Bold Beautiful Love -- A Temptation Court Contemporary Romance: Temptation Court: Passion in New York (24 page)

Things feel better already.

But it’s not time to sing
We Are The Champions
yet. There’s one more foe I’ve got to fight for this woman—perhaps the toughest battle of them all. At least the one that will wrench my soul apart the most.

The one I was too late to fight for Lily.

No. The one I’d ignored, pushed aside, denied—instead wanting my woman happy, peaceful, angelic…a lot like Ella looks right now. I’d been so blind. Ignorant. Arrogant. Thought she was so fulfilled like that, all the time, because of
me.

Doyle steps over. As always, his features are enigmatic, though I know he’s read and processed the dark turn of my own thoughts.

“She’s going to be okay, Cas.”

Jaw grind, the brutal version. “I know. I
know
,” I emphasize, when his gaze tightens. “I won’t let her fall.”
Or throw herself out a seventh-floor window while I watch
.

“
We
won’t let her fall.” He turns away from the girls to line up his gaze, the same color and texture as a steel girder, with mine. “Cas. You are not alone.”

I order my head to stay upright—but am overruled. I hope Doyle understands, for he has no way of knowing what power he’s invoked. That those are the exact words
Ella
gave to
me
the night of our first real “date” together, attending the Manhattan Literacy Ball. The night had started with our entwined bodies in the limo but ended with my ass on a paramedics’ stretcher, three bullets in my gut.

But she’d been there when I woke up from the ensuing surgery.

You are not alone.

She’d been there through every minute, every hour, every damn day of my six-week recovery.

You are not alone.

Just like she’d been there, in every cell of my body and fiber of my soul, as I paced a cement cell in the Metropolitan Correctional Center for seven damn days.

You are not alone.

Now it’s my turn to prove it to her.

Starting right now.

“
Armeau
.” I run a gentle hand down her back. “I’m sorry. We have to get out of here, before your parents toss spike strips onto the runway or something.”

“They won’t.” Brooke whisks two fingers up with the solemnity of a girl scout. “I swear it to you, Cassian. I’m here to see my girl off,”—she winks at Ella—“but also as an emissary for the Cimarrons. Even Evrest has had his eyes opened to the Santelle’s shenanigans now.”

Gabriel grunts. “Pretty difficult for a king to keep his head in the sand after his sister-in-law was roofied then dumped back on the front porch.”

Brooke throws him a side-eye then grins back at me. “I like him.”

Doyle snorts. “Don’t encourage it.”

“Shut up, peon.” Gabe turns his cocky glower into a rogue’s smirk. Extends his elbow toward Brooke. “I’m escorting a princess safely back to her native soil.”

Doyle shakes his head. “Yeah. Down all fifteen steps.”

The girls giggle while hugging out their goodbyes. Doyle and Gabe trade more shit talk. Sheez. It’s almost like we’re at a dinner party again.
Normal
again.

But we’re not. And we won’t be. Not for a while.

The thought gives me new determination. Quietly, I pull Ella a closer. Murmur into her ear, “Come on,
raismette
. Let’s get you more comfortable.” Because if my estimations are right about the “feel-good cocktail” her parents had her on, she’ll likely start withdrawal before we land at Teterboro.

With that in mind, I close and lock the door as soon as I get her back into the bedroom.

I’m barely done and turned back around, when the woman is on me like a monkey.

A hot, passionate, very high, very horny, monkey.

And God help me, I love it.

For a moment—all right, maybe longer—I let her grab my hair, part my lips, plunge in her tongue, and ravage whatever else she wants. And damn…that starts to include a lot. Her grip on my scalp, digging to the point of pain. The other hand beneath my shirt, rubbing my nipples. Then both hands in my crotch, fondling me.
All
of me.

She moans and squeezes.

I groan and harden.

Dear
fuck,
she feels good.
So. Damn. Good.
Even through the miles of meringue in which she’s trapped, her little squirms and writhes are beyond wild.

Holy.
Shit.

No. Even wild isn’t even the right word.

Insatiable. That might be better.

Voracious. Another good one.

Erotic. Illicit. Utterly, unspeakably fuckable. Yeah. I could expand my vocabulary to all of those right now too.

“Ella.” As I grasp both her wrists, my cock starts listing the hundred ways it hates me. I order the bastard to shut up, curling her arms between our chests. “
Ella
. Stop.
Armeau
—”

She silences me with another kiss. Her lips are brazen, bold. Her hips are grinding, urgent.

“You came back.”

She says it against my lips, all breath and need and urgent offering.
Shit.
I’m in trouble. Deep trouble. Mere thoughts of just her white lace
panties
have been the fantasies to nearly make me orgasm in my pants before; now she’s covered in the stuff. It cups her breasts, perfectly offsetting her creamy skin. Rises in a wide V, barely covering her shoulders—an invitation to simply push the damn dress off. The buttons down her back are just ornaments. They hide a zipper…that ends past the lush swell of her ass.

“I’ll always come back.” Though I have to say it past locked teeth, I mean every word. Cup her face with equal intent, praying my love makes its way past the fog with so much of her in its grip. “Dammit, Ella. I’ll come for you if it means sailing to the Antarctic.”

Somehow, at least a little of it gets through. A sheen of tears turns her gaze from morning to twilight blue, before they’re slowly blinked away—

And my lust-filled little monkey returns in full force.

“Antarctica is not necessary.” Her sultry smile is hypnotizing. Before I know it, her hands drop back to where they started. “I just want you to come here.”

“Christ.” I’m strangled from getting anything else out, bucking into her magical grip. “You
are
a sorceress.”

“And you are my wizard.” She laughs a little, stroking me so perfectly.
Knowing
me. “So why should we not…take out your wand…and cast a few spells?”

A bark of laughter escapes. I can’t help it. At any other time, in any other place, she’d be three shades of crimson and hiding behind her fingers at a
suggestion
of the words. They’re corny and dirty—

And awesome.

And not right.

“Baby—” I still her hands once more. “Listen. You’ve got a lot of chemicals in your body right now. They’re making you say and do things—”

“Things I would not normally say and do?”

Her nose puckers. Holy crap, I’ve missed that.

“Well…things you wouldn’t say—”

“Then let us not
say
anything else.” She turns her hands beneath mine, freeing the tips of her fingers enough to taunt my crotch again. Her stare is seductive, enhanced by the smoke-colored makeup they made her slather for the “big day” with Zandyr. “
Doing
can be just as much fun, yes?”

Fuck, yes.

God, no.

I steel my jaw. “Not when you’re jacked on all this shit,
favori
. It’s called taking advantage of the situation. Taking advantage of
you.
”

She could whip out a hidden Taser gun—not an impossibility, given the dress—and jolt me less than she does with her long girl growl. “Well dammit, Cassian. Then we shall just say
I
am taking advantage of
you
, all right?”

Dear Christ.

Can’t the little minx just be babbling and happy and high, instead of perky, practical, and sensible?

“
Cassian
.”

In my brood, I’d dropped my head.
Huge
mistake. During those three seconds, she’s managed to reach back and slid her zipper down—allowing her to finally step free from the meringue.

No Taser gun.

Ordnance that’s deadlier. Dear God, so much more lethal.

Her body, gleaming and gorgeous, is clad in the complete bridal package…

All.

White.

Lace.

“Fuck.”

I’m shocked I’m capable of
that
. After I selfishly indulge a second—and probably a third and fourth—full stare of her, I likely won’t be as lucky.

A strapless bra is perfectly fitted to the swells of her breasts, riding low enough to give a peek at the heaven of her areolas. Her panties can’t really be called a “garment,” consisting of tiny strings barely holding on to a triangle of sheer white, its lacy edges framing an erotic view of the tawny strip where her hottest passion lies. Layered atop that is a garter belt accented with blue bows, snapped into thigh-high stockings, also white, that all but order my gaze to worship her the curves of her thighs, the bare curve of her ass.

“Fuck.”

Well. Guess I’ve got at least one more surprise left in me.

Though I’m enticed—and terrified—to find out if
she’s
got any more.

I
had
to go and give
that
idea some credence.

A gulp thuds down my throat as she moves one hand, slowly and knowingly, up the front of her torso. Like a snake charmer and her cobra, she rivets every ounce of my gaze to her graceful oval nails, sliding and circling, teasing and taunting. Circles around her belly button. Playful swirls over both her breasts, inching the bra a little lower, before extending up her neck and over her chin. Finally, her lips part and her teeth gleam, nipping erotically at the tip of her finger.

Then licking it.

“Fuck.” I drag it into a tortured groan this time. Even so, I manage to add in a harsh bite, “Me.”

Ella hitches the corners of her mouth up. “If you insist.”

Before I can process that, she lowers that naughty finger. Hooks it into the front of my pants. Pulls on me hard enough to knock me off-balance, slamming into her, plunging us both onto the bed. She wastes no time there either, digging hands into my hair, all but commanding me to slice my mouth down upon hers.

She doesn’t have to take the lead for long.

She’s delicious.

Wet.

Wanton.

Perfect.

Then gasping against me.

Thrusting up to me.

Sliding legs over me.

And spreading them for me…

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

I’ve never been so grateful for pants.

Without them, I’d already be balls-deep inside her. Her adorable little mewls would be fuel for my deep, hard thrusts. And her breasts, finally bursting all the way out of the bra, would be the inspiration for my ultimate release.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Not here. Not right now.

I can’t do this with her. Not
to
her. Not while she’s like this, literally not in her right mind, unable to know what she really wants.

But she really wants
you.
Without that shit running a marathon in her bloodstream, she’d still be writhing and ready for you.

But without the drugs,
she’d
be telling me that—from
her
heart, mind, and libido. This way, I become part of the violation—and God knows if, in the end, she’ll have the clarity of memories to know the difference. I’ll not be that monster, even if I’m the monster she’s in love with.

Nothing, even indulging the carnal fantasy of her right now, is more important than her safety, her security, her ultimate happiness.

“Cassian.”

And nobody said nobility was fucking easy. One more moan like that, making her nipples tighten and her whole body tremble, and I may really turn into a cautionary tale about messing around fully clothed with a goddess on horny juice.

“
Please
.”

Not another moan, thank fuck—but it gives me enough time to breathe deep, resyncing my head and calming my dick. Relieved whoosh back out. I need to keep my head here.
Both
of them. Whatever she’s on—and during the flight over from New York, Gabe and I did hours of research and floated hundreds of theories about it—could wallop her with withdrawals in a few hours, or at any second. Simply “lingering nearby” isn’t an option for me this trip. I’m committed to being on her like fucking meringue on a cake.

Just not
in
her.

The internal pep talk made me forget her death grip on my head. Down I’m dragged again, meeting the renewed heat of her lips and tongue with heated desire. How have I forgotten how this woman loves to kiss? And how damn good she is at it?

We don’t pull apart until we have to, huffing like horny kids, pawing each other everywhere. It’s strange, but accepting that I won’t be fucking her has made the rest so much more erotic and exciting. Perhaps a little illicit. Perhaps a lot.

There’s just one catch.

Ella hasn’t grasped the whole plan. Not like I haven’t laid down the law about it, either.

Time for that to change.

Even as she lifts her hips once more…all but begging me to tear that fabric from her pussy then bury my cock in its place. The revving growl of the engines, powering the plane to higher altitude, only enhances the energy in the air, likely jacking the effects of the drugs in her system.

“
Faisi vive Créacu
, Cassian.” She rages it as I ease off the crux of her body, shifting my weight to one elbow. “Come back.
Come back.
I am nearly going mad!”

I lean my chest back over hers. Capture her lips in a searing, commanding mesh. “I’m not going anywhere, sweet woman.”

“Bullshit.” She tears at my hair with one hand, scratches at my chest with the other. One at a time I remove them, guiding her grip around the edge of the mattress. She growls, removing them at once. I fight the answering awakening between my legs—like everything there isn’t buzzing on a thousand cups of sexual java already—as well as the enticed amazement. Goddamn. That joy juice has turned my sorceress into a saber-tooth tigress, and never have I yearned more to add “wildcat tamer” to my resumé.