by Angel Payne
As his mouth closes in, a strangled choke bursts up my throat. We are not officially “in church” but might as well be, with hundreds of spirits, saints, and martyrs immortalized in art below us. My cries of arousal cannot be any more welcome here than in a real house of worship—though that is exactly how I feel right now, as Cassian licks me, laves me, and adores me, his attention not skipping a single inch of my breasts, now jutted up at him in twin spikes of need.
“Cassian.” It is a whisper of desperate, burning need. I shove a hand beneath his shirt, seeking his nipples too…repeating his name as I pinch them both. He hisses then grimaces, letting the pain jolt through him, before crashing his lips atop mine again.
Inside my mouth, his tongue is a vengeful animal. He tackles, twirls, punishes, penetrates. Scrapes my lips…and sucks out my breaths. By the time he is done, my hands have circled to his back, scratching down his shoulders and spine—
And his hands are under my dress…toying with my panties.
“Tell me they’re white.”
I smile against his mouth. How this man can enchant and empower me, in the space of but four words, takes my breath away again. Is it something all men feel about the woman they’ve deflowered—and their panties? And does the answer really matter…as long as I only care about what this man feels?
And how I continue to make him feel…
And oh, all the things he continues to make me feel…
Especially as I whisper in reply, “Yes, Cassian. They are white.” I jot in one of my mental journals, which by now have begun to outnumber my physical ones: buy more white panties.
He growls in approval. Drops a stare of the same intent down over me, while working his hands around my hips…then beneath the very garment responsible for pumping both our lusts higher…
and higher…
“Fuck.” The stunned flare in his voice is mirrored in his gaze. “Ella…your sweet parts…”
Before I can help it, a giggle overflows. “My sweet parts?” It is interesting to be the one not fumbling for words. Is Cassian Court, the man with a thousand dirty synonyms, suddenly out of golden prose? And why is stunned and awkward just as stunning on him as commanding and knowing?
“They’re—” His breath hitches again, as he explores my mound more thoroughly. “They’re so—”
“Trimmed?” I barely get it out at full volume. As he slips fingers past the neat patch of hair then further, between my intimate lips, my most sensitive button shivers. Heat races through my sex. My hands tighten, gripping the ropes of his muscles. My body arches, lifting toward him…blooming for him as if it is the first time he has stoked this sparkling fire in me. In many ways, it is. We are not the same two people who burst into our first kiss, in the shadows of my bedroom on Arcadia, two months ago. Now, he is much more than the riveting billionaire come to strike a deal with my father—and I am not the virgin girl melting in his arms. I am a woman. The woman who knows what the zenith of his passion looks like. Tastes like. Feels like. Who has been without it for so long…too long. Who needs it so badly, I am dizzy from the need.
“When did you do it?” His question, just as much a demand for why I did it, is rough along my cheek.
“You mean tame the forest?” I quip. “Yesterday. You had the big meeting about the Singapore power grid integration, so Kate and I took a long lunch. She might have mentioned something about how you like…things…this way.”
His brow knits. “How the hell does Kate know about—”
“Because she has been your trusted friend since college?” I am glad for the chance to tease a little more—and wrestle my libido to a semblance of control. “And…she might have mentioned that you chattered about it during a night of excessive drinking. And…I might have coerced her into taking me to the spa, once I knew. It was my idea, not hers, so place the blame properly. I just wanted to please you.”
“Mishella.” A subtle growl advances up his throat. He resettles me with harsher jerks, fitting our crotches back together again. “You please me just by being here with me. You please me with the brilliance of your mind, the challenge of your spirit, and the music of your laugh.” His stare slides to my mouth. “And you definitely please me with your passion…”
“And now, my waxed sweet parts.”
After joining his chuckle to my giggle, he dances his reply across my lips. “Ah. Yes. Certainly those.” Another nip in, but not the full kiss I expected. “But the forest was amazing too.”
“Bullshit,” I return—before the breath leaves me as if he did deliver the kiss. By the powers. I am still a mess of shivering need, craving that kiss. Craving him…
Even more now…
He trails his mouth along the line of my jaw, into the dip behind my ear, down the tight strain of my neck. Knowing every spot that makes me tremble harder, gasp louder, wrap myself to him tighter…Ohhhh, don’t stop…
“Amazing.” He issues it in a snarl, making it all too clear he is not to be debated this time. “All of you, Ella Santelle.” With one hand still spreading my most sensitive tissues, he raises the other to my nape, securing my head so I am angled back, compelled to gaze at the brutal determination on his face. “You are amazing. The most incredible person I’ve ever known.” The force of his hold intensifies, responding to what must be the doubt on my face, before he grates, “Including her.”
He does not elaborate. He does not have to. The words vibrate on the air between us as if he already has.
Including Lily.
His face gains a dozen new lines of harshness. Clearly, his belief in the words is absolute—and it frightens me.
I bring a hand in, spread fingers along his jaw. “Cassian—”
“Hush.”
“But I do not expect—”
“Hush.”
This time, he backs it with a smash of his mouth—an assault injecting him into my blood, fusing him into my skin, and branding him into my senses until I possess no breath, sensation, or thought without him there. He is against me. Around me. Inside me.
And still I need more.
A message my body does not have to repeat. As always, the man simply knows—and delivers.
Sweeps his tongue deeper in—as his fingers spread wider into me below.
As his hips roll, and his erection throbs harder between our bodies.
He groans.
I gasp.
He growls.
I mewl.
And the last six weeks fall away…replacing the agony of our abstinence with a flare as bright, perfect, and electric as the first time we ever drove our gazes into each other like this—
And knew our bodies were soon to follow.
I no longer yearn to soothe away the tension from his face. I scoop my fingers in, savoring all its magnificence. The forceful lines at the corners of his glittering eyes. The tension framing his nose, flared with the breaths of his arousal. Even the defined hills of his lips, parted to show me his locked, white teeth.
The look intensifies as he pulls his hand from my sex—and redirects it between his own legs. In one twist, he unbuttons himself. In another, takes care of his zipper.
Only then does my voice find its way past the brushfire of my arousal. “We—we cannot. Doctor Rudd said you needed six weeks after the shooting to—”
“Fuck Doctor Rudd.”
A heated breath staggers out as I watch him shove down his black briefs—and take his beautiful shaft in hand. “I would rather fuck you, Mr. Court.”
“That can be arranged, Miss Santelle.” One side of his mouth kicks up in a grim smirk. Disappears beneath a sensual grimace, as he works the milky drops at his tip along his heavily veined length. “With one important change.”
“Ch-change?” I struggle to remain focused. By the Creator…so much of this man is flawless, but his penis has to be the most perfect part of him. I have certainly not seen thousands in my lifetime—but growing up with a boy-crazy kinkster for a best friend has certainly yielded so
me special fringe benefits. After helping Vy ogle many on-line crotches, I can attest with certainty: Cassian Court’s cock is flawless in every single way.
“Yes.” He wraps his fist around that long, stiff length and strokes, making himself harder, redder. “Don’t you remember?”
I blink and attempt to shake my head—though at the moment, I barely remember I have a head, let alone coherent thoughts inside it. The cause turns hopeless as he slides back in, slotting his hard, commanding body into the welcoming V of mine.
“You don’t fuck me, Miss Santelle.” He pushes back the cotton between my legs, exposing me—before widening me. “I fuck you.”
And then…he is the force that fills me. A rod of heat. A ram of pressure. An invasion of lust. Impossible to hide from. Impenetrable…incredible.
He is mine.
And I am completely, hopelessly, his.
My body, not used to him after so many weeks, fights the penetration—but my soul welcomes the sting…craves the new wounds he opens from the inside out. The emotional blood I spill…
The tears it is now all right to shed.
They cleanse me. Heal me. Open the faucet for all the other tears, too. All the things I have kept so carefully stoppered since the night I knelt beside his bleeding body in a dark corner of Bryant Park…
The terror.
The guilt.
The nightmare of thinking he might die…without ever knowing how deeply I had fallen in love with him.
“Armeau. What is it?” The flinty edges of his voice slice into the side of my neck in all the best ways, making long-forgotten parts of my body tremble…reminding me why our surface satisfactions of the last six weeks have not come close to this. “Getting to know him” like a girlfriend has been enjoyable, even fun, but it is not the completion of having him like this…possessing him in the deepest regions of my body…letting him into the sweet, wordless places of my soul…where even I cannot venture without the strength and boldness of him…
“Mishella?” he persists. In answer, I can only shake my head once more, before tucking my face against his neck. I breathe in, cherishing the scents of our soaps and the musk of our arousals. I lick his skin, savoring the salty, masculine taste of him.
“Just…go deeper,” I finally beg. “Fill me up, Cassian.”
He groans, cupping my backside with his masterful hands, opening my body wider for his. “I won’t stop until I have.”
We rock in a steady, primal rhythm, my hips rolling to meet his plunges, his cock impaling me a little deeper with each new thrust. As the sun dips lower and twilight merges into night, shadows play over the focus of his face, the power of his body. I am entranced, scarcely believing a creature so perfect derives such pleasure from joining with me…but I accept the gratitude of knowing it as truth. Of feeling it with every perfect sink of his rigid, taut flesh.
“Almost there, favori.” As he mutters it, his hands spread me wider. “Open up, Ella. Just a little more.” His head falls back. His grimace is a flash of white. “Yes. Fuck…yes.”
I cannot echo the words. Nothing but a cry spews, as he penetrates me with his full length. I shiver as his sac slams my ass but then he withdraws, preparing to stab in again. When he does, it hurts worse—and tingles better—than ever before.
“By the powers!” I tremble again, from head to toe. He is so big—and growing by the moment.
Before he lunges again, just for a moment, he pauses. I look up, confronting his gaze. Its deep green patina reminds me of the art deco demons adorning the ledges of his Upper West Side mansion, shining down on me with equally carnal intent—
Which explains why he has stopped.
Because he is readying the words.
The words he knows I will hate him for. Worship him for.
“There’s only one power you need to concern yourself with right now.” An arch of one whisky-colored brow. An enticing roll of his hips…teasing my most sensitive tissues. “You know what that is, don’t you?”
Yes. I hate him.
Have never wanted him more.
“Yes, Cassian.” I hope he does not make me say it. Pray he makes me say it.
“Then say it.”
“The…the only power here is…is yours.”
“Good girl.” He reverses the roll. Adds a smooth slide, so his erection brushes my clit as he pushes back in. “And what am I going to do with that power?”
My breath shakes. My tunnel convulses. Oh, the terrible, incredible things he does to me. My body…but more vividly, my mind…and my spirit.
Taking me. Breaking me. Wide open…
“You will pleasure me.”
“What else?”
“You will fuck me.”
“And…?”
“You will—” The words turn into a tight swallow.
He dips his head. Sinks teeth into my neck. “I will do what?”
“You will make me come.”
He licks the abrasions along my carotid. “How many times?”
I swallow hard. By the Creator, he does not hold back a single, dirty syllable of what turns me on the most…soaks my channel, dominates my mind…consumes me with longing for nothing else, nobody else, but him.
“How many times, Mishella?”
“As—as many times as you say.”
A sound of rough satisfaction rumbles through him. “As I shall say.” Candlelight plays across his face, flickers in his eyes, turns his mouth into sensual cruelty. As the night deepens, my golden demon thrives. “As I shall dictate before watching you crumble for me, piece by perfect…fucking…piece.” He emphasizes with defined lunges, ensuring the head of his cock delivers the meaning deep inside my sex.
“Yes…Cassian.” I do not wait for his prompt now. I simply know it is what he wishes…just as he sees completely inside me, and knows every detail of every passion I have—perhaps I ever will have. A distinct possibility, since I cannot think of wanting anything else but this—or anyone but him.
He pulls back. Swirls his wet crown along my most tender folds. Pushes his thumbs in, so my erection is stimulated by every inch of his.
Plunges once more inside. Then back out, repeating his torturous teases…
“Powers that be…”
“Not them.” His snarl burns the front of my neck, the curve of my chin, my slightly parted lips. “Who do you beg for this, Mishella?”
“You.” I make the amendment on a gasp. “I beg you, Cassian.”
“Then do it.” He is back inside, taking me with swift passion, hurling us both into our special, spectral space—where the universe peels back and we are exposed, as naked as if we are doing this skin-to-skin…soul-to-soul.
“Please.” The command in his stare turns it into a shaking rasp. “Please, Cassian.”
“Please…what?” He growls it out but punctuates with a hitched breath. Half-second gloat. He might be covering it in black dagger attitude, but this is just as mind-blowing for him as it is me. Six weeks and two days after receiving my birth control injection, we are now able to fully enjoy its benefits—which should be Benefits, capital B.
“Please, Cassian. Let me come!”
He shifts his hands to my hips—controlling their motions as well as his. Setting our pace. “You need it bad, armeau?”
“Dammit! Yes; you know I do.” I cannot quell my frustration. How is he able to hold back from this? From giving us both what we want…and need? The answer is non-essential—as soon as he releases my right hip long enough to reach beneath and swat that butt cheek. “Ahhh! What—”
“That wasn’t begging.”
“Dammit.” I am not so nice about the repeat. He answers with a new pound of his lips over mine. Our tongues battle. Our mouths wrestle. By the time we break apart, we are breathing hard—and fucking harder. His desire ropes around me. His heat soaks into me. His cock controls me—completely.
My world narrows, becoming only the light of our union…the lightning of his body, striking over an
d over again, promising a cataclysmic cloud break…
“Oh…” I choke it out, fingernails making tracks down his spine, emulating the electricity building along mine. “All right; all right! I am begging. I am begging.”
“For what?” He kisses me again. His lips are gentler but his breaths are sharper. “You know what I want, Mishella.”
I gulp again. Dammit, I do know. He wants the words. Not just any syllables. He wants all the filthy, naughty phrases from my dark, dirty fantasies…the fantasies only he knows how to fulfill…
“I am begging…”
He growls when I hesitate. Does not surrender a beat of his body’s rhythm. “And I am waiting.”
“I—I am begging to come. For you to fuck me until I do. Until my pussy soaks every inch of your cock, then vibrates around it until—until—oh!”
He grunts hard. I shudder harder. Something in the way he angles down and in, merging us in a tighter grind, converges every nerve in my clit and inch of my sex. I fall deeper into the cave, bouncing against the walls, stumbling toward the abyss at its core, where nothing but sensation and consummation await. I pant hard as I hurtle toward it, letting the bittersweet pressure mount inside. My buttocks quiver. My thighs clench. My vision turns into stars, forming a dizzying frame around his beautiful, unmerciful face.
“Now.” The brace of his hand, thumb against my chin and fingers along my jaw, hauls me deeper into the darkness. “Your cunt will come for me now, Mishella.”
And I am falling. Throbbing. Vibrating.
Bursting.
Screaming…
Though muffled at once by his mouth, sucking in my ecstasy like a parched man at an oasis—while his body continues to pump, brutalizing me like a sheikh with his concubine. Creator help me, just the thought enflames me again, especially as he peels back more of my dress, baring my breasts for his new licks and suckles. The moment he draws my nipple between his teeth, my second climax hits, twice as violent as the first—then a third, as he boldly presses my clit with the pad of his thumb. By the time he is finished, I am a shuddering, sobbing mess, coming apart beneath him like melted sugar.
