by Cassia Leo
“Why did you give in so easily?” he says as casually as if he’s asking my favorite kind of pizza topping.
“Excuse me?” I replying, cocking an eyebrow, so he knows I’m kind of offended by this question.
“You heard me. Why did you give in so easily? You don’t seem like the kind of girl who goes home with strangers very often.” He turns so he’s facing me square on, almost as if he’s challenging me. “You said you don’t want anybody to know about this. So if you’re not in it for the fame or the notoriety that comes with saying you fucked Cash Westbrook, then that means you want something else. So, what is it? Do you need help with your student loans? Do you need a job recommendation? Need to get into an exclusive club? What’s your deal?”
I laugh as I shake my head. “Well, cut to the chase, why don’t you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Are you going to answer the question or not? What do you want from me?”
I swallow hard as I try to think of a good excuse for why I’m going home with a billionaire I just met six hours ago, but I can’t think of a single legitimate reason other than wanting to be fucked. I hope he buys it. Otherwise, I have a feeling I’m going to have to come clean sooner than I anticipated.
“I already have a job,” I begin. “So I don’t need a job recommendation. And it happens to be at the most exclusive club on the Strip, so I don’t need to get into any clubs, thank you. I don’t have any student loans because I never went to college.” I turn my torso to face him head-on. “You want to know what my deal is? It’s as simple as this: I broke up with my boyfriend six months ago. I want to be fucked, and you seem like the kind of guy who’ll fuck me with a condom and not expect me to give you my phone number.”
He chuckles as he sits back in his seat and gazes out his window. “You obviously don’t know me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He shakes his head as he continues staring at something outside. “It means you think you know me because you’ve read a few articles about what club I was spotted at and with whom.” He turns to me, a wild fire in his eyes. “You know as much about me as you know about Hector.”
“Who’s Hector?”
“See.” He smiles and taps the back of the driver’s seat. “Hector, you want to tell this lovely lady who you are?”
“No, sir,” Hector replies as he turns into the entrance to the Parkway Condominiums high rise building.
“Why not, Hector?” Cash asks with a smile.
“Because if I told her I’d have to kill her.”
I smile back at him, trying not to let him see how Hector’s reply has made me a bit nervous. “Looks like we’re home,” I say as the car pulls through the curved driveway in front of the entrance.
“Home, sweet home,” Cash replies.
Hector opens Cash’s door and a valet opens mine.
“Good evening, miss,” the young blond gentleman greets me with a nod.
I nod at him as I exit the Mercedes. “Good evening,” I reply, though the words seem too formal coming out of my mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever said the words good evening in my life.
Cash thanks the valet and hands him a tip before we set off toward the entrance, where a doorman waits with the door already open for us. He shakes the doorman’s hand, and I’m pretty sure he also slipped him a tip. And I don’t know if I’m going crazy, but I think he tipped the valet and the doorman one hundred dollars each.
Maybe I’m just seeing things. Just dazzled by all the glitz and glamor.
The ceiling in the lobby is at least sixty-feet high. Off to the left is a concierge desk where a young man and woman in navy-blue blazers wave at us.
“Good evening, Mr. Westbrook,” they call out in unison.
“How’s it going, you two? Busy night?” Cash calls back to them as he continues toward the elevator at the back of the lobby.
“Pretty quiet here,” the girl calls out. “Enjoy your evening.”
He chuckles a little. “I’m sure I will, Amal. See you tomorrow.”
I narrow my eyes at him as he presses the elevator call button. “You realize you sound overly confident, don’t you?”
The elevator doors open and he ignores my question as he addresses Hector. “You and Dex take the night off. Just tell Dex to leave the valet check for her car with the concierge, so she can pick it up in the morning.”
“Will do, boss.” Hector turns to me as he holds the elevator door open for Cash and me to enter. “Goodnight, miss.”
“Kara,” I reply. “Please call me Kara. That whole miss thing is weird.”
Hector laughs and turns to Cash. “Good luck with this one.”
The elevator doors close and I round on him. “What does that mean? And you think I’m going to pick up my valet check from the concierge in the morning? You’re awfully confident I’m going to spend the night. I told you, this is not that kind of one-night-stand.”
He smiles as he nods. “Of course. You’re going to fuck me and leave me, right?”
I grab the safety rail as I lean back against the wall of the elevator. “Pretty much, yeah.”
He chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”
I roll my eyes at his infuriating certainty. “Do you normally blow that much money on tips or are you just trying to impress me?”
He looks annoyed the question. “Yes, I normally blow that much money on tips. If you don’t recall, I tipped you ten grand a few hours ago.” He takes a step in my direction, placing his hand on the wall just above my shoulder as he looks down at me. “But I don’t really consider it blowing money. These people care for me, my home, and my cars. It’s important to me that they not only take great care with my possessions…” His gaze slides down to my chest then slowly back up, stopping on my lips. “It’s equally important to me that they’re financially able to care for themselves.”
I draw in a deep breath that rich with the heady fragrance of his warm skin. “So, are you some kind of—”
Before I can finish my sentence, his mouth is on mine and his hand is on my hip, pulling my pelvis toward his. His other hand slides between my legs, massaging me through the fabric of my jeans and panties.
His lips are smooth and firm, with a slightly sweet aftertaste of whiskey, claiming my mouth as if it were one of his precious possessions. His tongue brushes against mine as it goes back and forth, moving in time with the grip of his hand on my crotch. Oh, God. I haven’t been fucked in so long, I’m going to come inside my panties. But just when my clit becomes almost painfully engorged, he lets go and grabs my hand as the elevator doors slide open.
“We’re home,” he declares, in a husky voice, and even though he’s walking ahead of me, I can still see as he uses his other hand to adjust his crotch.
He uses a fancy fingerprint reader to get inside the door to his penthouse. And once we’re inside, I begin to wonder if I am in way over my head.
“Come with me,” he says, letting go of my hand.
I follow him through an entryway with polished concrete floors into a loft-like living space with twenty-foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Strip. The living space is open to a gleaming white and stainless steel kitchen. He grabs a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and pours a couple of glasses. I can’t help but feel a bit…common. Not just because I’m not rich, but also because I’m probably the thousandth girl he’s brought here. And I don’t know why that bothers me.
I shake my head as he offers me a glass of wine. “No, thanks. I prefer beer.”
He smiles as he sets both glasses on the kitchen island and grabs a couple of cold bottles of Sierra Nevada from the fridge. “I prefer beer too, but most women prefer wine. Or, at least, they pretend to.”
I sit on a modern white leather stool at the breakfast bar, admiring the view through the windows as I take my first sip. “I don’t like to pretend.”
“Neither do I,” he replies, setting his beer on the counter.
&n
bsp; He walks slowly, his eyes taking me in as he makes his way around to my side of the breakfast bar. I swallow hard as he positions himself right in front of me and attempts to spread my legs, but my muscles go rigid.
“For someone who just wants to be fucked, you seem awfully tense,” he remarks.
I wince at this accusation. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here.”
He grabs my beer and sets it on the bar behind me. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He reaches up and brushes the pad of his thumb over the ledge of my bottom lip. “Or you can let me do everything, if that’s what you prefer.”
I swallow hard. “I think I’d prefer that.” He leans in to kiss me, but I press my hands firmly into his chest to stop him. “But first, I think I need to get to know you, just a little bit.”
He nods as if he was expecting this. “Sure, I can do conversation all day long. What do you want to know?”
I look him in the eye, taking a deep breath as I gather the courage to ask the first question most people think of when they see the name Cash Westbrook. “If it wasn’t your fault, what actually happened to Vanessa?”
The muscle in his jaw twitches, and a spark of something—anger, possibly—flashes in his eyes. For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me to leave. Instead, he takes a step back and offers me his hand to help me down from the stool. I don’t need his help, but I take his hand anyway. Sliding off the stool, I allow him to pull me toward the cream-colored sofa in the living area. Once we’re seated, I can feel the tension brought on by my question slowly dissipating.
He leans back on the sofa, loosening his tie as he makes himself comfortable. “We were at a club for a birthday party. The party was for a mutual friend. We were drinking a lot. I’d taken an oxy, so I cut myself off at about ten p.m. Vanessa didn’t take any oxy, so she kept drinking. Before we left the club around midnight, she went to use the restroom.”
He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. “We caught a cab to the beach, and on the way there I was trying to kiss her. But she was kind of…not doing a good job of kissing me back. I didn’t think anything of it. Figured she was just more drunk than normal. But when the cab drove away and we started making our way across the sand, she was stumbling a lot. I asked her if she’d done anything else and she admitted someone had given her suboxone in the bathroom. A few minutes later, she stopped breathing.”
He doesn’t blink as he stares out at the city lights. I don’t have to know him well to know he’s telling the truth. I recognize that look. It’s the look my father wore for years after my mother’s death. It’s known to most as the thousand-yard-stare. The blank look a person gets when trying to detach themselves from a trauma they’ve experienced.
“My mom died in a car accident when I was six,” I begin. “I don’t usually talk about this…with anyone.”
“You don’t have to talk about it just because I told you what happened to Vanessa.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s exactly why I have to talk about it. You see, the day my mom died is kind of a blur to me. I was so young, and I’m sure my brain has tried to block the memory, to shield me from the trauma of the experience. But there’s one detail about that night that I remember clear as day: Before my mom got in her car to go to the store that night, her final words to me were, ‘If your dad wakes up while I’m gone, tell him I’ll be right back. I just have to pick up a prescription.’”
I sigh as I also lean back on the sofa and stare out the huge window at the dazzling lights. “The police said she was drunk when she ran into a sign in front of an apartment complex a few miles away, way past the drugstore where her prescription was waiting for her. But I know she wasn’t drunk. I just… I know it.”
He sits up a bit straighter and turns his torso toward me. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you know?”
“Because… Of the few memories I have of my mom, she was never drinking. I saw my dad drink a lot, but never once did I see my mom drink alcohol, not even a beer.” I look into his gray eyes. “I’ve never said this aloud, but I think my mom was killed by…” I shake my head, stopping myself before I make a huge mistake.
“Killed by who?” he urges me on.
“Nothing. No one. I just… I know she wasn’t drunk.”
He scoots closer to me, and my heart races as his large hand lands gently on my face. I have to mentally remind myself why I’m there: for my dad’s insurance claim. I can’t fall for someone who works for the company that destroyed our lives.
His gaze falls to my mouth, lingering there for a moment before returning to my eyes. “Kara,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. “Your vulnerability is breathtaking.”
I don’t know if I should stop him and make him promise to do something about my father’s insurance claim before I have sex with him. I don’t know how blackmail or coercion work. All I know is there is something about Cash that is both powerful and yielding all at once. Something that makes me want to tell him things I’ve never told anyone.
I absolutely cannot stay the night here after we have sex.
“I have to say something,” I say, grabbing his face to stop him before he kisses me.
“What is it?” he replies, his eyebrow cocked.
The scruff on his jaw is rough beneath my fingertips, and I find it comforting. My stomach flutters as I stare into his silver-gray eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just spit it out already? He obviously likes me. I doubt he would be totally opposed to helping my father out, unless I’ve completely misunderstood his character up to this point.
“Kara, what is it?”
I shake my head as I get a firmer grip on his chiseled face. “Do you have a condom?”
He pauses for a moment, as if he’s contemplating whether to call me out on this. He knows I wanted to say something more important than Do you have a condom? Not that condoms aren’t important. But he decides against questioning me. He lets go of my neck and stands up, holding his hand out to me.
This is it. My window of opportunity is closing and I don’t have the courage to stop it. I can’t decide if this is because I’m afraid he’ll say no to helping my father or because I’m afraid he’ll throw me out if he finds out why I came here.
I take his hand and let out a nervous giggle when he yanks me up roughly and I land in his arms. “Impressive,” I remark. “How long have you been practicing that move?”
He leans forward, his lips hover over mine. “Sweetheart, I’ve been training for this day all my life.”
Without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and sets off toward a staircase.
I clear my throat as I notice the veins in his neck popping out from the force required to carry me. “Um… I can walk.”
He glares at me. “What part of training for this my whole life do you not understand?” he replies, then he stops on the fourth step and tosses me up in the air.
I scream so loud I can hear the echo as he catches me safely in his arms. “You jerk!” I shout, smacking his chest.
He laughs as he carries me up the stairs and into the loft area, where he sets me down. “Hey, you basically challenged my manhood when you offered to walk. I can’t let you get away with that.”
“Challenged your manhood!” I scoff as I turn around to get a better look at the loft.
It’s as pristine and white as the downstairs, but with splashes of gray and green here and there. The white comforter on the bed looks thicker than my mattress. I’ll bet his bed cost more than my car.
His hands land on my belly as he comes up behind me, pulling me into him as he whispers in my ear, “I know that bed looks comfortable, but that’s not where we’re having sex tonight.”
I chuckle nervously as his hand slides beneath the waistbands of my jeans and panties. “Where are we going to have sex?”
He kisses my neck, drawing out the suspense as his hand finds it way between my legs. My eyelids flutter as he slides hi
s finger inside me. My heart pounds heavily in my ears as he shoves it in deeper, until I feel I sharp pang of pleasure coming from within. He curls his finger and my body spasms as he moves the tip gently back and forth, as if he’s coaxing my orgasm to come to him, submit to him.
“We’re going upstairs,” he breathes into my ear, making no move to remove his hand from between my legs.
My legs become wobbly and he tightens his hold around my belly with his other arm. “I can’t,” I whisper. “Oh, God.”
“You can’t, what?” he replies, his voice a low growl daring me to stop this intense pleasure.
“I… I can’t stand it. Oh, my God. I’m gonna come.”
He pulls his finger out of me and drags my moisture forward to firmly caress my clit, which sends me straight over the edge. The muscles in my thighs quiver as I throw my head back, panting heavily as the orgasm rocks me to my core.
“That’s it. Get nice and wet for me,” he urges me on as he continues to stimulate me.
“Oh, my God. Stop. Please stop.”
He chuckles. “What did I tell you? In the bedroom, I call the shots. Is that clear?”
My body convulses and I’m unable to speak as he rubs my clit until I’m way past the point of orgasm. All I can do is nod as he brings me to the brink once again, but pulls his hand out of my pants before I can finish this time.
He clutches me tightly to him to keep me from collapsing. I’m breathing so hard, all I want to do is lay in that comfy bed until I’ve recovered. He gives me about ten seconds to catch my breath before he turns me around, his arm still locked around my waist as he reaches up and traces the finger he used to make me come over my lip.
I can smell my musky scent and I wish I’d had a chance to shower after my shift. Just as this embarrassing thought flashes in my mind, he brings the same finger to his mouth and slides it inside. He sucks on it a moment then nods as he slides it out of his mouth.
“Very nice. Do you want to know what you taste like?”
I swallow hard. “What do I taste like?”
“Like a cross between an earthy beer and black tea. It’s really quite intoxicating. I can’t wait to put my mouth on you.” He kisses the corner of my mouth and my fingers close around his tie. “I’m going to make you come so many times, you’re gonna lose count.”
