Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
CASSIDY
Isaiah holds my panties up for me to see. The sheer lace sides didn’t stand a chance when he tugged them over my boots. I guess that’s why they’re called delicates. He balls them in his fists and tucks them into his pocket.
“The winery gift shop sells souvenirs,” I sass.
His lips purse, but he can’t hold back the cocky grin that overtakes his face and his hot skin reddens at his neck.
“Maybe I’ll let you take me there.” He grabs my ankles, placing one heeled foot onto the mattress, then the next.
“And where are you taking me?”
Isaiah shakes his head. His thumb grazes his chin. I know what he’s about to say before he says it.
“All the way to heaven, sweetheart. All the way to heaven.”
Since we met, a small piece of me has wanted to run and hide from Isaiah. I don’t have emotional scars from my past relationships. I’ve never had my heart broken. Yet, on a primal level, I understand it’s the safer option. My mind has wandered a merry path, trying to lead me to believe that his desire for me isn’t shallow. But Isaiah is who he is and I am who I am.
I didn’t ask him to leave me at my bedroom door with a singular chaste kiss because a bigger part of me wants this. Craves his fleeting attention and the memory it will bring once he’s gone.
This is one dalliance. We have a swiftly approaching expiration date when the sun comes up.
I lift my arms, squeezing my cleavage together into two big mounds. My hands are bound at my waist by the sleeves of my dress. The way he’s positioned me, my legs are splayed. Coolness hits my slit when my fingers rumple up the rest of the fabric, showing him my wet cunt.
Isaiah hadn’t asked me to promise him I was pure. I don’t even think that was an expectation he had. Lying alone in this bed, I learned to get over any lingering shyness I had about my body. I can be whatever fantasy he needs and fulfill my dreams as well.
The man is looking at me like he could eat me and I’m ready to be devoured.
He falls to his knees. His broad shoulders wedge between my leather boots. The scruff of his beard tickles my inner thigh.
Isaiah takes a breath, kissing my sensitive skin, and murmuring almost to himself, “How the hell do you smell like candy every fucking where?”
I giggle. There’s no room for conversation. I enjoy the secrets I keep. Some are trivial and others hold more significance, like tonight with him.
“Oh!” The exclamation is a short huff and my giddy laughter dies with a harsh swipe of his tongue.
A second later, my mouth falls open. Surprised at the heated tingle from the peppermint he ate, my back bows off the bed. He sinks his fingertips into the globes of my ass and drags me back to the edge of the mattress. Clamping his arm over my pelvis to hold me in place, his mouth covers my swollen clit. Sucking. Teasing. The burn of the mint and the cool blowing he does on my sensitive region drives me wild, toward the precipice of something I can’t grasp. I grab fistfuls of his hair instead and grind my hips up for as much as he’ll let me.
“You like that, Cass?” Isaiah asks between licks that leave my legs quivering.
I mewl, having thought I lost the ability to speak, but I haven’t really. Not until those dexterous fingers punish me for the taunt that Isaiah couldn’t play my body better than his guitar. Then I gasp at the invasion and curl as he turns me into an instrument of my own destruction.
I might never let another man go down on me again after this. It would be cruel to make them go on stage after such an amazing performance. I’ll probably have to keep my reasons to myself. Who’d want to play second fiddle to Isaiah Roomer, anyhow?
The licks. The sucks and gentle nibbles. The push and pull of those two nimble fingers fucking my channel. So deep with his tongue, bringing me so close. I’m so damn close.
Every sensation is incredible. He finger fucks the way he sings, with pure talent and a relentless drive that hurdles me forward. I tip over the edge and swear I’m seeing everything as if I’m falling from a cloud.
Isaiah crawls up my body. He pauses to suck on my nipple with the same fervor as he showed my pussy. He tugs it between his teeth and I feel the cool, lingering sting of the mint.
My eyes shut tight. I’m having trouble forming a coherent sentence. “That is… that’s so… good,” I pant.
He gives my other breast its fair share of attention and then my mouth. I taste myself on his lips.
“I swear I could do that all night,” he says.
“I might let you, if I had use of my arms.” They’re pinned between our bodies. “I’d like to touch you, too.” I twist my palm, cupping his hard cock.
Isaiah growls and stands. He drags me to a sitting position by my cuffed wrists and then pulls me to my feet.
I go to push the sleeve over my fists, but he stops me.
“I’ve been a good boy. I’d like a gift to unwrap this Christmas.”
“Be my guest.” My lips press together.
Why do I keep hiding my smiles? Why does he?
“I am your guest.”
Isaiah has me place a hand on his shoulder for balance. He lifts my skirt and removes my heeled boots. His palm is warm and the reverent kisses he places from my knee to my shin make me feel worshiped. He goes for the top of the dress next. Pulling the zipper down the rest of the way and letting it puddle at my toes. I kick it away. He guides one strap of my bra off at a time and flicks the clasp at my back, sending the weight of my breasts tumbling into his hands. I’m naked before him. His thumbs tantalize my nipples into taut peaks.
I reach for his belt buckle. His clothes are scattered on my floor before it registers that I should have taken as much time undressing him.
Whatever Santa is bringing down the chimney this year, he can’t top this.
Isaiah’s erection juts toward me. The tip nudges my stomach, painting a trace of pre-cum on my belly.
And then he’s kissing me again and we’re both free to glide our hands over one another’s bodies, unencumbered.
I stroke his long, hot member as he bites and sucks on my neck and chest. I whimper when his fingers seek my clit. As if it’s the most natural thing to do, I let him slide them inside of me again, and we’re both panting, searching for a release that won’t come for any other reason than our mutual stubbornness. We want to fuck. One of us has to be the first to suggest it. And neither of us is.
I cheer for the winning team when his soaked hand gives up. He forcefully tackles the comforter and sheets, tearing them down toward the foot of the bed.
I’d made it. Hospital corners and all. With Isaiah in the mansion, I’ve been awful at following my vacation rules.
He pushes me back to the mattress. I shimmy up toward the pillows, stretching catlike.
“Shit, I don’t have any—” he bites sourly right as I anticipate him hovering over me.
“There are condoms inside my nightstand.”
“I’m not sure if I should kiss or spank you.”
“Let’s start with the kissing. You never know where that’ll lead.” I wink, drawing a hand up my thigh and resting it on my bottom. “I can take care of that,” I say as he tears the foil packet with his teeth. The wrapper lands on my book.
“Not if you want me to take care of you, you won’t be.”
My belly tightens at the implication. The thought of having sex with me can’t be too much for Isaiah to handle. I’m not a provocative starlet with come-hither eyes and a career trajectory to match.
It increases the level of danger when I feel his tip nudge my entrance. Isaiah pushes into me inch by inch, easing my inner walls into the stretch. He pulls out before plunging back in and setting a slow rhythm. All the while, Isaiah captures my attention by looking me in the eye and watching to see if I like what he’s doing.
How can I not? How can the care he’s taking with my pleasure be anything except magnificent? My foolish heart tries to make sense of a connection that I’m surely misunderstanding.
“You feel incredible, Cass,” sounds a lot like “You are incredible.”
Those are the words I utter back. They are likely ridiculous and na?ve and he’s heard them from a million adoring fans. But everything about my day has been improbable and unexpected. I mean what I’m saying and I hope in a week the same emotion holds true.
He kisses me while sliding an arm underneath my knee, repositioning my leg and thrusting harder. His lips trace my neck as if they’re mapping each dip and swell. I lose myself in each sensation. His tongue on my skin. His chest brushing against mine. The friction of his cock sliding in and out of my wet heat.
My core flutters. “I’m so close.”
The admission becomes a challenge for Isaiah to make me come. He pistons his hips harder and my lower half seizes, unable to meet his thrusts any longer. I claw my nails into his back as my pussy tightens. I can’t push any air into or out of my lungs. Isaiah rears back. His face contorts and I feel him swell. He grunts, his completion following mine.
His head rests on my breasts as we catch our breaths. I stroke his back, with an overwhelming need to be gentle when I feel the tiny arc indentations I left there.
He pushes up on his elbows, cradling my face and tucking my hair behind my ear. “Do you have any clue how pretty you are, Cass?”
I pinch my fingers together by my face.
“Modest, huh?”
“I grew up with outsiders telling me Gracyn is beautiful. They aren’t wrong. I figure if my sister is, pretty has to be somewhere in my genes.”
“You know what I like in your genes?”
“What?”
“Me.”
I laugh. I don’t have a horrible life, but I like how being around Isaiah makes me feel lighter.
“I should go take care of the…” he nods to where our bodies are still joined.
“There’s a wastebasket next to the nightstand.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Hotel living has its perks.” I shrug.
“This one definitely does.” We share another leisurely kiss before Isaiah rolls off of me. I tug at the sheet, missing his body heat.
“Nice flowers. Wonder who sent ‘em?” His legs hanging over the mattress, Isaiah leans forward to the trash. “What’s in the box?”
“Recipes I inherited. I use my computer upstairs when I plan the menus.” It makes it easier to add ingredients to the grocery delivery order with the box nearby.
He reaches for my hand. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little sweaty. Are you up for a shower?”
Inappropriate images of steamy glass and water running over Isaiah’s toned thighs while I’m on my knees reciprocating for what he did to me earlier flash through my mind.
“I am.”
His lips dip, brushing over mine. “I’ll go heat up the water.”
Kissing Isaiah is something I could get used to and I’m flagrant as fuck watching him strut across the room. I can’t help admiring his museum-worthy, chiseled ass. No wonder his jeans fit so well.
The bathroom light flickers on and then off again.
“Jesus Christ almighty!” he yells.