Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
CASSIDY
Half awake, a soft moan slips from my lips. My hands skim down my stomach, tangling into Isaiah’s hair.
“Oh… oooh. ” My hips rise and I tug at his scalp.
He continues licking a leisurely path from my slit to my clit, suckling the tight bundle of nerves with each pass. His hands move from where he’s used his thumbs to spread my folds, glide up to tweak my nipples.
The sounds I make are less ladylike the more he nips and pinches. Isaiah spears me with his tongue and I’m crying out, begging for mercy, and craving more when the waves of my orgasm subside.
“Don’t stop… Please… Don’t… More. ”
He punches his fists into the mattress, rising like a bloodthirsty predator, answering my staccato pleas.
The muscles from his pecs to his forearms ripple. His abs disappear from sight as he lifts my ass off the bed and drags my legs over his shoulders. He enters my still fluttering pussy with one deep thrust and I shout his name. The second peak builds and crests over the first. I lose all control of my body. My knees widen. My calves fall in from their tall perch.
“One more, Cass. Wanna feel you milk my cock one more time. Slick my balls, chou.” He holds my thighs to his sides and pounds into me. “You begged for more. Now give me more.”
His filthy words tip me over the edge.
“Oh, fu—” The rest of the words get trapped in my throat.
Isaiah’s face tenses. He slams home, emptying himself inside of me. Slumping forward over my breasts, the full curses he uses sound like a sweet benediction rolling from his panting, exhausted form.
“Merry Christmas.” He places his chin to my sternum, grinning at me when we catch our breaths.
I let out a cottony, lighthearted cackle.
We were tired after caroling at Newgate. Rhiannon and the many cousins in our generation who don’t have children of their own returned to the mansion. We stayed in the living room until the wee hours, sipping spiked eggnog, and feasting on leftover turkey and stuffing sandwiches. As soon as our heads hit the pillow, Isaiah and I were out.
The entire day was reminiscent of Christmases during my childhood. The type of holiday where you fall asleep with the full meaning of believe firmly impressed upon you. Like anything wondrous can and will happen in the morning.
I cup my fingers around his ear and Isaiah crawls over me, pressing his mouth to mine for a kiss. I taste myself on his lips.
“I have something for you.” He rolls to the side, reaching for the delivery envelope that came the previous evening.
I squish it trying to figure out what the bulk inside could be.
“Just open it.” He tears the edge, eager for me to quit stalling.
I finish removing the tab and fish out a red lanyard emblazoned with Rumor Has It in white lettering. Attached is a square card that reads: All Access.
I hold it up to my nose, hiding my goofy smile. “I’ve already had all the access to you a girl could get.”
“It’s, yeah… I know it isn’t romantic, and that Gatlin was getting you the concert tickets, but you don’t need them anymore. This pass gets you backstage to see me at any venue on the tour.”
“No. No… It’s perfect.” What did I expect, jewelry? “But anywhere in the country?” I’m stunned. “What if want to just watch the show?”
“The pass takes care of that. All Access.” Isaiah taps the card.
My palm flies to my forehead to stop my brain from reading more into this gift than I should. My heart, however, leaps chapters ahead. I’ve known this man for a few days and can’t quite decide what this signifies. Am I supposed to hook up with him in Houston? What if I’m in Austin and want to bring Rhiannon along?
I squelch my confusion and opt to keep the mood cheerful. “I have something for you, too… Except before you open it, the truth is Rhi got it for me as a gag, but it’s way funnier if it’s yours. So, that’s why I’m giving it to you.”
“You’re regifting?”
“Bet that doesn’t happen to you often.”
“Nope.” Isaiah doesn’t wait to dig his hand into the bag. “Cass, you’re biting your lip again.” He pauses, leaning forward and touching our noses together. “I don’t give a damn about how you came by this,” he says, our faces close. “All I care about is what I plan to do to you when I’m on the road and you show up to use my gift.”
I twist my lips. He pecks them twice before pulling a white tee out of the bag. He laughs out loud, holding it to his front. The black and white imprint is of a muscular man’s chest. It’s fairly close to what’s underneath.
“I am wearing this today!” he announces.
Isaiah finds it as hysterical as I did and I double over with relief.
“I’m sure Rhiannon will get a kick out of seeing you wear it when she’s here taking pictures.” I comment.
“I thought dinner tonight was at your parents’?”
“It is. Yesterday was all about the kids getting grubby and having a blast. Today, everyone gets dressed up in their finery. Rhiannon does mini portrait sessions downstairs by the tree.”
Sifting through the proofs is awesome since she posts them on a website with the previous years’ pictures. I love seeing how much Wilder and Emeran have grown.
“Let’s do that, too.” He tugs the shirt on.
“Why?”
It’s not as if Isaiah is as big a frequent flyer at Kingsbrier as Santa is.
“For the memory, chou. I need a picture to remember us by.”
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Five days later, a framed five-by-seven sits on my nightstand on top of the book club selection I have yet to read.
Rhiannon snapped a ton of pictures of Isaiah and me before we’d trekked to my mom and dad’s for Christmas dinner. Except, in this snapshot, Isaiah’ has his button down open to reveal the sexy abs t-shirt he’s wearing underneath. His tongue hangs out like a rockstar.
Delighted by the surprise, I played along with his antics and ran to get the tour lanyard to put around my neck. I’m posing, fanning myself as if I’m about to swoon. He has an arm at my back to stop my fall.
Anyhow, the rest of the fam uses a universal passcode for Rhiannon’s website. She dropped off this particular shot, along with a business card that had Isaiah’s own private code printed on it.
Isaiah’s shown me a few of the other proofs on his phone, but I love how flirty and goofy we look in this one the best.
Maybe Rhiannon’s innate ability to capture who people are is why she’s such an amazing photographer. She did snap the photo of Gatlin as a a kid that’s on my phone.
I slip the dress I’m wearing to the New Year’s Eve party at the country club out of the closet and hang it on a hook in the bathroom.
Isaiah’s razor and shaving cream sit in a puddle on my sink. He’s been respectful of my space. However, his cell rang before he had a chance to mop the water and put them away.
Whenever Isaiah has needed time alone to do whatever it is a country singer does, I drove into town or spent a few hours with my mom.
Yesterday, Isaiah took a call from Monty. His first. That I know about, anyway. The bodyguard wanted to check on the status of their departure. When it happened, I felt the connection between us slipping away, and I ducked out of the room.
Isaiah found me in the kitchen afterwards. He pestered me to teach him how to make appetizers to bring to my uncles’ house. Aunt Daveigh invited Isaiah over to say goodbye to Jake and Paisley, who returned to North Carolina to spend New Year’s with their close friends at Jake’s illustrious concert hall, Sweet Caroline’s.
Isaiah joked the lyrical duo might refuse to write with him again if he gave them food poisoning. But he followed my directions and Isaiah’s cooking was as big a hit as his current chart-topping song.
I tagged along by default and had a wonderful time. Daveigh and Paisley didn’t ask questions or press me for the sordid details Rhiannon is gunning for. They treated Isaiah and me as their equals. It felt natural to say yes when Paisley asked if I planned to join Isaiah on any of his tour dates. I do. Though I don’t know when.
Really, the only unusual thing this week was Isaiah and me hiding out in my room when the insurance adjuster came and when Gracyn met with the crew to get an estimate for how long the ceiling repair would take.
Not long, as I suspected.
And not wanting to face the reality that a lowly cook and a celebrity aren’t what anyone would call a match made in heaven, we haven’t done a deep dive into what happens when Isaiah leaves tomorrow.
Our mundane week, filled with take-out, laundry, movies and making love—which has never been humdrum for the number of times we’ve had sex—felt safe. Normal. Perfect.
Perhaps that’s why when I saw Vespa’s name flash on the screen earlier, I simply handed Isaiah his cell.
After he said hello, he placed it over his chest. Covering the mic, he told me he’d take the call in the suite he hasn’t slept in since the first night he got to the inn.
So far today, I’d kept thoughts about New Year’s Day off of my mind. But now all my insecurities are bubbling to the surface. Isaiah can’t extend his trip any longer and my vacation is ending. When he stepped out of the room, dread and sorrow filled my gut, and each inhale has become more difficult than the last.
Our dinner in Houston was private and I’m not sure how to play it cool on Isaiah Roomer’s arm tonight. He and I are opposites in every way. Once we’re in public, I’m uncertain the magnetic attraction won’t flip and repel us away from one another. I worry I’ll foolishly stand on the periphery while women fall on their knees, wanting his attention.
I already feel the same sense of humiliation that tied me in knots when my mom, aunt, and Paisley teased me and I fled.
But what’s worse is, no matter how well this evening goes, tomorrow he just… Leaves.
I glance in the mirror. Adjust the collar of my blue robe. Lean in to swipe a fingertip over my brow. Roll my unpainted lips together. I bite the inside of my cheek as it sucks in, daring to look myself in the eye, willing the tears away.
Crying now does me no good. I’ll ruin my makeup and wreck our night.
Walking over to where my dress hangs on the hook next to his suit, I let my maudlin fingers skim against his silk tie.
Don’t let Isaiah see you reacting the way you did after he got the shirt at the winery store. I warn myself.
I’m acting silly.
Vespa called because Isaiah has more on his PR schedule aside from the pre-recorded interview with Gatlin. He has a tour to prepare for.
Be excited for him.
Get over this.
He’s yours for one more night.
Enjoy it.
Live out loud.
Be the woman who showed up on New Year’s with Isaiah Roomer on her arm.
Who knows what new beginnings it might bring? Perhaps someone will look at me differently. Like you’re worth it. Maybe the confident person who does will be me, and that’s all it takes to find a happily ever after?
I shimmy off the robe, leaving me in nothing but a tiny black thong and slip the black silk dress over my head. The back of this dress is revealing, making it impossible to wear a bra. I adjust the girls and slide on matching black high heels. Then I leave the bathroom to check the time.
Isaiah has been gone a while. I find him sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the blank television screen.
He swallows hard when he sees me. A flash of desire and something else crosses his handsome face. Yearning? Sorrow?
Why didn’t we talk our last night through? What if people at the club ask me questions about him? What do I say if they want to know if we’re dating? Would he say we are? When you’ve brought a man home to your parents’ for freaking Christmas, do two dates strung together by shimmery gold strips of condoms equate to a full-fledged relationship?
Isaiah’s thumb brushes over his chin, hiding a contorted expression. “Monty is on his way.”
“Okay.” My lower lip wiggles.
I should have expected he’d need his security guy.
But Isaiah’s rigid posture gives away what he really means before he says it.
“Something’s come up, Cassidy. I have to leave.”