He lifts me into his arms. "Bedroom. I'm not taking you in the middle of the living room because I want everything to be right. And in order to do that, I need to go slow. I've got all day, and I intend to use every moment."
I nuzzle into his neck as he takes the steps two at a time. Nixon doesn't slow down until he gently deposits me on the plushest bedding I've ever felt. I didn't know luxury like this even existed. My two hundred count black and white polka dot sheets feel like sandpaper by comparison.
The mattress barely shifts as Nixon lays out on the bed beside me, and his hands seem to be everywhere at once. I feel the button of my jeans being undone and then they slide down my legs until I'm left in my t-shirt and thong. Nixon grabs the sides of my t-shirt with both hands and lifts it up over my head. Part of me wants to cover my body and hide from his hungry gaze, but another part wants to feed his lust by splaying myself out for him. We're lying in his bedroom in broad daylight, and my shyness doesn't have the luxury of darkness to keep it at bay.
"You're so beautiful," he says, reaching behind me to remove my bra in one deft movement. "Your skin, your hair…perfection."
"Mmm," I moan as he captures one of my straining nipples in his mouth, nipping and sucking until my core throbs with need.
When his hand strays down my stomach, I panic for a moment, slamming my hand on his. He chuckles and captures both of my wrists, pulling them over my head. His barely contained strength frightens and excites me all at the same time. I wonder what he's capable of, but I'm afraid I already know. He's capable of hurting me. Breaking my heart.
He's capable of everything.
His grip on my wrists is tight, unyielding. As he tugs them up, it pushes my chest outward, opening me to his gaze and his mouth.
"Trust me and never hide from me." It's a demand. I open my mouth to argue, but he captures my lips in a searing kiss that steals my words before they can see the light of day. Instead of getting angry, I kiss him back. His passion turns my normal response to ash.
"Okay." I'm not sure it's a promise I can keep. I feel like I'm going to explode out of my fevered skin as everything aches, radiating down to the juncture between my thighs. I grind against him, desperate to be closer and chase the sensation of release again.
With my hands still in his vice grip, his fingers drift lower again. Holy Mother of God, he's going to touch me there again. If I had the free use of my own hands, I might use them to cross myself just like my mom used to do before she launched into a melodramatic tirade.
"I want to kiss you here," he says.
I hiss in a breath. It's too raw, too intimate. Rays of sunlight speckled with tiny particles of dust beam in through the floor to ceiling windows, and I focus on their dancing arcs through the daylight.
"The windows…" I struggle to get the words out.
He seems to understand because he lets go of my wrists to clutch a remote control. With the touch of a button, shades lower, and we're left in a subtle glow of soft light. I lower my eyes and watch him. He's like a jaguar, all sleek lines and tactical movements. I half expect him to go into the crouch position and pounce on me, pinning me down.
Before I'm ready, he's back and in complete control. I bite my lip and wait for what's going to happen next. He knows how innocent I am, so he'll surely be gentle with me. My panties hit the floor after one swipe of his large hand.
"Much better," he croons into my ear, stopping only long enough to rain some feather soft kisses along my jawline.
I'm naked.
With a man.
It's not lost on me that I'll no longer be a virgin when I leave this room. With the strength of Nixon's passion, he might consume every inch of me.
I want to touch him too, so I put my fingers into his thick hair and hold on for dear life. He gives a little moan as I massage his scalp. His hair feels like silk underneath my fingers, and he leans into me like a cat that might start purring.
His hand drifts lower again and cups my dripping sex. I can feel my face flush because I know he feels the heat and throbbing wetness radiating from deep within. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop it.
"Have you ever touched yourself?" he whispers, continuing with the torment of his lips on my face and neck.
"Yes, but I've never…"
"Lay back," he commands, and I fall back into the pillowy softness of the down comforter. His mattress feels like a little bit of heaven. Mine is so old that even my slight weight causes it to dip in the middle whenever I crawl into bed. Staying here forever doesn't seem like a bad idea. It's luxury and comfort like I've never known. Add to it the sensations Nixon evokes, and it's a triple threat.
Nixon snakes down my body as I snuggle in deeper. For the first time in my life, I'm going to do it. Receive. I know women are supposed to be the receivers, but it seems all I've ever done is give, give, give. To my parents, my schoolwork, my wastrel brother. I've never been on the receiving of anything so good that I could become addicted.
Addicted to him.
Even though the sensations Nixon causes inside my body tempt me, I can't get attached to them. And I won't. I can never take my eye off the prize. As much as I love working with Linc and the steady paycheck it affords, I've got to get out of Las Vegas if I want to have any hope of making it on my own and stepping into the woman I know I can be. I want to be better and do better. I want to make a difference in the world. And a dangerous man with his demands and pulse-pounding pleasure is a one-way ticket to sidetracked. But for now, I'm going to allow myself one indulgence.
Then I'll leave him in the not so distant past.
It's almost like I can smell his desire. His breath. Wetness floods to my woman's core. I'm splayed out before him, and in a strained moment, I can't take the intensity and clamp my legs together.
"What's wrong?" he asks against the flesh on my stomach.
I cover my face with my hands. "You shouldn't be seeing me like this. It's daylight. It's lewd."
Nixon chuckles, causing a delicious friction on my inner thigh. "This is exactly how I should should see you," he says as his hand trails over my skin, "and touching you." The first lick up my folds just about sends me into orbit. "And tasting you. Mmm…you taste sweet like honey. I think I need more and more." He catches my hips and drags me forward, but stops there. "Look at me, Marcella."
Slowly, I lower my hands from my face and look down my body until our eyes connect. He licks, feasting on my flesh like a wild animal, never breaking eye contact. I find I can't look away either. Something about his gaze his hypnotic, like I'm his snake in the basket and he's the turbaned guy playing the lute. Nixon makes a rumbling sound of pleasure deep in the back of his throat as he licks and nips. I writhe on the bed, fisting the sheets because I need something to do with my hands.
I keen as he spreads me open to reveal the wetness within, then cry out when he presses his thumb against me. An electric shock courses through my body and I'm reaching for something higher. Bigger than me.
"You're mine, Marcella. I'm going to touch you, lick you, and suck you until you scream my name."
My eyes widen because I have no doubt of the truth in his raw words. I just hope I don't shame myself like some kind of loose hussy as I tumble over the edge. He sucks my swollen clit between his lips and begins to work it, stroking, licking, and caressing with his wicked tongue. I begin to lift my hips in time to his movements. It's inherent. I can't stop, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to. Nixon has invaded every cell, every thought, every breath.
Without warning, the pleasure I'd been experiencing multiplies until it becomes a diesel engine of nerves blowing down a track toward a derailment. My hips jerk as wondrous sensations rob me of my will. My very sanity. All my worries of looking ridiculous flee my body to be replaced by a pleasure so great I see stars.
"Nixon."
I have no idea how long I lay there, reclining on the duvet, spent and satiated as Nixon removes his clothing. Then he's over me, his lips on my neck. "I'm g
oing to make you mine."
"Don't you—" I say, but he grabs my hands and holds them above my head.
"Shh… this time is about you, and only you. I'll go slow. Let me take care of you."
He sits back on his heels, and I cast my eyes downward, wanting to see his body, then wished I hadn't. He's long and thick, and panic hits me. Can my petite body take him all without splitting in half? As I watch, he rolls a condom down his length before settling between my legs again. The head of his cock nudges my dripping wet opening, demanding entrance. I clamp my eyes shut, anticipating the pain.
The first few seconds wield only pleasure, a full stretching of my body that sends a shiver of delight up my spine. In that moment, I know what all the fuss is about. All the secretive and clandestine talk back in high school involving prom queens and their football heroes. But then a burst of pain rockets through me as pushes deeper.
Nixon must have been gauging my expression because he stills inside me. "Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod. "There shouldn't be any more pain, Marcella, and I promise to make this feel as good as my fingers and mouth."
I shiver as my body flexes and pulses around him. He's right. The pleasure returns to overtake any pain I'd felt. It's already a distant memory. "You feel good."
"You're like nirvana, Marcella. You're so tight and wet," he says on a moan once he's fully seated inside me. He's still holding my hands above my head, and I want to wrap them around his back and keep him close. I feel like I can't get close enough. But I don't because I've already learned it's best to capitulate to his demands. The time will come for me to explore him and have my own way, but that won't happen today.
"It feels so good," I say on a gasp as he begins to move, rotating his hips as he drives inside me again and again.
Reaching between us, Nixon lets go with one hand and thumbs my clit, taking me ever closer to the cliff. He thrusts again, taking, claiming, and stroking until I don't know where he ends and I begin. I feel like we're one unit, moving together, connected in the deepest way possible.
I feel nothing but an oblivion of pleasure as I explode beneath him. Nixon isn't far behind, his face contorting into a mask of bliss as he shudders through his own release, crying out my name as he finally lets go and I grab the back of his neck.
It's done. I'm Nixon's in a way I never thought possible, and there's no going back.
Chapter Sixteen – Nixon
I still can't believe what happened in my own bedroom. The best fucking sex of my life. If I thought that claiming Marcella would work to get my laser-sharp focus back and drive her out of my system, I was wrong. Dead ass wrong. That little taste has only ignited my thirst for more. I can't get enough, and I might never be able to. Work feels like torture when just a few days ago it felt like enough.
I asked to pick her up at her house like a gentleman since it's what she deserves, but she insisted on meeting me at the Armónico for our first official date. I know it's because she doesn't want me to see the hovel she lives in. What she doesn't know is that I've already seen photos of it in the surveillance file. It can't possibly look any worse in person than it does in the picture Troy found.
I stand close to the front door where my car and driver are on standby. She sent a text that she'd be at the valet in five minutes. One of the first things I did after we consummated our relationship is to insist she never park in the damn self-parking again. I want her safe. My employees can look after her, so I put my head valet and everyone else on high alert. When they see Marcella, anything she needs, it's hers before she even has to ask for it. If every damn employee in this place isn't anticipating her, they're fucking fired.
The sound of the dinging slot machines usually calms my nerves since it's the delightful sound of cash in my pocket. But with my nerves on edge, today they're just pissing me off. I scan the casino and snarl at the tourists even though they're the butter for my bread. Their fanny packs, polyester, and flip flops annoy the hell out of me, and I toy with the idea of instituting a casino dress code. Just as I'm about to pull my phone out of my pocket and fire off an annoyed text to Troy, I spot her breezing through the revolving door.
The breath leaves my body because of the way hers looks in the sundress she's wearing. It's the perfect shade of pink. The straps crisscross over her full breasts, lifting and showcasing them for my hungry gaze. It ties behind her elegant neck. If we weren't both standing in the middle of a busy casino, I'd untie it and let it fall. I inhale a ragged breath and try to calm my racing pulse. As much as I want to, I need to behave. Later, I'll ravish her. I don't even give a shit if I have to rip it off her body. I'll just have the store send her a new one. In every damn color it comes in.
She sees me standing next to the new "Star Wars" slot, and her smile touches me in recesses of my body I didn't even know I had. That upturn of lips could power the entire city of Las Vegas better than the Hoover Dam. Her mile-long legs carry her toward me with a sexy strut accentuated by the platform heels encasing her perfect feet. They're silver and set off her tanned skin to perfection. A growl rips from my throat as I notice some douche wearing white knee socks with open toed sandals checking her out with a lascivious stare.
No. Fucking. Way.
As soon as she's within three feet of me, I snake an arm out to pull her close. I buss a kiss to the top of her head as I institute the death stare to polyester man. Let him go find his obese wife and fuck her with his eyes. Even looking at my woman isn't all right with me. I wish it was medieval times so I could have both his eyes poked out with a sword.
I'm so pussy-whipped my own eyes could roll into the back of my head.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, saying anything to break the electric sexual tension, but all my words do is ping right off and land at my loafers. God, I hope I can make it through this date without crumbling.
"I feel like I could eat a horse," she says with a small laugh.
The only thing I want to see sliding between her lips is my cock. But I can wait.
I clasp her hand in mine as we walk through the casino to the steakhouse. Employees stare at us. I don't think I've ever held hands with a woman in public before, but it feels good. She feels good. Too good to be true, but I'll ride the pleasure train for as long as it lasts. Marcella's like a drug, and I'll do anything to get the next hit, even if it ends up killing me.
Erica, the hostess at The Range, breaks out in a gorgeous smile as she sees me. Even though I didn't have to, I made a reservation because I want to sit at the chef's table. My brother is the chef. Carter's a magnificent creator of all things beef, and I can kill two birds with one stone this way. He can meet Marcella, and I can pamper her with red carpet treatment.
My brother's wearing a black jacket emblazoned with his name. He resembles my mom more than my dad with his dark blonde hair swept back from his face. A haircut is in order, but I know he doesn't have time. "The Food Network" is courting him for a Vegas themed cooking show, and it's down to him and another chef that works over at the Mona Lisa. He's been a little on edge but then again, so have I.
"Hey, Carter," I say, waving to get his attention. Something he's frying in an oversized sauce pan smells to die for. I peek to find scallops, which I love, especially in his famous scallion sauce.
"Nixon," Carter says, walking toward us, and enveloping me in a brotherly hug. It feels good to see him. Even though Carter and Linc are my only brothers still in Vegas, I don't see either one of them as much as I'd like. The detriment to being a workaholic.
"Carter, I'd like you to meet Marcella Castillo. Marcella, this is my second to the last brother, Carter Caldwell."
"It's nice to meet you, Carter," she says, shaking his hand. Instead, my forward brother pulls her toward him until she lands against his chest. I've never wanted to clock him more. Not since back in grade school when he destroyed my sixth-grade science project, and I retaliated by flying his Superman underwear from the school's flag pole. "Wait…Nixon, Lincoln, Carter? Your mom must have had
a thing for the presidents. Let me guess. Your other two brothers are named Washington and Roosevelt?"
I laugh, loving her sense of humor and quick wit. "You're close. It's Reagan and Ford."
She chuckles, and that beautiful smile has my stomach tied up in knots again. Carter stares at me as if he knows I'm so fucking long gone I could be a rum-runner in the prohibition era. Just call me moonshine.
"Have a seat," Carter says, making a sweeping gesture toward the booth in the corner. It's red leather with a mahogany wood table. Carter custom ordered it, and it books out over a year in advance. I wonder how much I had to pay to kick out the guest who had been scheduled to eat here tonight. Probably the damn Presidential Suite, front row tickets to the showroom, and a grand in free slot play. Troy doesn't offer up the information, and I don't ask. "Prepare to be dazzled."
I hate to say it, but my arrogant brother outdoes himself on the meal. The entire time, he regales Marcella with escapades from our youth. We laugh over the time Reagan swapped the nameplates on the restrooms at my dad's casino, and the time Ford put black food coloring in my mom's windshield wiper fluid. She came home screaming, convinced her treasured Mustang convertible was dying a slow death from car cancer. She'd been pregnant with Linc at the time, and we lost her soon after. I try not to let the memories get the better of me, choosing instead to focus on Marcella's face and the myriad of expressions that light her perfect features. Each one a new present to savor as it unwraps, exposing more of her layered personality.
After an incredible dessert of crème brûlée paired with a glass of Bordeaux, we decide to head to our second venue of the evening. I'd just hired a great Elvis impersonator for a few evenings in the Heaven cocktail lounge. It's equipped with a nice stage. Mostly, we contract with singer songwriter types, but the impersonator knocked it out of the park during his audition, and the Director of Entertainment thought it would be a nice change of pace for our guests.
Buyer Beware (Caldwell Brothers Book 1) Page 11
