“Lay down,” he commanded softly. I complied, and he laid down on top of me. He began to kiss me, moving his tongue along my collarbone. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled him to me. His hands groped my breasts and I groaned at the sensation of my nipples against his warm palms. He shifted, and I used the moment to maneuver out from under him. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Lay down,” I said, echoing his earlier words. I didn’t know if it was the drama of the day, the drinks I’d had at the bar, or the hot shower and the promise of make up sex, but I was in the mood to be on top and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
He arched an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t move.
“You’re in charge all day long,” I said. “Lay back. Enjoy yourself. Let me drive tonight.”
I watched him contemplate it. The struggle in his brain to give up control to me was fascinating. I licked my lips and dangled my breasts in his face as he decided. He smiled, and I lowered myself onto his cock. He filled me, and the sensation of having total control over our speed, our pace, was intoxicating. I spread my legs wider, my knees bent on either side of his hips, and I began to thrust up and down. I leaned back, arching my spine, pushing my full weight onto my quads and knees. I knew I had hit a good angle when Brad cried out, a loud, breathless gasp that was the absolute sound of him giving up his control to me… at least for the moment.
“Slow down,” he panted. “I’m gonna cum… I want… I want to wait… for you.” His words came in staggered stabs on his breath, and I could feel him fighting his urge to release, to flood me with himself. I paused and I felt his body relax, rigid tension sliding away as he thought I’d given him a reprieve.
I smiled, leaned down toward him, letting him lick and suck my nipples. His mouth closed over my nipple and I groaned, a shock of heat moving straight from my nipple to my clit. He moved his hand to the throbbing nub and began to move his thumb in slow, languid swirls.
“Fuck,” I groaned.
“Teasing,” he said.
“Two can play,” I reminded him, and I began to move my hips again, slowly, impossibly slowly, mirroring the pace of his thumb on my clit. As I moved, I clinched the muscles of my pelvic floor, and I felt him shudder beneath me.
“What are you doing to me?” he moaned.
“Shhh,” I whispered, and slowly began to increase my pace. I sped up with each breath and I grabbed the headboard to give myself extra stability. I pounded against him harder and harder until a waterfall of heat and pressure pushed over me and I came, crying out and continuing to slam against him, drawing him deeper into me through my climax.
When he came, it was through a flood of breath and groans, rhythmic gasps in tandem with his ragged breathing, and I felt him stiffen, pause, then explode. His hot cum spilled into me and I felt the itch of a second orgasm pushing through me. I grabbed his hand and moved it to my clit. He knew exactly what was happening, and, before I knew it, he’d flipped me over onto my back and lay next to me, giving my clit his full attention. I left my legs spread and widened them, inviting his hand to push harder, his fingers to move deeper, and I came again. This orgasm was different, riding the wave of the first that had nearly spent me. I felt my body convulsing, yet I couldn’t make a sound. When we were finished, we lay side by side listening to the rain pelt against the windows.
“You’re sure,” I said at one point.
“I wouldn’t keep you here if it wasn’t safe,” he said. “No matter how in charge you think you are.”
I slapped his arm lightly, and I thought I heard him say something else… but I drifted off to sleep.
***
Several days later, I awoke in a strange bed. It took me a few moments to recognize my surroundings and, when I did, I braced for the wave of sadness I knew would wash over me. I was in my own bed, back at home in New York.
I rolled over to grab my phone, hoping to see a familiar name on my notifications, but… nothing. I sighed and pulled my pillow over my head.
A moment later, my phone rang. I snapped up, startled, and answered it without looking to see who it was.
“Hello?” I asked, wincing at the desperate hope in my voice.
“Exactly what I thought,” Emma’s voice said through the speaker. “You’re depressed. Get dressed; I’m taking you to brunch.” Sunday brunch in New York City was an absolute necessity, and I couldn’t argue. I agreed to meet Emma in a half hour after threatening her that if she showered or wore anything other than her nastiest clothes, I’d walk right out. “Agreed,” she said. “See you soon.”
While I was getting ready, my phone buzzed again. Some day of rest, I thought as I reached for it. I saw my editor’s name on my caller ID and I sighed.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“What’s up is you need to pack a bag again. Your story on Legacy Properties is an absolute hit, and we need you to do another one asap.”
At the sound of Legacy, my heart sped up and I felt a snake of anxiety move through my stomach.
“Where do you want me to go?” I asked, crossing my fingers that it was nowhere in the Southern Hemisphere.
“London,” she said. “We’ve got you on a flight to Heathrow that leave on Tuesday morning. You’ll be there for three days, then back again. Can you swing it?”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked, laughing so she would know I was kidding. “Forcing me to London; I may have to report you.”
We laughed for a moment, and she filled me in on the rest of the details. When I left my apartment, I was soundly late for brunch, but I had renewed hope: I was going to go to London and check out one of Brad’s other properties. Of course I would tell him I was going to be there… just maybe not until after I’d arrived.
Brad
After dealing with the fallout from the Belizean hurricane and the evacuation, I headed back to Legacy headquarters in California. I had three headquarters locations, one in California, one in France, and one in India. Eventually, I’d have a fourth in Africa and, if I could maintain the momentum, a fifth and final headquarters location in Australia.
Though I knew Cassie was safely three thousand miles away in New York, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. It wasn’t just the sex; it was the night of the hurricane, the night she had taken charge. I shook my head. I’d never had a woman do anything like that before. I thought about all of the things I’d given up with the money I’d earned. I’d forgotten that happiness was possible to any degree when I’d lost Antoine and Lorinda. Though it was nothing I’d ever say out loud to anyone, with Cassie, I had seen a glimpse of happiness. Just a glimmer, but it was there.
So, why wasn’t I calling her? I shook my head as I poured a scotch and moved to the deck. The sun was shining and the Santa Ana winds were moving heated air all around. I knew the answer; I couldn’t call her. I couldn’t drag her into my life, for both her protection and for mine. If she found out about Antoine, about Lorinda, she would blame me. Worst case, she would call the police. I didn’t have a leg to stand on with the cops. To say nothing of me, I knew that involving myself with a woman was nothing less than irresponsible and could even be deadly. I couldn’t imagine anything happening to Cassie.
I walked back inside, vowing to dive into my work. I had nearly a dozen new properties opening, and I was keeping a close eye on the arms delivery to Belize; I didn’t have time to be thinking about Cassie, Lorinda, or any other woman.
I fired up my email and sorted through the spam looking for messages from clients and my managers. I blinked when I saw Cassie’s name come up, sure that I was seeing things. My heart started to beat faster, and I clicked on the message.
Hi Brad,
Just got an assignment in London at a Legacy property. Thought I’d let you know, though I’m sure you’re not going to be in the area. I hope you’re well.
Cassie
I stared at the message. Thought I’d let you know, though I’m sure you’re not going to be in the area. Was that
an invitation? A challenge?
Cassie
My plane touched down in London early in the morning, and I checked into my room at Legacy Suites by ten o’clock. I flopped down on the bed and sighed, grateful to finally be on solid ground after two plane delays and a long layover in Amsterdam. My luggage was supposed to be on its way up, so, when there was a knock at the door, I didn’t think anything of it.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“It’s your luggage, ma’am,” said a young voice from the other side. I opened the door and saw a bellhop in full uniform standing outside my door. There was no sign of my luggage. However, in his hands, he held a large basket wrapped in plastic.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Compliments of the owner, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve also been instructed to escort you to your new room. Your luggage is there.” He smiled apologetically as I sighed, louder than I’d intended.
“What’s the issue with this room?” I asked. “It’s perfectly fine, and, even better, I’m already in it.”
“I have orders, ma’am, to bring you to the VIP suite on the twentieth floor.” His expression and his voice were kind, but they contained an edge of nervousness. A tone that begged me, wordlessly, to just go along with the plan. I imagined him going back to his manager and saying I’d refused… the manager having to call Brad and tell him… the thought made me smile.
“I won’t hassle you,” I said, “don’t worry. Let me get my purse.” I closed the door and snapped a few quick pictures of the room before I grabbed my bag. The VIP suite would be great, but I was a journalist first and I needed to make sure my articles were accurate for the average person, not just someone banging the owner… though the memory of Brad moving through my mind made me smile more broadly than I had so far that day.
I walked with the bellhop to the elevator and he pushed the 20 on the door. When the doors opened, we walked out into a hallway with only two doors, labeled A and B.
“What’s the difference?” I asked.
“Ah, A is the Presidential Suite, ma’am,” the bellhop said. “And B is your suite, the VIP.” He opened the door with a flourish and gestured for me to enter. He followed with the basket and looked the place over, undoubtedly running through a checklist in his mind he’d gone through hundreds of times.
“Thank you, uh,” I began.
“Simon, ma’am,” he said, a slight blush rising in his cheeks. He held out his hand and I shook it, adding a tip to his palm. “Thank you, ma’am.” He began to walk toward the door. “One of the features of the suite is an in-room massage, which you can schedule at your convenience. Just call the front desk.”
He tipped his hat at me and I closed my door, then looked around. There was no chance anyone other than Brad was responsible for my upgrade. A free in-room massage? I shrugged. May as well enjoy the amenities. I grabbed a bottle of champagne from the bar and sat on the bed, flipping on the tv. While I caught up on the news of London and drank a flute of champagne, I checked out the features of the hotel.
An hour later, I stood up and stretched. There was no question, Bradley White knew his stuff when it came to hospitality. The London property was completely different from the Belize property—intentionally so, and, undoubtedly, by necessity. Still, it was hard to believe the two were owned by the same person… and that there was only one owner instead of a conglomerate.
I realized I was starving, and, at the same time, felt a sudden emptiness. While the hotel was completely different from what I’d experienced in Belize, it wasn’t hard to see Brad in the details of this hotel, and it made me miss him.
I checked my watch. It was too late in New York to call Emma or my editor. I didn’t want to go out. If I’d been in a better mood, I would have ventured out to at least the hotel main floor to check out the restaurants and the casino, one of the features of the London Legacy property. But, I felt jetlagged and, honestly, a little crabby.
My eyes kept drawing back to the massage menu, and I decided that was at least one thing I could do that would both help me relax and center and would benefit my job. A hotel that offered complimentary, in-room massages to its VIP guests was definitely going to interest my readers.
I called the front desk.
“Hi, this is Cassie Young in 20B. I was told I could schedule an in-room massage?”
“Yes, Ms. Young, of course. When would you like the massage?”
I hesitated. “Um… do you happen to have anyone available now?” I asked.
There was a pause at the other end. “Um, one moment, Ms. Young, let me check. I think we can accommodate that request fairly easily, just hold on a moment.”
I waited, feeling embarrassed that I had even asked. Nothing like being an overly demanding American right off the bat.
A moment later, the receptionist came back onto the line. “Of course, Ms. Young; is an hour enough time for you to get ready? We can send the masseuse up at four o’clock.”
I smiled, realizing I’d been holding my breath. I released it and closed my eyes. “That’s perfect,” I said. “Do I need to do anything to the room to prepare?”
“Of course not,” the receptionist said genuinely. “You’ve just had a long trip; you relax and let us do the work.”
I hung up, unlocked my door, and took a quick shower. I had another glass of champagne, then flipped through the channels mindlessly until there was a courtesy knock at the door.
“Come in!” I called.
“Ms. Young?” A man’s voice called out, and I walked from the bedroom into the living room and entry to see a man in a masseuse uniform standing with a massage table in one hand and a duffel bag in the other.
“Yes, what’s your name?”
“My name is Antoine,” the man said. He flashed a smile and I felt warmth spread through me. He was an older man, in his forties at least, and he gave off a very calming, relaxed energy. “I’ll set up in here. Why don’t you go into your room and get changed into a robe, then come out when you’re ready.”
When I came out dressed in my robe, the living room had been transformed. Antoine had lit candles and had dimmed the lights. A set of speakers were set up on the table, and relaxing, instrumental music had replaced the voices of the talking heads on the tv.
“Ms. Young,” Antoine greeted me.
“Please, call me Cassie,” I said. I walked over to the massage table. It was covered with blankets, and I felt the manufactured warmth of an electric blanket beneath the covering.
“Yes, Cassie, of course. I have a selection of oils here; would you like to choose one?” He waved to the table where several dark bottles of oil sat. I smelled each, selecting a combination of lavender and sandalwood. “That’s one of my favorites,” Antoine said as I held it out to him questioningly. “I’ll leave you to disrobe. Please, lie on your stomach; I’ll begin my work on your back.”
I always found this few minutes to be the most nerve wracking of a massage; standing naked in the moments before submerging my body beneath the covers of the massage table, waiting for the masseuse to walk in accidentally and catch me in the act. Because of this fear, I always tore my robe off and dove under the blanket, my heart racing. I laid down, my face resting comfortably in the doughnut shaped rest. I heard Antoine enter the room.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Please,” he said, as he began to rub my back over the blankets, “let me know if the pressure is adequate, or if you’d like more or less.”
I doubted it would be anything less than perfect, and, as Antoine began to rub my body down, pulling the blankets down to expose my back and rubbing his hands with oil, I found the pressure he used to be absolutely perfect.
I probably fell asleep. It was easy to do, with the scent of lavender, the soft lights and music, and Antoine’s hands rhythmically stretching and pressing my muscles. I drifted in and out.
“How does that feel?” Antoine asked.
“It f
eels amazing,” I said. “What happened to your voice?” I was still riding the fuzzy line of consciousness, so I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, but something had changed. Antoine’s touch had hardened, though it was still comforting. His hands moved with confidence over my body, as if they had been there before.
And then I realized.
“You,” I said, my muscles freezing.
“Hi Cass,” Brad said softly. “Don’t move. Just lay as you are and enjoy.”
I shook my head. “As if that’s possible,” I said, and twisted my torso up, lifting my head from the headrest. There he stood, more real than life, sexier than my imagination had given him credit for.
“You need to mind me better,” he whispered.
“You need to stop sneaking up on me,” I retorted. “When did you slip in? What did you do to Antoine?” I looked around, then glanced back at Brad with teasing suspicion. “You didn’t kill him, did you? He was a good masseuse.”
Brad laughed. “No, I didn’t kill him. Antoine has been a masseuse at this hotel since before the Legacy was even a thought in my mind. He’s the only male masseuse we have on staff, and I owe him big time for this.”
He leaned down and kissed my ear, slowly pulling the blanket off of me, exposing my bare ass to the cool air.
“Mmmm,” he said. “Come here.” He lifted me up, my body smooth and slick with oil, and he kissed me.
“Fuck you feel good,” I moaned. He wore jeans and a white button down shirt, which I dispensed with immediately. His broad chest felt like coming home under my fingers, my palms pressing against his rock hard muscles.
“You’re good enough to eat,” he whispered, moving his kiss from my mouth down the length of my body, stopping at my hips.
I laid back as he began to explore my body. Questions flooded through my mind: how had he gotten here so quickly? Why was he here? Were we dating? Were we about to have another fling? The more questions that pushed into my mind, the more I wanted to lose myself in Brad’s touch.
Billionaire Romance: The Storm SUCCEEDS: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire President Book 15) Page 7
