side of my head, softening the noise, and I relaxed against his chest, watching the strobe light flash from a speaker in the corner of the room. When it finally stopped, my ears were ringing, and I lifted my head slowly, almost afraid to expose them again.
“Don’t worry.” He gripped my waist. “That’s protocol.”
“So, nothing’s wrong? Nothing’s on fire?”
“It’s a final evacuation test. The system will be watching for opened doors as a result of the alarm, things to point us in the direction of any guests that are still in-house.”
My concerns ebbed away at his touch, sweeping over and caressing my breasts, giving the nipples special attention. Who would have thought that Tripp Reinhart’s touch could be so gentle? I watched as he reached over, swiping across the bed and picking up the first set of handcuffs. Lifting up my wrist, he fastened one on with the efficiency of a pro.
“Look.” He turned my hand over. “Here’s the release.” He pressed on the lever and the cuffs popped open. “I’m leaving them loose, so you’ll be able to hit it if you need to.”
He rolled us over and nodded to the front of the bed. “Grab ahold of the frame.”
6
TRIPP
If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. She worked her way up the bed and grabbed two of the chrome spindles, watching with interest as he clipped each of her wrists to the bed, giving her enough freedom to move around, without being able to touch him.
“Done this before?” she asked dryly.
He met her eyes. “Yes.”
It wasn’t the most romantic answer in the world. Then again, with everything he was about to do to her, romance wasn’t exactly part of the equation. Still, he felt the need to soften the statement. “But never with a woman like you.”
He ran his hands down her arms and over her breasts, skimming along her stomach and to her thighs, pressing them open and staring down at her smooth bare pussy. She was perfect. Every fold, the pink rainbow of skin, moist and wet. Her breath quickened, and he watched as it flared, calling to him. She tried to pin her knees together. He tightened his grip, holding her open. He lowered his mouth and blew a breath over her before he closed the distance and took her into his mouth.
She came alive, her body moving, the handcuffs rattling, her back arching off the ground. He did little, keeping his mouth soft, his tongue gently exploring, and he listened as she moaned, then went silent, then tensed.
She was a roadmap, easy to read, and he waited until he found her direction. Her cries hit a new pitch, her thighs tensing under his hands, and then he kept his tongue light and constant, maintaining the rhythm as she pulsed and shuddered under his mouth.
He lowered himself to the bed, his dick straining for stimulation, her sounds so erotic that he could barely keep his head straight. He fucked the mattress as he pleased her, and when she came, he had to lift his hips off the bed just to keep his own orgasm at bay.
She cried out his name, bucking her hips, and he let her thighs go. They closed around his head, pinning his mouth to her as she rutted against his face without abandon, her groans turning into grunts as she wheezed out a breath, her muscles loosening, thighs falling open, and he softened everything, his mouth gently mellowing as her orgasm faded.
“Fuck me sideways,” she breathed. “That was insane.”
She had no fucking idea. He reached up on the bed and knocked open one handcuff, then the other. Yanking open the bedside table, he grabbed a foil condom and stuck it in his mouth, moving back on the bed, his need for her overriding any ability to stick to the plan, to take it slow and seduce her.
He ripped open the package and pulled out the condom. “I need to fuck you.”
She pulled her knees up, her legs open, and looked at him through hooded eyes. “Please.”
He barely had the condom on before he was between her open legs, his cock crying for contact. He put the tip of it against her and stopped.
“What?” she gasped. “What are you doing?”
His brain, which had been paralyzed with arousal during her orgasm, re-awoke. He took a moment and looked over her. Her skin was flushed, her nipples hard, a sheen of sweat across her chest. Her hair, always so prim and perfect, was loose across his pillow, her eyes heavy with pleasure, her legs open for him. Her pussy was wet and ready, the taste of her sweetness still on his tongue.
This was Stephanie fucking Wilson. His future. His heart. And he had her. He had her for one fucking night, and he was about to fuck her before he’d even kissed her.
He lowered himself above her and ignored the needy thrust of her hips, her greedy pussy trying to get at his dick. He placed a soft kiss on her left breast, then her right, silently promising them another thousand kisses in the future. He moved up her neck, and she cried out his name, her hands clutching at him, her wet pussy bumping against his hips.
He paused, just over her lips, and met her eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he said huskily.
“I need you,” she begged. “Please.”
He brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. It was brief, a brush of lips, and he positioned his hips above hers, stealing another kiss, this one deeper, her tongue meeting his, a tiny fire of chemistry sparking. His dick found its home and he gently thrust, her inhale captured against his tongue. He withdrew and pushed a little deeper. Her body gripped him like a glove—a warm tight glove that he never wanted to leave. She was perfect, her pussy greedy, flexing and squeezing, her voice urging him on as her hands clawed at his back.
His worry of her pain dissolved in her pleasure, her body opening and adjusting quickly, and he pushed deeper into her than he’d ever gone in a woman before. “Is it—”
She screamed his name, her heels digging into him, and when he pulled back to see her face, the look of her orgasm took him over the edge. His thighs tightened, his breaths turning into animalistic grunts and he quickened his motion, his pleasure peaking. He groaned as his cock sprayed forth his release.
7
STEPHANIE
I was in his shower, running a thick washcloth over my shoulders when the power went out. The bathroom was suddenly dark, the water still running, and I quickly rinsed off and twisted the knob, stopping the spray.
I heard the door open and a faint bit of light entered the room.
“You okay?” Tripp called out.
“Yeah.” I could see the shower door handle gleam in the dim light and I reached for it, cautiously stepping out. “Can you pass me a towel?”
I reached out and was surprised when I felt the fluffy towel enclose me. He worked it over me, gently rubbing my shoulders, then my back, taking his time in drying my breasts, before shimmying it down my body and over my legs. I laughed. “I feel like a dog.”
I felt his lips and the scruff of his stubble as he brushed a kiss onto my shoulder.
“Stay here.”
There was the sound of a door in the dark, and then he worked my arms through a bathrobe and cinched it around me. He opened the door fully and tugged on my hand, bringing me through the dressing area and into his bedroom.
The far wall was all dark windows and I glanced for his bedside table clock, then remembered the power outage. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
It was ominous, how dark it was. A streak of lightning hit the horizon, and everything was illuminated for a moment. I gasped at the sight, the waves rough, the huge clouds everywhere, bearing down on us.
�
��Come in the living room. You can see everything there.”
I followed him into the open room, and he was right. The view there was of the south end of the building, emergency spotlights illuminating the area, and as I approached the window, I could see down to the road, the storm surge colliding with the levees, water spraying over the edge and coating the street. I thought of my car, up in the parking garage, and was glad our employee section was several floors up.
I heard a snap and turned, the glow of a flame moving through the dark and lighting two candles on a table by the window. I slid my hands into the robe pocket and moved closer to the flame. “Did I see a fireplace?”
“I’ll light it if it cools down a bit. I didn’t want to cook us in here.” He smiled at me, the candlelight flickering off his face.
“Good point.”
Thunder clapped, and I glanced toward the sound. “Think we’re safe?”
“This building is the strongest thing in the county. There’s no safer place than right here.” He picked up a walkie-talkie, issuing a string of commands and waiting as one by one, managers and security reported in.
Power was out in the entire building. Emergency generators had the electronic lock systems operational, along with all security systems, cameras, and common area lights. So far, no problems to report.
He grabbed onto the end of a couch and drug it over to the window, setting in at an angle where we could view the levees and the waterfront row of shops and restaurants that lined the water. He sat down on the end of the couch and I settled next to him, curling up against his side. “You hungry?”
“Not really. I had a snack in the bar.” I thought of the shrimp cocktail appetizer and how nervous I had been while eating it. It seemed silly now—my nerves and my fear of him. Especially since he had seemed to harbor a secret attraction to me, for all this time.
I tilted my head back, looking up into his face. “So… you mentioned earlier that you told Dario to stay away from me.”
“That’s right.” He shifted, swinging his legs up on the couch and repositioning me so that I was lying on top of him. “I told him that you were mine.”
The authoritative tone in his voice was one that sent a tickle of happiness up my spine. “Do you often warn Dario off of women?”
“I never have before.” He tugged at the tie on my robe, loosening the knot. “And you’re the only women I would have done it over.”
“But…” I thought of all the years I’d worked in the tower, all of the intimidating looks he’d sent my way, all of the times he’d chewed me out or ignored me completely. “You’ve always been so…”
“Much of a jerk?” he suggested, sliding his hand into the open neck of my robe, his palm warm.
I curved into his touch. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I was always afraid you would reject me. I was focused on upper management. I thought…once I got there, that you’d see me in a different light.”
I looked up at him. His dark hair was messy, a result of my fingers. The candlelight danced across his features, and I admired the strong cut of his nose, the dark gleam of his eyes. He was an asshole, but he suddenly felt like my asshole—and I had the feeling, if I was his, that he’d fight off the world to protect me. I swallowed. “I like the light I see you in right now.”
“Good.” He scowled, but it seemed like more of a smile. “These candles are cheap. I’ll make sure to swap out those lamps in accounting and replace it with these.”
I laughed. “No. I mean… I like the Tripp I’ve seen tonight. I never needed a fancy title or a suite like this.”
His hand played over my stomach and rose higher, cresting gently along the curve of my breasts, the soft tips of my nipples. I inhaled at his touch and watched his smile widen.
“Levees along the waterfront have broken. Front Street is flooding.”
The calm, almost mechanical voice sputtered through the walkie-talkie and I turned, sitting up on the couch. “Oh my God. Tripp, look!”
It was almost eerie, how slow the water seemed to move. I watched as it swept along the front of the shops, its strength deceptive until it came across something. A bike, leaning against the art shop, vanished into it. The glass window of the little theatre crumpled, a spiderweb forming, then disappeared, water gushing through the open hole. I thought of the interior, the velvet folding chairs, the signed memorabilia from actors—all would be destroyed.
I stood, walking to the window, and pressed a hand on the glass, reassured by its strength. In here, the air was so still. The whistle of the wind was muffled, the crash of the waves silent. I felt like I was watching the storm from a thousand miles away and not a few hundred feet.
A waterspout formed, the tiny twister growing, and I watched as the funnel of water grew closer to land, debris kicking up along its path.
Tripp came up behind me, his arms wrapping around me. “Shit,” he said softly.
“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” I watched as a maintenance shed crumpled under the force of the water, the sign bobbing by and then disappearing under the surf.
“We’ll figure it out. It’s a strong town. It’ll come back.”
“And what about us?” I turned to face him. “What happens with us?”
He tucked a piece of my bangs behind my ear. “Us is whatever you want it to be.” He watched me closely, and when I smiled, his mouth followed suit.
“I don’t want to lose what happened tonight.” I rose on my toes and lifted my chin, wanting a kiss, something to assure me that everything would be alright.
“Steph, I’ve waited a long time for this. If you want something between us, a hurricane couldn’t keep me away.” His voice was husky, his touch soft. He pulled me against him. When he lowered his lips, I found everything I wanted in his kiss.
* * *
If you’d like to read another Alessandra Torre novel, keep turning the pages to see a few recommendations.
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Looking for another book to read?
My books vary in genre, so no matter what you are in the mood for, there’s sure to be something that fits your need. Please see below for a list of some of my most popular novels, organized by genre. Everything listed is a standalone, unless otherwise notated. Happy reading!
Romantic Suspense:
Moonshot, the New York Times Bestseller. Baseball’s hottest player has his eye on only one thing—his team’s 18-year-old ballgirl. Their forbidden relationship turns deadly when young women start dying.
Tight. Falling in love might be the trigger that causes one woman’s kidnap and another woman’s release.
The Girl in 6E. (First in a standalone series, no cliffhanger ending.) A sexy internet superstar hides a dark secret: she’s a reclusive psychopath.
Non-Romantic Psychological Suspense:
The Ghostwriter. Famous novelist Helena Roth is hiding a dark secret – her perfect life is a perfect lie. Now, as death approaches, she must confess her secrets before it’s too late. An emotional and suspense-charged novel.
Sexy Romance:
Hidden Seams. A billion-dollar fashion empire is surrounded by secrets, sex and lies.
Hollywood Dirt. (Now a Full-length Movie!) When Hollywood comes to a small town, sparks fly between its biggest star and a small-town outcast.
Blindfolded Innocence. (First in a series) A college student catches the eye of Brad DeLuca, a divorce attorney with a sexy reputation that screams trouble.
Black Lies, the New York Times Bestseller. A love triangle with a twist that readers couldn’t stop talking about. You’ll hate this heroine until the moment you love her.
Love, Chloe. (First created for Cosmpolitan.com) A fallen socialite works for an heiress, dodges an ex, and juggles single life in the city that never sleeps.
Acknowledgments
With my first
novel, I was alone on an island. Now, I have a tribe of many. While I don’t use the same team on every novel, I would be remiss if I didn’t reach out and thank the following individuals:
To Natasha, Marion and Madison - thank you for reading endless drafts, critiquing characters and plot points, and letting me pick and shift through your feedback. As you all know, I am a terrible first-drafter, and I appreciate you helping this baby to grow from its weak roots and into the beautiful creature it now is.
To Perla, Janice and Erik - thank you for combing every line, paragraph and page break and making this manuscript as error-free as possible. I wince and laugh every time I see the near-calamities that you catch.
To Tricia Crouch - Thank you for reading every single draft, for proofing endless Radish episodes, and for talking me through the rough spots and off the ledges. I love you!
To Joey - Thank you for the inspiration, the back rubs and advice. Thank you for distracting me when I needed it and supporting me when I holed up in my office and worked. I love you more than anything on this earth.
About the Author
Alessandra Torre is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author of seventeen novels. Torre has been featured in such publications as Elle and Elle UK, as well as guest blogged for the Huffington Post and RT Book Reviews. She is also the Bedroom Blogger for Cosmopolitan.com. In addition to writing, Alessandra is the creator of Alessandra Torre Ink, a website, community, and online school for aspiring authors.
Learn more about Alessandra at alessandratorre.com or join 40,000 readers and sign up for her popular monthly newsletter at nextnovel.com.
ALL IN: A Romantic Suspense Page 43
