Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (18 page)

She’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.

Making all my instincts roar in erotic glory.

“What the hell does that mean?” In any other scenario, I’d never ask something so coarse—but every inch of her face shows that she gets this. Knows my needs as blatantly as I grasp hers. That in this moment, lines must be drawn more brutally between us. “Tell me
clearly
, Ella. Tell me you understand.”

She jerks out a swift nod. “Yes, Cassian. I—I understand.”

I sweep inside her, deeper and harder. I’m almost there, buried to the hilt in her cunt. Her walls tremble, struggling to accommodate my fullness.

“You understand…that I’m going to fuck you hard.”

“Yes,” she rasps. “You’re going to fuck me hard.”

“And you’re going to let me.”

“And…and I’m going to let you.”

“And you’re going to hurt.”

“Yes, Cassian.”

I slam in, making her body take me fully. She winces, not expecting the lunge.

I rejoice.

I don’t want to torture her. But goddamn, I need to master her. Mark her from the inside out, with fearlessness she will get from no other lover. That even if they lock me up and throw away the key, this woman will live the rest of her days remembering the night I claimed her without restraint…without repentance.

Triumph consumes. Powers the force of my thrusts, the brutality of my grip—the heights of her cries. She’s trapped, open, helpless—and aroused as hell. I stare into her eyes, dominated by her dilated pupils. I stroke the crazy dance of her pulse. And I keep fucking her, the brutal passion growing into relentless stabs, her slick body trembling for more and more.

“
Katansi, ma dinné.
”

Take me, woman.

“Yes,
ma donné
.”

Yes, my man.

“Deeper, Ella.”

“Yes, Cassian!”

Fuck.
Fuck.
She turns me into fire. Lightning. Spears of light and feeling, lust and arousal, beyond anything I’ve ever fathomed possible in my body before…

Because I’d never dreamed this completion would be possible for my soul.

This freedom for my heart.

This ecstasy…in every single cell of my being.

“My
armeau.
” My unexpected gift from heaven. My sweet, hot toy of a woman. “I’m going to fill you, Mishella. Take my come.
All of it
.”

She gives me no answer. Only her scream, wild and perfect and shattered, as her tunnel squeezes around me, and her clit vibrates against my lower belly. My balls react, tensing and tightening before launching the rush of perfect heat straight up my cock. Then my consciousness is nothing but my essence, streams of life bursting into her, drenching all of her. My vision blurs and my body shakes, overcome by the need to keep scorching her, marking her, being whole and perfect and one with her.

The only element that finally yanks me free…is her. More specifically, her tears, softly shed as I ease into a gentle rocking instead of a brutal pounding. I’m not sure that helps. I stay inside her as long as I can, releasing my hold to wrap her close. Let her rise up to clutch me in return.

The wind flows in, spiced with sea salt and night mists, cooling the sweat on our flesh but binding the gentle passion of our new kiss. It’s slow and deep and cherishing—and exactly what I need to give her as thanks for the caveman claim I’ve just made on her body.

After long minutes, I force myself to let at least a few practical thoughts back in. After pulling out of her, I stand. She giggles as I wobble for a second, really not sure my ass won’t be kissing the ottoman behind my knees, but my legs finally cooperate and I lope to the bathroom for a towel to clean us up.

When I reenter the bedroom, I’m pleased as hell to see she hasn’t found it necessary to budge. Not an inch. I make my way back toward her—

But am stopped short halfway.

Struck by a feeling so rare and sublime, I almost feel ten years old again.

Yeah, ten.

That had to be the last time I stopped myself for the sake of sheer beauty.

Fuck. She doesn’t just halt my steps. She seizes my whole damn heart. Moonlight streams in, a creamy caress over her skin. Her fingers flow, graceful and slow, through her thick curls. There’s blue starlight love in her eyes, and crevices of sexy mystery in every curve of her body. Mysteries I’ve just unlocked, yet already lust to do so again.

I have got to be the luckiest fucker on the planet.

And the stupidest.

It’s not too late.

I swallow hard. Lock my teeth. Fight the demon on one of my shoulders. He’s a nasty little asshole. But why is he naked?

Because I’m you, dumb shit.

And now I’m ordering you to get the fuck over yourself.
It’s not too late.
Get her up, get her dressed, and get her out of here. She was right, you know. Laith will fly you two anywhere. He’ll even help in finding the perfect hiding spot. Some remote island in the middle of nowhere, where neither of you will need clothes and everyone pays for food with songs or pebbles. You can run around in a loincloth for the rest of your days, and fuck your beautiful Ella every damn chance you can get
…

And that would do
what
to Mom? And Prim? And the thousands of people who depend on me for
their
chance at loincloths and pebble payments?

I chose my life. I
made
my life.

And that meant choosing not to run, just because doing the right thing meant doing the hard thing.

But right now…this moment…

There is just savoring the beauty.

“What on Earth are you thinking?”

And loving her for seeing into me like a laser through a diamond—but asking that question anyway.

“You already know that answer,
armeau
.”

A misty smile lights up her lips. “Perhaps I do.”

“Then you probably know I’m just enjoying the view.” Deep rush of an inhalation. “And memorizing it.”

The smiles vanishes. “Cassian.” Her beckoning hand matches the urgency of her whisper. “My
raismette
.”

Her plea gets me moving again. Though there’s enough room to sit next to her on the chair, I kneel instead. I need this—to physically show her how deep I shall always be in service to her.

How I will never forget the perfect gift of her…

And yeah, it’s fun to make her squirm again. Just a little. Number one, the pause helps me resist the temptation to pleasure her again. Number two—
paging Hypocrites Anonymous
—I get to appreciate what impatience does to her luscious little body.

“Hold still.” I give the quiet command when stroking into the curve of her knee—just as she tries to wriggle free.

She flings a teasing glower. “Cad. You know I am ticklish there.”

“A fact I learned
long
after you knew I was a cad.”

She sighs, a combination of dreamy and resigned, as I dip a kiss to the inside of her kneecap. With the pad of my thumb, I rub the same place on her opposite knee. “You have ruined me for cads, Mr. Court.”

“You’re ruined only for
this
fucking cad, Miss Santelle.”

She twines a huskier breath with my unexpected snarl. “Yes, Sir.” Lifts a hand into my hair, compelling me to take in every inch of the stunning smile she joins to it. “Only you. Always.”

Again, I’m speechless. Unable to give her the reply she deserves—the answer that’s
right
—to tell her I can’t accept her promise, no matter how deep from her being it has emerged. That I can’t ask her to wait for me, if the feds make this bullshit stick then ruin me for it. I will
not
do that to her.

But those words aren’t the ones that form. Though I surge to my feet and turn from her, they aren’t the vow I can muster. Nowhere near the selflessness I’m capable of.

Right now, I continue in the key of cad—and make damn certain I claim a part of her that belongs to no other.

Like writing up a contract with her companionship as a bargaining chip wasn’t enough?

Then taking her virginity…that also wasn’t enough?

Then falling in love with her, and proposing to her…

How much of this woman is going to be
enough
for you, dammit
?

“Shut up.” Though I keep it as low a growl as I can, it drives Ella to her feet too. But maybe it’s not the words at all. Maybe she just notices that I’ve stalked across the room like a man possessed. Maybe she just knows that I am.

“Cassian?”

I don’t say a thing while stomping to my suitcase, a small roller bag perched next to hers, on top of the dresser. Still nothing as I flip it open then reach inside.

“Cassian, what in Creator’s n—”

Still nothing, as I turn with the long velvet box balanced on my upturned palms. For a few seconds, I simply let her get used to the sight, though I could have a snake in my hands and likely stunned her less.

“Better than a snake,” I finally mutter.
At least I hope so
.

“Wh-what?”

“Never mind.”

I laugh in lieu of kissing her—which is really what I yearn to do. Dear Christ, she’s so cute, shambling in her puddle of mussed and nonplussed, rocking kiss-stung lips and freshly fucked hair like no earthly goddess has a right to.
My
goddess. And this is going to seal the deal.

“Open it, Mishella.”

She doesn’t move.

Except to jerk up a gaze flooded with peacock blue awe—once more not from what I’ve spoken, but how I’ve voiced it. This time, her full name is purposeful for me. Prayerful. A conscious choice.

Just like what rests on a bed of reverent satin in this case.

“What…what is it, Cassian?”

Deep breath. Another. This wasn’t the moment I’d envisioned in my head, when hurriedly stowing the box as we packed back in New York. In my fantasy, we were both on the Arcadian beach somewhere. We were both relaxed and happy, buzzed on a little wine. We were both
clothed
. But life, from Dirt Street to Wall Street, has taught me a few lessons with regular clarity, including
make a plan—then prepare to change it.

In this case, the change is…

Perfect.

Standing here before this woman, naked as the day I was born, I am also able to show her the bare truth of who I am—the man beneath the conference room command and the bespoke pinstripes, the guy who just wants to be
her
guy, the soul desperately and helplessly in love with hers…

And—oh, yeah—the lover who might never get a chance to be like this with her, ever again.

Here goes fucking nothing
.

“Open it.” Again I nudge the box toward her. She practically jumps back, looking perplexed and even a little panicked. “Ella? Why…are you…”

She cuts me off with a despairing moan. “
Cassian
.” Backhands her forehead, enticing the air itself to write off her melodrama, if it wasn’t so thick with the weight of her conflict. “Why are
you
?” she suddenly seethes. “
That
was not enough?”

I follow the stab of her finger. The
that
she refers to is her diamond cuff, resting on a shelf in the armoire next to the bathroom door, beside her watch and earrings. The moments are rare when she isn’t wearing all the accessories, though the bracelet has had her most faithful adherence since I gave it to her, twelve days that seem a forever ago. It was the moment just before we took our relationship public for the world on Chantal Dunne’s entertainment gossip show.

Different circumstances now.

So much more different.

“That was just a commemoration,” I explain.

“Of what?”

“The start.”

It gets a nod of satisfaction. How else do I phrase it without sounding like an ass desperate to make everything better with jewelry? I’m not
that
fuckhead—and she sure as hell isn’t that woman either.

She is
the
woman.

My true love.

Which means this is going to happen, dammit—no matter what protests she hurls.

“The start? So…this is what, Cassian? The
end
?”

Yes. Even if she hurls that.

“This is…”

I finally just flip the box open for her.

“my heart.”

The necklace, a simple oval of tiger eye set against an antique silver filigree, isn’t as flashy as the cuff—but that’s part of its perfection. It’s more like her: a blend of regal alloys, a perfection of royal elegance. Silver and gold, simplicity and complexity, today’s serene statement representing the strength of survival, the courage of personal history.

A history she no longer has to bear alone.

I step closer, needing her to see it in my eyes. To feel it in my presence.

“Not just my heart, Mishella.” I let the serrated syllables cascade over her. “But Mom’s too.” Gruff laugh. “Probably Damon’s by now as well. Do you understand?”

For a long moment, she’s quiet. Finally raises her head, searching me with avid eyes. “I—do not know.”

I line up my gaze more directly with hers. “I didn’t go out and buy this necklace. I’m giving it to you because you are now not just mine. You are…ours. Family.”

Her nose crinkles. Her brow furrows. “What?”

I brush a thumb along her hairline. Damn. Even the word “family” is foreign—and frightening—to her.

So I must prove how much it means to
me.

“This has been in the Court family since the nineteen thirties,” I begin, “when my great grandfather worked two jobs for nine months to pay for it.”

A few of the lines disappear from her forehead, making room for her widened eyes. “
Why
?”

“Well. He was in love with a girl. My great grandmother, Nina. He badly wanted to seal the deal—”

“Then all he needed was some sealing wax and the family crest. He had a signet somewhere, yes?”

I bite back a grin. “In this case, it means to simply make her his wife. Clearer?”

There’s
her smile—bringing back my sun. “Oh, yes. Now
that
is wonderful.”

“Well…yes and no. It was the Great Depression, and he didn’t have enough money to buy her an engagement ring. He found a second job at night, bizarre enough in itself, even if it was shitty labor—literally.” I indulge a new chuff, shaking my head from the story Mom has told me countless times. “But for almost a year, he cleaned toilets and mopped floors from eight to midnight, just to buy my grandmother the necklace she loved in a jewelry store window.”