Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1)

by Angel Payne

*

  Cassian

  Holy fuck.

  I must be dreaming.

  “No shit,” Scott mutters, confirming I’ve let the words slip aloud. Not surprising—nor would I be stunned if it happened again, as my Ella from the cinders seems to float down the steps, directing her soft smile toward where I wait by the car.

  I’m not there for long—as in bolting to get the jump on Scott, who’s done the “courtly” thing by stepping up to “collect” her for me—but I’m screwed for watching any man get near her tonight. Delaying the torture a little longer delivers a solid for all.

  Annnd, we can start with the solid any time now…

  But fate is already having his fun with me tonight. The fucker takes his sweet time about the kumbaya with my nervous system, letting lightning raze me as she steps closer. The skirt of her gown, made of something that looks like a cloud spun into fabric, swirls and sparkles against the stairs with every step she takes. I pray for a breeze, which would likely flatten the filmy fabric around her thighs…

  And just like that, solid arrives.

  Between my legs.

  Focusing on things above her waist is an only slightly better solution. The gown’s strapless bodice is encrusted with gold and silver beads, with a band of the same defining the curve of her waist. While the neckline doesn’t plunge that far down, thank God, the beads have been glued to lead one’s eye toward the center—and the bit of her breasts that are revealed.

  Too damn much for my liking.

  Yet I can’t stop staring.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I had to go and hire the city’s best hair and makeup to primp her too, didn’t I? Damn that Fabiola, rubbing something into Ella’s skin to turn it more enticing than it already is. The cream, or whatever the hell it is, gives her neck, shoulders, and arms some kind of iridescence…flooding me with visions of exploring all those planes with my tongue.

  Not. Fucking. Helping.

  My mind growls it out—like my body needs help remembering how long it’s endured without hers. How many days we’ve wasted in this balance between the heaven of where we started and the hell we’re most afraid of, both of us frozen on the tightrope, unwilling to move past the stupidity of surface niceties anymore. I haven’t helped the situation by practically living at the office, but coming home to a place that really is temptation for me now, with her scent and her presence in every molecule of the air, has been a fiasco I made no plans for.

  Plans.

  You actually started thinking of them in conjunction with this woman…when?

  Something will have to happen soon. I admit it now. She’s not happy, and the sole plug she’s given me back to her joy is not a circuit I can connect—not without frying every inch of my psyche. I know that now too, courtesy of the erotic memories that assault my mind’s idle hours. Reliving every moment I’ve spent touching her, kissing her, fucking her, only clarifies the understanding. If she’s capable of consuming that much of me sexually, how much more will she gouge from me emotionally?

  There’s no halfway with her.

  Goddammit, there never will be.

  Meaning I have to think about letting her leave.

  “Bon aksum, Mr. Court.”

  Especially if she insists on issuing a lot more greetings like that. Professional cool backlit with sensual music, making me a new fan of the whole boss-and-secretary thing…

  “And good evening to you, Miss Santelle.”

  And especially if I’ll keep being required to bend over her hand like this—snapping a certain something beneath the tux like a goddamn ripe cucumber.

  “Well.” She yanks in a breath, lifting a shaky smile. I’ll take it. After ten days of watching the dry cleaners’ delivery guy get more friendly words than me, I’ll fucking take it. “Here…we are.”

  Only by filling my lungs with air do I resist kissing away her nervousness. Instead, I go for a friendly smile and an overlay of charm. “It would appear so.”

  “That tuxedo is on the cutting edge of…something.” She gestures with her free hand. “Fabiola told me. Several times.”

  I press in my lips, working the dimples. No way have I missed what their deployment usually does to her libido—and friendly or not, I’m still not above a few dirty tactics. “I’m sure she did.”

  She lowers her hand. Flits it at her skirt. “Well, you look very dashing.”

  “And you look like something I’ve only ever dreamed.”

  It wasn’t what I’d planned to say—though that isn’t astounding anymore; not when Ella’s involved. And dammit, I may be ready to think about letting her go, but sure as hell haven’t reached acceptance yet. Psychologically speaking, I’m in the “fight for it” phase.

  I’ve fought for things a lot less important—

  and won.

  “Should we be off?” I murmur, tucking her hand beneath my elbow.

  Her flits at the dress turn into full twists. “Sure. Um—I mean—certainly. Of course.”

  I mold my hand over the back of hers. “It’s okay, Ella. I already know you’re going to be the most beautiful one at the ball.”

  It’s also what I’m afraid of.

  She licks the seam of her lips, looking tempted to fully bite despite the contours of lip rouge representing at least thirty minutes of Fabiola’s time. “I suppose I shall do,” she finally mutters. “I mean…for the hired help.”

  I halt where I’m at. Slide my grip to her wrist and twist in—though now, we’re close enough to the Jag that I have to let her go. She dives into the backseat like a pony let off its training harness—after a charming greeting and smile for Scott.

  I remain rooted in place. Carefully reel back the ire that’s just tumbled in with her. Tug hard at my jacket—and with gritted teeth, order my cock to a stand-down too.

  Fighting for this shit just got very serious.

  Scott bounces on his toes, his normal puppy-bright self. “And good evening to you as well, Mr. Court. To the Public Library, right?”

  “Not. Yet.”

  The puppy freezes. “Sir?”

  I don’t swerve my glare from its angle into the car—and the lofty posture of the woman inside, thinking she’s stilled me on the tightrope yet again. “Take the long way there,” I command tightly. “A couple of times. No,”—I stop, one hand on the open door—“just keep driving, until you hear from me.”

  Scott, not being stupid, raises the driver barrier the second he starts the car.

  I’m not a stupid man either. As soon as we roll, I reach and brace Mishella by the hips. Haul her over from the spot beneath the opposite window, until she’s in the middle of the bench seat—right next to me.

  “What on—”

  “Be quiet, Ella.” With a violent thwick, I pull a seatbelt out. Snap it into the holster at her hip, securing her arm to her side in the doing.

  “Cassian. What the hell are you—”

  “I said be quiet.” I let her glimpse my eyes, on fire with rage, while pressing her other arm to her side. “You’ll have your chance to speak—momentarily.”

  Thwick.

  Since the seat can accommodate three, one of the seatbelts descends the opposite direction.

  Clack.

  I slam the buckle in, ensuring the straps are crisscrossed over her arms and torso. Now, the belts rise and fall with the frenetic pumps of her lungs. Hell. That neckline isn’t as demure as I first thought. The sight of her breasts, creamy and gorgeous and just an inch from spilling full nipple, take my cock to something between throbbing and unbearable. Not that I help matters by leaning over and clamping my hands over her wrists—but dammit, this shit has gone on long enough. If I’m going to be ordering up the plane to take her back to Arcadia tomorrow, she’ll fucking hear out my side of all this first.

  “I—I object to this!” Her eyes fire at me, bright as sun through blue glass. Her breasts show subtle pink strips from where they push at the straps. Goddamn. Why didn’t I think of doing this a week ago
?

  “Are you in any physical pain?”

  Her lips, already open to rage at me more, clamp shut. Pop back open to retort, “I—you’re—”

  “Hurting you?” I volley. “In any way at all?”

  “Well—no. But—”

  “Then you’ll sit right here—and listen to me.” I take in her open astonishment—and actually share some of it. My first sight of her full anger is more potent than I ever expected. She’s an extra shot at last call. A hard bite into a jalapeño. A scoop of phaal curry. Intoxicating. Blistering. I want more and hate myself for it.

  “Listen to you?” Her eyes narrow. “All I have wanted to do is listen to you, Cassian. I begged you to let me do just that—”

  “When you were calling the subject matter.” I constrict my grip. “Well, now I’m calling it. And the subject tonight—is you.”

  Her mouth opens again. Releases nothing but pissed-off little grunts, as her brain clearly struggles for a comeback. “There—there is nothing about me worth—”

  “Oh no? Except the fact that you have labeled yourself everything from my fuck friend, my booty call, and now my hired help?”

  I push deeper into her personal space, until my hips prod her knees apart and I breathe in her perfect scents. That exotic vanilla of her hair, its up-do layered with products from Fabiola’s arsenal. Equally exclusive perfume—Chanel Grand Extrait, Fab’s favorite—jasmine and rose in a lush mix. The creamy luxury of whatever the hell makes her skin shimmer like this…and feel this damn good.

  So. Damn. Good.

  “Goddammit, Ella,” I finally snarl. “You are none of those things. You never have been. How can you think them, let alone speak them?”

  We both breathe harder. Our gazes meet and tangle. “Cassian.” It’s a sob, and I’m glad of it. I rejoice in her conflict. Good. It’s been hell for you too. I hope it’s been a lot of hell.

  “Do you really think you’re just a toy to me? A trinket I wanted and went after, like a car or a house or a suit?” I spit the final syllable, hating the raw emotion I swore not to expose—then even more for the surge of satisfaction as she flinches. “Did I experience something different, the moment our hands first touched…the second our eyes first locked?” I drill my stare harder into her. Slip my hands down until our fingers lace. “Was I the only one who thought the whole room had fallen away—hell, the whole damn island—until it was just you and me, standing on a rock in the middle of that ocean, put there by destiny?”

  “No.” As she rasps it, her fingers curl into mine. Her face lifts, eyes searching into mine. “No. You…were not…the only one.”

  More feelings hit. They’re like waves in the sea I’ve just evoked: some fast and powerful and violent, some deep and rolling and continent-changing. I grit my teeth, willing them to get the hell over with things and drown me, but they’re a storm surge, relentless against the ramparts of my spirit and soul. They tumble in, taking over my dark corners—the places I’ve vowed no one will get to, ever again. But here my Ella is, not just flooding them. She’s changing them. Moving my continents…

  “Then why?” I finally grate. “Why do you reduce it all to such ugliness? Why do you brand my heart with nothing but dollar signs—when I would have cut the fucker right out of my body and given it to your father, if that’s what he demanded?” Maybe that would’ve been the better call, anyway. Inside my chest or out, the thing is destined to beat on empty space without her. Maybe that’s better, in the end—more bearable than the memories, the helplessness, the pain.

  Her lips tremble. Her eyes shimmer. “Is that the key to knowing that heart, then?” A sound chokes from her throat, bitterness that doesn’t make it to a laugh. “Because that is all I want, Cassian. Can you not see? The same way you have taken my heart, my life, and given them so much more meaning and worth…all I want to do is the same for you. To show you—”

  “Show me what?” I release the burst without restraint or balance. Isn’t this what you want, Miss Santelle? Glorious, violent honesty? Fan-fucking-tastic. Let’s do honest. “You want to show that you can ‘get’ to me? That you can make me give you the ‘ghosts’, so you can—what—exorcise them for me? That the power of your adoration is going to ‘change’ me? Christ.”

  The last of it scorches my throat—burning past my crumbled resistance, overcoming the flood, eviscerating everything inside with its rage and shame and scorn. With a terrible growl, I let up on her arms. With another one, set her free from the seatbelts. But the fire sweeps in, worse than before. It slams me to my haunches, coiling fists against my gut, fighting its incursion—and losing.

  The car takes a corner. It’s a gentle roll, but joined with the heat in my psyche, is enough to pitch me forward once more. My head swims, dizzy. My heart lurches, lost.

  “C-Cassian?”

  I watch my fist, clenched against the limo’s gray carpet, vanish beneath the volumes of her skirt. Jerk it back, twisting it against the center of my chest. “Get away, Ella.”

  “No.” Tears crack her voice, and I steel myself against them. Stiffen myself against the perfect warmth of her hands, pulling on the back of my neck, the whole of my scalp. “No. You do not want that.” She draws me closer. Tighter into the embrace of her softness, her fragrance…her light.

  It is time to live in the light…

  Denial explodes from my soul. Churns in my chest. Snarls up my throat. “Leave. Me. Alone!”

  Alone is the only place that makes sense.

  Alone is the only place I won’t hurt you.

  The only place you won’t hurt me.

  But she pulls me harder—how the fuck did she get so strong?—and I’m letting her—how the fuck did I get so weak?—and her fingers dig into my face, forcing it up, commanding me to take in every breathtaking inch of hers. Yes, even the tears streaking it. Even the smudges of her lipstick, from where she’s buried her face into my hair. But especially the glory of her eyes, adoring me…ambushing me…

  “You are not alone.”

  Before she forces me closer, and kisses me.

  And kisses me.

  And kisses me.

  I am helpless against the magic of her lips. Consumed by the power of her embrace. Hardened by the nearness of her body.

  Suffused by the force of her light.

  “Fuck.” It’s helpless and guttural, as she washes over me…into me. “Fuck.”

  I lurch up, matching the force of her mouth with mine. Suck her in, feasting on the wet, warm depths that haven’t been mine for so long. Too damn long…

  Moans escape us. Our mouths reverberate with the sounds, inciting more heat through our limbs. Ella’s hands cascade to my shoulders, finding their way beneath my jacket then scratching at my shoulders through my shirt. I go at her with the same ferocity, wrapping one arm around her waist, sliding the opposite hand beneath her bodice.

  “Oh!” It sparks off her lips, high-pitched and breathless, as soon as I find her first full nipple. I tease a finger across the tight peak. Then another.

  “So hard,” I utter against her lips. “So erect. So perfect.”

  She mewls as I glide my touch to the other. “They have been like this…all week.”

  “Really?”

  She meets my frown with a kittenish smile. “Side effect of the injection. And being without you.”

  I lean in, kissing her deeply once more. “I’ve missed you too. Dammit, armeau…like missing my own legs. One day, I even forgot what day of the week it was—in the middle of a huge meeting, at that.”

  We laugh together. It feels so fucking good that I slide my eyes shut, savoring the emotional orgasm of the moment, praying the blinding blast of it lasts forever.

  The glaring light of it…

  I bolt from the recognition by losing myself in another kiss—and dragging her into its illicit darkness with me. Plunging the corners of her mouth with open, wicked, searing abandon, rolling our tongues until we both can’t breathe, then pulling us both even
deeper into the lusting, wild abyss…

  Yes.

  Yes.

  This is what we need. If only for now, this is what we can claim as right between us. This is where I can give her exactly what she wants. I pull back, letting her see exactly that in my gaze, before spinning her around and making her face the seat. I tug at her arms, directing her to spread them out—then press in and down, letting her feel every hard, lusting inch of my body.

  I dip in, fitting my mouth against her neck. Snarl again, reveling in the hammer of her pulse under my lips.

  “Cassian.” She battles to lift up, hitching her shoulders against my chest. Mewls with passionate force as I push her back down, skating my hands down her arms, twining my hands over the backs of hers. “Oh, please…”

  “Please what, favori?” I softly bite her shoulder. “You want to keep talking about the light…” Another bite. Harder. “Or do you want a trip into the darkness?”

  Her breath expels in a needy rush. “By the powers.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Take me…down,” she finally pleads. “Into the…darkness. With you, Cassian. With all of you…”

  As soon as the concession leaves her lips, I start shoving her skirts up. It takes a shorter time than I’d estimated to find her ass, barely sheathed in a thong surely mandated by Fabiola, but right now I’m certain I could locate this woman in another galaxy if forced to.

  Appropriate imagery—since I damn near see stars the moment my fingers glide beneath those scant panties, to the wet perfection between her legs. “And all of you too?” I work my fingers beyond her damp curls then between her slick lips, stroking the inlet to her tunnel with the rhythmic touch that drives her crazy. In return, her thighs clench, her whole pussy shivers.

  “Yes. Oh dear Creator; yes…with all of me!”

  At first, I can only grunt. The heaven of touching her again, along with the hell of controlling my cock’s reaction, are a purgatory too intense for words. My brain scrambles, trying to tell my body what to do. Unlatch pants. Pull down zipper. Get yourself out of these fucking briefs.

  Another grunt, rapidly turned into a groan, as I lube myself with pre-come. Wildly unnecessary. “So wet,” I growl, stating the obvious. “Christ, Ella. Your cunt is dripping.”