As if an invisible line connected them, Patrick looked up. And as soon as Cassie got caught in that sharp green gaze and boyish, carefree smile, she felt it happen. She’d broken the rule, passed over the barrier she’d made up for them, her condition for ending this thing they had.
She’d thought this through. Analyzed the situation and made a plan. She thought she’d know when her strategy wasn’t working, and when it was time to jump ship. But she hadn’t banked on this one uncontrollable default:
She was in love with him.
And that was going to destroy everything.
24
The following morning, Patrick let Cassie sleep in. They’d fallen into bed the night before without getting intimate—a first for them, but they hadn’t gotten back from her family’s place until well after midnight. He’d hadn’t minded, having enjoyed the food and her family’s company a lot more than he thought he would. Even though her home reminded him a bit of Gustavo’s—with the combination of stucco and butter cream yellow tiles and wrought-iron terraces—he wasn’t bothered by the connection at all.
He’d loved watching Cassie slip into a different version of herself too. She went back and forth between Spanish and English, and the melodic sound of hearing her speak had him captivated. They didn’t have to be at the rehearsal until three today, which gave them plenty of time for brunch, and for the other thing he’d planned.
Once they’d enjoyed a delicious meal at the outdoor restaurant, surrounded by soft breezes and a fantastic view of the ocean, Patrick led her back to the room. She was wearing some kind of short, billowy thing and another set of her fabulous heels, and from the moment she’d put them on, he’d been dying to get it all off her.
He walked her backward to the bed, prowling over her like a panther and tugging at the bottom of her dress. “I like this a lot. But it needs to come off. Now.”
She glanced at the clock. “Do we have time?”
“Plenty.”
And whether they did or not, he wasn’t stopping now.
Their clothes shed, he laid her down on the bed and kissed her, deep and sensual explorations of her mouth that had her arching off the bed. Taking his time, he moved down her body, suckled each nipple, brushed his goatee over her navel. His hands on her hips, he nuzzled the hollow above her pelvis, then along the trimmed thatch of curls below it. Her hands delved into his hair as he licked a path along her slit and slid a finger inside.
She was searing hot, and so damn wet. It took all his self-control to make himself wait. One time without a condom wasn’t enough to slake his thirst for her.
He was beginning to think nothing was.
One, two, three pumps and he easily found the spot that made her body jolt. He flicked her clit and rubbed that rough little ridge, savoring her like she was a decadent dessert or a precious jewel, something he both craved and protected. When he’d teased her long enough, he made his way back up and fed her a taste of herself with one slide of his tongue along hers.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Take me.”
“Shhh.” He wound one hand through her hair, holding her by the back of her head. “I had more surprises for you, remember?”
She nodded. “And not all of them were going to be PG-13.”
“Uh-huh.” He had a whole section of his suitcase devoted to his plans, with everything he’d thought he’d need down to a first-aid kit.
He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to do everything she wanted, but he was sure as hell going to try. Patrick stroked the back of her neck a few times before moving his hand and wrapping it firmly around her throat. Cassie’s eyes grew intense—alert, observant and filled with lust.
Yes, princess. We’re doing this now.
When she didn’t push away, he tightened his grip. “Safeword?”
“Exit,” she breathed.
Good. She could still talk. For a minute, he just held her, experimenting with the sound of her inhalations, his pointer finger and thumb beneath her jaw. Finding his balance, he wedged himself between her open thighs and put his weight on his knees, careful not to add any pressure to her throat as he lowered his other hand to work her clit.
Her gasp was thinner, more strained, her neck flexing under his hand, but there was no doubt in his mind that she was enjoying this. Her sweet, thick hips arched with every slow swirl of his fingertips, and her nipples had constricted to taut points. He bent down to take one in his mouth, biting hard in lieu of a slap. She jerked and squirmed, trying to get away before he circled faster over that knot of nerves and she gave in under him.
God. God, there was nothing like this. Nothing like the feeling of this strong woman pliant beneath him.
Adding a little more pressure to her throat, he watched her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, and fuck, it was like a light bulb had been turned on, a switch thrown. He’d never seen himself as a Dominant, and maybe he still wasn’t. But there was something hot as all fuck about controlling her this way and how her throat felt in his hand. The look on her face, seeing how turned on she was—the power play was such a rush. None of his experiences held a candle to what he did with Cassie.
It was hotter. Dirtier. So wrong. And so fucking right.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
He demanded it half to see her dazed expression, and half to see if her pupils had dilated too much. They hadn’t, and Patrick’s heart raced with her raw expression of hunger.
“You like this?” he asked.
She answered by reaching up and pressing on his elbow.
More, the move said.
He cut off a little more of her air, and she drew in a reedy breath. It didn’t seem like play, nor did it seem dangerous, even though he knew it was both. What it seemed like was the closest he’d been to another person.
Under his restricting grip, he felt her pulse pound as her breathing grew shallow. Her eyes widened as she tried to inhale, and Patrick loosened his fingers without her saying a word. They didn’t need a word. He knew where too much was when they got there, knew her signals, knew her.
And he wasn’t done with her yet.
Patrick quickened his strokes between her thighs, rubbing until her eyes slammed shut and her head crashed back against the pillow. She came with a shout, and Patrick didn’t give her any time to compose herself before he pressed his lips to her cheek.
“I’m gonna fuck you now, Cassie.”
She made a thirsty sound, deep in the back of her throat. Patrick positioned himself and sank inside her wet, tight heat.
“Squeeze me,” he ground out. “Like you did that first night.”
She tightened around him, and Patrick’s shoulders hiked up on a curse. It was so much more intense when he could feel every slick inch of her. Cassie did it again, then shuddered and started to writhe.
“Is the little whore gonna come again?”
She nodded, strung out on the edge of another release. Patrick fucked her harder.
“Greedy bitch. You’d better get there fast, because I’m not gonna wait. I’m just gonna pound that wet cunt until I come.”
Crude words, but it got her there, got them both there. He collapsed into her, still breathing hard. What they’d done seemed to chisel away at the wall he’d kept around himself. He’d never seen sex as a way to connect to someone, but now he understood it was nothing less than that. Every game, every toy, every act—they flayed away the mask he’d worn, opening him up to her with nothing less than unabashed honesty.
He also knew he cared for her far too much for the rules she’d made.
No emotions. It was what she wanted, so this was going to have to end.
But they were here for two more days. And for now, he’d be what she needed. He’d play any damn role she wanted, if it meant he got to be with her a little longer.
When they’d trekked out to the rehearsal site, the wedding party was waiting. Cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, they kissed him on each cheek, acting as if he were already a
member of the Flóres-Allbright clan.
As Cassie and her family ran through the service in the chapel, Patrick roamed around. The ceremony was happening at a monastery on Miami Beach, and he strolled through the open-air hallways, stopping to read about the building’s history. It had been built in Seville in 1133 AD and purchased in the 1920s by William Randolph Hearst. The structure had been disassembled brick by brick and shipped to the United States, but remained in storage due to Hearst’s financial struggles until it was purchased by a philanthropist and presented to the Bishop of Florida.
Feeling like his younger self traveling through the Spanish countryside, Patrick touched the stone structure, marveled at the columns and lanterns, the archways and medieval architecture, and finally, as he returned to the chapel and leaned against the farthest pew, at Cassie.
Her outfit was a shoulder-baring white dress with pockets and a little bow in the front, and she looked fucking incredible. Sure it was a bit see-through, but it covered enough to leave him picturing every dip and swell beneath it. And it accentuated the parts of her he’d come to love. The curve of her back. The perfect handful of her rear. The tender spot on her neck.
But it wasn’t just her body he saw. He saw her—beautiful, lush and sweet, despite the barbs she often wore.
When the priest said, “man and wife,” her family broke from the rehearsal like a rugby team from a scrum, and Patrick got swept up in it, ready for the carnival-like atmosphere he was sure was ahead of him at her grandfather’s bar.
When they arrived at the lounge, Patrick had to smile. Its open-air entryway with neon sign, large green-and-white awning and classic art deco decor looked straight out of 1940s Havana. But it was the name that got him grinning.
“His bar is called La Lucha?”
“It is. It means—”
“The struggle.” It was the Spanish version of La Lutte, the name of the French restaurant where he and his mother ate lunch every week. How fitting that they both translated to the same English words.
The name, however, didn’t match the atmosphere. Cassie led him past the colorful and lively bar, down a hallway covered with a collection of artwork, framed newspaper clippings and advertisements. The courtyard behind the lounge was reserved for the wedding party—an outdoor area with globe lights strung from a canopy of banyan trees. Cushioned benches framed either side of a long table. A bongo drum and guitar player jammed in one corner, and in the other cigars were being rolled by hand. A counter to their right was filled with photographs and candles, and he caught sight of one of an older man with a young Cassie.
He pointed to the frame. “Is that you and your grandfather?”
“Yes. That’s all pictures of family members who aren’t with us anymore.”
She grew misty eyed. Not wanting her to get caught up in grief, he asked, “And what’s that dress you’re wearing?” It had the flag of Cuba emblazoned on it, with ruffles at the sleeves and bottom.
“It’s a Bata Cubana, a traditional Cuban Rumba dress.”
“Do they come in adult sizes?” Patrick kissed her cheek, let his lips graze over her ear. “So we can dance and then I can rip it off you?”
Blushing, she hid her face in his neck. “Not now.”
Yes, now. Always now, with you.
“Cassandra,” her mother yelled, then fired off some sentences in Spanish. Patrick attempted a quick translation.
“Stop standing around and come help before she…”
“Throws her flip-flops at me,” Cassie finished for him. “It’s a Cuban thing.” She shook her head and sighed. “One day with my family, and already I’m exhausted.”
“They don’t seem that bad.”
They’d certainly wanted her attention, something he imagined she saw as pressure, but without a large and warm family of his own, Patrick could see their intentions for what they were—wanting Cassie to be happy.
“They’re on better behavior with you here.”
He tipped his hat at her. “I’m happy to be of service then. And you were right. These clothes are much more appropriate.” And classic. He felt in his element, like he fit right in.
They joined the party, which was filled with lively conversations in Spanish and the best empanadas he’d ever tasted. After the meal, the speeches started, and Patrick excused himself to use the restroom, getting lost in a bookcase he discovered on the way back. It was full of the pieces written by the authors he’d come to love both at Princeton and abroad. Cervantes. Fuentes. Cortazar. Guillén. He passed his hand over the weathered spines, looking at each one carefully until he came to one that stopped his heart.
“My grandfather loved Hemingway.”
Patrick glanced up as Cassie moved in beside him. “Oh yeah?”
“Rumor has it he came to my grandfather’s casino. He was kind of a legend in Cuba. His favorite drink was the mojito, which is the drink of the house here.”
His hand was still on the book. “The Old Man and the Sea was my favorite.”
She touched his hand, one finger tracing over his and the faded and slightly worn cover beneath it. “What did you like about it?”
“There was something about the story—Santiago fighting against defeat, struggling even though it’s clear the battle is hopeless.” At one point he’d seen himself as the old man, dedicated to his craft no matter how impossible. Later, he’d seen that futile battle as the story of his life. But he’d never finished it, so he didn’t know how it ended.
“Why don’t you read anymore?”
He stared at the book. “Hurts too much.”
It was all he wanted to say. He’d successfully escaped the past since they’d gotten here, had been able to avoid overthinking, hadn’t even paced at all, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Cassie bumped his side. “If you could’ve done anything, what would it be? If your life had been different.”
“Honestly, I would’ve wanted to go into publishing, but not sales. I would’ve been involved in the actual books. Ideally the foreign ones. It’s not something I allow myself to think about often.” He breathed in deep, turned to face her and took both her hands in his. “And you, my dear, have a party to get back to.”
She smiled, her cheeks rosy. “Maybe someday we’ll travel. Go to Cuba. Or Spain. And you can finally run with the bulls. After all, I’ve shown you Miami, so now you owe me.”
Something flared in his chest. A sense of belonging. Of rightness. “You’d want that?”
She was about to answer when Annalisa ran over to them. “Tía Cassie, come dance with me!”
Cassie complied, and as her niece tugged her toward the musicians, Patrick imagined a different picture than the one he saw before him. He saw Cassie, with a baby.
His baby.
The thought shocked him. He’d never pictured that, not even with Sofía, and certainly not in the time since. It was a ground-shaking change, to go from no commitments to thinking about raising a child, but something about it seemed to fit. Something about all of this fit. The culture, the music, the food. This family, energetic and loving. This gorgeous woman, who’d awoken him to sexual desires that had been lying dormant. Could she have stirred the same feelings toward fatherhood?
Could she want that with him too?
She thought she’d figure out having a family after she made partner. That was in her sights now, so did that mean maybe she did want a baby? And she wanted one with him?
She was talking about the future, so there had to be a chance she didn’t want this to end. That she wanted more from him than their short-term deal but didn’t know how to ask. She’d told him her deepest secrets, showed him the most vulnerable side of herself, and for all those things, he’d had to nudge her along, even shove her along at times, bring her in the direction she wanted to go.
Maybe he needed to do the same with this.
He wandered over to the cigar table where Mr. Allbright, Cassie’s brother, Alejándro, her future brother-in-law, Hector, and
several other family members were smoking and watching the festivities. Cassie’s mother was there as well, and she and her husband exchanged pointed looks before she went back to the crowd.
Mr. Allbright handed Patrick a cigar. “This is the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your intentions are for my eldest daughter.”
Patrick hid his nerves behind the light Alejándro gave him. After a deep puff, he glanced at Cassie. The other children at the party had gathered around her like she was a princess or the pied piper. Watching her smile and twirl, it was hard to imagine he’d ever seen her as cold and unfeeling. She was a hardass for sure, intelligent and driven, but she was also incredibly playful, as well as caring and trustworthy. Somewhere amongst the crazy hot sex, he’d found everything he could ever want in a woman in her.
She tossed her head back and laughed, and when their eyes met, his heart fucking lit up. He was in love with her. Ridiculously, embarrassingly, do-anything-to-see-her-smile in love with her.
Sex aside, Patrick realized it wasn’t true what he’d told her that night in her apartment about not having a fantasy of his own. Cassie was his fantasy, and maybe he could do the whole commitment and marriage and kids thing, if he did it with her.
“My intentions are to make her happy. For as long as she’ll let me.”
And that needed to be longer than the next few days.
Her father nodded, and Patrick mimicked the move, nodding more to himself than anyone else. He’d devised a plan for while they were here: to give Cassie a safe space to give in to her cravings, to feel powerless even though she was anything but. He still had a few more surprises left, and was going to make sure they were good for her. More than good. Amazing.
But after that, he had a new plan. One much more permanent. Having emotions meant the two of them were out, but maybe they needed to be out of this situation, and in a new one. Then they could start over again, and make it different.
Her Claim: Legally Bound Book 2 Page 24
