Pretty Perfect Toy -- A Temptation Court Novel (Temptation Court, Book 2) (21 page)

I swallow hard. My womb clenches. My breasts pebble. “Freshly…plucked?”

“Sure. That’s good.” He tugs on my hand. Kisses over my palm and onto my wrist, never setting me free from his tiger-bright stare. “But I prefer it finely prepared too. Heated up…to the perfect texture…”

My breath speeds up, slicing in and out, as he slides his mouth up, to the inside of my elbow. Still I manage to chide, “Mr. Court, I think you are trying to distract me.”

He works his way up to my shoulder. Suckles the curve of my skin. Fires up every nerve in my body. “From what?”

I frantically lick my lips. “I—I have a job to do…”

“So do I.” His voice is more fire, descending to the upper swell of my breast. “Yet here I am,”—the blaze spreads, as he explores beneath the cup with the tip of his tongue—“agreeing to answer any question you want to ask.” He glances up, just once, before pushing back the lace-trimmed fabric. “And consider anything else you’d like to…present.”

A long, high sigh swirls up my throat. Rasps out as he closes his Da Vinci lips over my aching nipple, swiftly turning it into a stiff red erection. “
Cassian
.”

“Hmmm?” Damn him. Still smooth and cool as marble.

“This—this is
not
—”

“The hottest sight I’ve ever seen?” He pushes aside the cup over my other breast. “The most magnificent pair of breasts in this whole city, pushed up and waiting for me to pleasure them?” He flashes a savoring grin, before securing his teeth over that dusky nipple. “I beg to differ,
armeau
.”

A miracle, this strength I suddenly gain to press my lips into a chastising line. “We must prepare for tomorrow!”

He soothes the burn from his bite with a lavish lick. My opposite breast gets more attention from the fingers extending out of his bandage, twisting my hard peak to bring just the perfect pinch of pain. “Prepare away, sorceress. Don’t let me stop you.”

“
Wéchant brutan
.”

“Now you
really
can’t let me stop you.” He growls it into the valley between my throbbing swells. I let out a tight huff. Dammit. This man and his penchant for my language. I cannot even cap it with an insult, because he likes those more.

“It means you really are a wicked beast.”

“Not sure Chantal’s team will uncover
that
one.”

“Perhaps it shall be my little gift to her cause.”

“And perhaps I’ll spill my own secrets during the interview.” He skates his touch back down by way of my ribs, riding the line between tickling and arousing, until bracing the small of my back with his bandaged hand while sliding beneath my panties with his other. “Like how I fantasized about touching you like this, damn near from the moment we met.”

Another gasp. Everything under his fingers pulses. Flutters. Zings with a thousand points of feeling and life. “You—you would not dare.”
Because then the cameras would show everything on my face too. That I longed for the same thing that very night
…

“Oh yeah?” He strokes in, past the flesh that shields my most tender button, flaring my desire in all the right places.
He knows me
… “Try me.” Rolls his thumb, stirring my lust, spinning my mind. “Dear Christ Ella,
please
try me. Make me declare to the world how I dreamed of what your body would feel like, smell like, taste like. How I went back to my suite in the Palais after that reception and didn’t leave the shower for nearly an hour. Then the next morning, too…and that night. I thought of you, over and over again, making myself come with thoughts of touching you…fucking you. Those next two days were sheer hell, wondering if I’d see you again—and dreading it. Knowing that the second I did, those fantasies would return, twice as hot as before. That I’d be rock hard for you all over again.” With a gritted sound, he pulls his fingers away. Shoves the panel of my panties aside, so his bare flesh can rub into my slit instead. “Just like this.
Exactly
like this.”

“
Cassian
.” I shake and throb, mashing myself tighter against him. I am a ball of need, desperate for the purchase of all his rock-hard sinew and relentless force, thinking how correct he is about his first assertion.
Caveman
, not
warrior
. Chivalry and heraldry be damned. I need his possession, his hunger…his primeval lust—and all the things it draws out in me as response. Wild things. Hot things. All the aching, animal needs of the woman who imagines we are on a bed of pelts in some Paleolithic cave, the storm drenching a dirt jungle outside instead of an urban one.

“You wanted me too,” he growls. “Didn’t you?” He rolls his hips, making me feel every angle of his length…taunting my shivering pearl with his engorged crown. The heat of his pre-ejaculate blends with my aroused cream, swirling an aphrodisiac scent between our slick bodies. “I saw it on your face,
favori
…every time we saw each other again. In the way your eyes changed, turning from daylight to midnight…so goddamn beautiful…”

I grip into the flexed tension of his shoulders. Fit my face into the muscled column of his neck. “And I saw it on
your
face. The tension in your jaw. The way the very air changed around you…”

“Because it did. The way I wanted you…the intensity it reached…it was a fucking cosmic shift.” His chest churns with a harsh breath. “Christ, Ella. It still is.” He grips me harder. Dictates the rhythm of our bodies, making my slit ride his shaft at a torturously slow pace. But I do not fight him. The effort would get me nowhere. I concentrate instead on the power beneath his movements…the strength, like twisted steel, of his solid will, his corded body. I let it flow through me too, the physical high becoming a spiritual rush, rocketing my mind and soul as it twists into every fiber of my clenching, convulsing sex. “You change my atmosphere, sorceress. You
are
my atmosphere.”

His words pull tears to my eyes. Bring my face around so I can suck in breaths that are filled with his too. We gasp and hover and tease, the inches between our mouths like the anticipation between our bodies. I am heavy against him…around him. Mewling as he lifts me a little higher, working the edges of my entrance against his hot tip. Gasping as he teases back, shuttling through my wet folds instead. Dear powers that be, how can he keep doing this? Where is his self-control coming from? When the man is determined, even horse-strength painkillers cannot keep him down. Literally.

I angle back a little. Splay fingers through his stubble, bracing the elegant line of his cheek before rasping, “I love you so much, Cassian.”

His smile transforms into something different. An expression I cannot identify, nor remember ever seeing on his face before. It is…vehement. Almost violent. It terrifies me. Penetrates me.

Right before his body does.

I cry out, stretched and blazed and full of him. Every nerve of my intimate channel is turned into throbbing, thundering sensation—then dissolved into nothing, as he pierces more than just my sex. He permeates my being. Ravages every inhibition and fear, splitting me open, burned alive from the inside out.

“
Faisi vive Créacu
!”

“Ella.
Fuck.
”

“Yes.” It is all I can blurt in English now, unable to wrap my mind around the extra step of translation. I let the stream of Arcadian come, gasping words both flirty and filthy against his lips as he digs fingers into my waist, forcing my flesh to take more of his. He is so deep. So huge. So hot and perfect inside me. “Yes!”

“Maybe this is the secret
I’ll
spill to Chantal tomorrow.” His gaze is as sultry as his voice. “You think I should tell everyone how wet this cunt gets for me? How tight these walls grip my cock, milking the come straight up from my balls?”

I gasp and throw my head back, letting him trail the words down my neck, into the valley between my exposed, erect breasts. The cocksure
bonsun.
He does not mean a word of the threat, but knows just the idea of it makes me hotter and wetter for him by the minute. And Creator’s toes, how I love every word he uses to phrase it.

“Should I tell everyone in that studio how you like to whimper for me, Ella? How sweet your tits get when you do? How they harden exactly like your clit as you beg me more and more for completion?”

“
Cassian.
” His litany has turned me delirious and wanton. I readily obey the furious pace he sets now, pumping up and down his incredible shaft, rejoicing in the clench of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes, blatant betrayals of how he will not be able to hold on much longer either.

“Good girl.” He flashes his teeth, lending a new layer to my arousal. He looks hungry.
Starving.
“My sweet, good girl. Beg me for it,
armeau
. Beg me to give it to you.”

“Yes,” I gasp. “I—I need it, Cassian. Hard and deep and—” I whine, unable to find the English anymore. “
Ardui
,” I plead. “
Faisi-bana-ardu. Joula-bana. Plait. Plait
!”

His lips peel back with a full snarl. “God
damn
. Yeah.” Though unintentional, my native words set his beast even more free—to the point that he flips me over, pinning me to the mattress like a lion taking down its prey. With more wild intent, he throws both my knees over his shoulders. Nearly doubles my body back on itself as he fucks into me with long, savage, stabs of his full, beautiful cock.

So

good.

So

perfect.

“Ah!” I slam my head back once more. Flail my coiled fists into the padded headboard, letting them pound with every new, deep thrust of his magnificent body. “I’m—I’m going to—”

The scythe swoops down. I am cut deep, exposed and raw, open and orgasming—laid completely bare to the gaze, leonine and green, tearing over every inch of my face as the beautiful heat pulls me over, again and again. His stare devours me, gorging on the meat of my spasms, lapping the blood of my screams—

Until he is vanquished too.

As the blade sinks fully into him, he lunges then stills. Our stares latch to each other as his cock expands then spills, soaking me with the hot flood of his climax.

“Ella,” he grits. “God
damn
.”

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“Take it.” His hands brace my buttocks. Hold me in place as he continues coming. “All of it.”

“Yes!”

He keeps emptying into me—and as he does, more than just my body clenches. My heart tightens, pushing at the walls of my chest, as I recognize an inescapable truth in the colliding green shards of his gaze. It is more than just his seed inside me. It is
him
—

As I am poured into him too.

More than just joined with him.

Filled by him.

More than simply in love with him.

Entwined with him.

And in an instant, I know why he didn’t echo my declaration—why his gaze turned so strangely severe before he entered me. His soul already knew what mine has just caught up to. This is more than just “chemistry,” or even the “love” we tried to honor it with.

This is an earthquake. A flood. A forest fire. An upheaval, altering the landscapes of our lives forever—

Backing my mind into one terrible, inescapable corner of conflict.

Our contract did not say forever.

So what, in Creator’s name, do we do now?

*

Cassian

What the hell
do we do now
?

As hard as I try, the mute button on the question won’t stick—even after I’ve gotten towels to clean us up, then settled back to the pillows with her face tucked to my chest and our legs a tight tangle. Like a summer night after fireworks, the air in the room is blatantly quiet but prickled with expectancy. I savor both. Revel in
her
, damp and naked and soft against me…

And know, with every neuron in my brain and instinct in my spirit, that four more months will not purge this woman out of my system.

Four more
years
?

Drop in the bucket.

Four
decades
?

What the hell would that even look like? Feel like? I’d be almost be seventy…

And burning just as much to sink my dick into her whenever I could. Living for the high, sweet cries she sets free, right before climaxing. Waiting for the perfect flutters of her cunt, clutching me as I fuck her to completion. Kissing her hard in order to open her eyes, so I can watch her orgasm wash through them—and seeing myself reflected in the blue diamond depths that mesmerized me the first moment we touched…

Wake up, dumbshit.

All the hearts and flowers and true love aside, you two haven’t discussed a fucking thing past the end of the contract. Technically, she still owes you four more months of her ass in this city—and nothing more. After that, she won’t just be down the hall or in the next room. All your amazing sexual chemistry aside, she’s been promised she gets to go home—then begin a life
without
her worth being tied to a man. Yeah, even one she’s in love with.

Love.

Shit.

Is
that
what we’re still calling it?

I’m afraid to ponder the answer to that—especially because the
first
part wasn’t part of my own plan, either. Correction:
Plan,
capital
P
. The master strategy that has been my keel for almost five years, unwavering in guiding me toward every single hallmark of my success—