Chapter 15
Marina
“Why are you in the city if you’re filming in Vancouver?” Cash asks before devouring the last of his fourth piece of pizza.
The man can eat. It’s actually impressive. Even if this is the most divine pizza that has ever touched my tongue, I fell out of competition after two large slices. Cash is still going, reaching for another.
“I had an audition this afternoon.”
“For a movie?”
It felt like home on that stage today, the feeling still soaring through my veins. “For a play on Broadway.”
“That’s a big deal.”
“That’s why I had candy.”
His eyes narrow on me from where he sits on the floor, the pizza box a makeshift plate. “I’m going to need more information to make that connection.”
I laugh. It might be the beer causing it or the company. Or both. “It’s like a reward to myself. A treat for doing my best.”
“Is that what your parents gave you growing up?” The slice is set back on the box. Are these signs of slowing down? I laugh again, this time to myself.
“I feel attacked.”
He grins under a muffled chuckle. “You’re not being attacked.
” Resting his back against the base of the couch, he stretches his legs out on the floor.
I tried my best to get him to watch a home DIY show, but he wasn’t having it for long, and somehow *clears throat* the channel ended up on car racing.
Funny how that happens like never in my world. Until now.
I take another sip of beer, happy to change the topic before falling back on the couch. “It’s not like they bought me the store. It was one treat—”
“It was bribery.”
“And I’m okay with it.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I add, “It did the trick.”
He angles toward me, resting his arm on the couch cushion. “If I won a race, my mom would make me mac and cheese from the blue box. But that still tastes like victory to me.”
“What would she make if you lost?”
An endearing smile subtly crosses his mouth, and he replies, “Mac and cheese. From the blue box.”
To say I’m eating up every word he’s sharing is an understatement.
I don’t think I could ever be full when it comes to learning these little things about Cash Warren.
“I love that.” I face toward him, bending my legs at the knee and hugging a small pillow to my chest. “Your mom is very sweet. She spoke to me like we were old friends. It was nice.”
“I don’t think she’s met a stranger.”
“I can see how proud she is of you, and she adores Cullen.” A frame sits on the console under the TV mounted on the wall. The three of them, all smiles, stand in turquoise waters.
“She’s a great mom and even better grandma. She’d do anything for him, which helps me out.”
There’s more to this man than I ever imagined. Relaxing my head back, I let the pillow fall to my side. “You’re very different here in New York versus how you were in Miami.”
“Should I be offended?”
“No.”
He scoots up on the other end of the couch. Taking my ankles one by one, he rests my feet on his leg. “What did you imagine before you came up here?”
I look around, though I’ve been picking up pieces of who he is through the decor since I got here.
The furniture lends toward darker—black leather but encased in warm woods, metals but balanced with soft pillows and rugs.
Even the white walls aren’t cold with muted art hanging on them.
His home is warm and inviting. And like the size of his appetite, the Tribeca apartment boasts impressive water views with a sunset that I’d pay to see again.
“A revolving door at the entrance with women coming and going all hours of the day and night.” I wrap it in a joke, but I really did think he was more of a playboy.
All signs—that jaw cut from the devil himself, the arrogant need for attention, and when those green eyes latch onto yours, you feel like the only woman in existence, to name a few—inferred the same.
With one arm resting across my ankles, he sure is cozy with me around. He chuckles. “I see you think highly of me.”
“Not as high as you think of yourself, but a solid to infinity.”
“And beyond.”
A smile spreads wildly across my face. I’m finding it so easy to feel happy around him in spite of our beginning. “Your words, not mine.”
I love the way he laughs—deep and hearty, genuine. The sound is comforting for some reason I don’t want to explore. It’s too soon to drag feelings into this new . . . friendship? Rubbing my leg, he asks, “How did the audition go?”
My parents ask me about my auditions. Poppy does if she knows about them.
My brothers do when I talk to them, but Corbin hasn’t since I can remember, and I haven’t heard from Lauren at all today.
But Cash did. That tells me everything I need to know to trust him with the things that are important to me.
“I sang my heart out. The rest is up to fate.”
“You can’t give away your power like that. I’m sure you didn’t walk up and perform unprepared. It’s not luck that got you to that stage. It’s experience and your drive to be there.”
Spoken as a man who has fought for everything, including credit where it’s due. “You’re not wrong.” That elicits a chuckle out of him. “I practiced for a week.”
“Here’s what I’ve learned. If you get the part, you earned it. If you don’t, you try again another day. But we’re not lucking into anything, so own your hard work.”
His heartfelt words fill my chest as his hand warms my ankle. I’ll blame the beer, but I know it’s the company. He’s been rubbing me, every stroke awakening a different craving that has nothing to do with pizza or feeling sentimental pride about the work I’ve put in to chasing my dreams.
Cash said he wanted to kiss me earlier and chose the word annihilation specifically.
A shiver runs through me like a live wire.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, been charmed, been anything that made me feel special.
Staring at him, his rugged good looks, the rough of his hands scratching gently across my skin, I see him in a new light that has nothing to do with friendship.
He’s so much of everything I want and feel so strongly about—kindness, chivalry, masculine, brute in the sexiest of ways, a great listener, sweet talker, even the arguing is above par.
I don’t need anyone to bow to me or tell me yes all the time.
I want someone I can trust. I want him because this attraction is taxing my abilities to think responsibly.
Slipping my legs under me, I slide closer to him, needing to be near him and to touch him. I want him to touch me.
His hand slides around my waist as if we do this every day.
I love how big it is, covering the acreage of my back.
I love the connection as if he couldn’t not touch me in such an intimate way.
So much innocence is built in, but always with an edge of possession that if I were his, it might be forever.
My insides twist in anticipation of that annihilating kiss, the longing overwhelming as I stare into the intensity of his green eyes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“We can go slow.”
I smile. “I’m not a virgin.”
“Then we can go fast.”
The soft lines of his arrogant grin have me realizing I don’t have to be so serious. I can be me with him, which means goofy or sexy or however I’m feeling at that moment.
When I move to climb onto him, he takes me by the hips and seats me on his lap. My breath jags when I straddle him, and I confess, “I shouldn’t be here, but I don’t think I can stay away from you.”
“Don’t let other people get in your head. You’re right where you belong, Marina.” Tilting his head, he leverages me and pulls up so we’re just a breath apart. “Do what you want. Do what feels good, what feels right. If that’s me, all you have to do is kiss me.”
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I whisper, “I call you every night because you’ve become a highlight of my day as well. You’re the escape I can’t wait to talk to each night.”
“I don’t have to be an escape tonight. I’m real and right here, babe.”
I slide my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, lean my head against his forehead, and then close my eyes.
He slides his nose against mine, a nudge following.
My body is already seeking the pleasure I know he’ll give me, but my mind won’t stop overthinking. “I’m nervous. It’s been a long—”
My lips are taken, his pressure possessing but still gentle. I lean into it, kissing him harder, wrapping my arms tighter around him, and rocking on his lap.
His hands are all over—my ass, my back, my shoulders, my ribs, the curve of my waist, and then his fingers are digging into my hair. Nothing stops us. No outside interference. No late hours. No paparazzi stalking us and no witnesses.
There’s no rush, but I still have the need to feel all of him inside me.
I pull back to look into his eyes. Our breathing is quick but shallow. His eyes are as wild as mine. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Marina.”
And here I am, wondering if he wants me as much as I do him, but he answers without me asking. His eyes hold something that latch onto mine. His hands grip my sides, showing no signs of letting go, his body reacting to mine on top of him. “I want you so badly.”
I’m flipped to my back and slid so smoothly up the couch until my head bumps into the cushioned arm.
He settles between my legs, but his eyes remain firmly on mine.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.
” He slides his hands over my shirt and squeezes my breasts.
Dipping his head, he scratches my collarbone with the scruff of his chin as his lips press to my neck.
His breath is hot, his tongue slippery under my jaw.
He breathes, “Tell me how you want me, babe.”
Talking is not something I do during sex. And a questionnaire has never been a part of it. My mind goes blank. “I don’t know.”
Cash looks up. His hair is messier, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t know how you like it?”
I search for the right answer, the one that will get us back to kissing and grinding and feeling good again, but I come up empty-handed. “I . . . um.”
“Have you come before?” A thread of judgment weaves through his tone.
“Of course, I have,” I reply, my voice pitching. My defenses kick in, and I try to shove him off me, but he doesn’t budge. Since he’s built like a wall of bricks, my efforts are pointless. “I’m ready to go.”
My arms are pinned to the couch, and he pushes up. I can’t tell if he’s angry or if this is the first stage of annihilation. “You can go anytime you want, sweetheart, but give me the courtesy of the truth.”
Tipping my head from one side to the other, I stop and glare at him. “You say I can go but are still holding me hostage.”
His hands release me, and he’s on his feet, erection and all, which is super distracting because it’s quite the sight to behold, even trapped in jeans. “There’s the door.”
I get up and straighten my shirt by yanking on the hem.
Somehow, a few buttons are askew, but it’s nothing I can’t fix in the elevator.
I raise my chin and exhale a haughty breath.
I’m mad, but I’m not sure why or even what went wrong.
I mean, not everyone comes every time they have sex.
I’ve read many articles that most women don’t do that often.
I’m not unique or anything, but the way he judged me was unwarranted.
Throwing my arms out, I give up and let them fall to my sides again. “We’re just too much fire and too much ice to be together in any civil capacity.”
“Civil capacity as in sex?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his shoulders appearing broader in the stance.
“Civil capacity as in not making someone feel like crap for not having an orgasm during sex all the time.” I cross my arms over my chest, my feelings bruised and my ego not faring any better. “Or ever,” I whisper.
He sighs as if the weight of the world hangs on his shoulders.
It might be dealing with my emotions at the moment.
He lowers his arms and comes over to me.
Taking my wrists, he unwinds my arms and then holds my hands.
“I wasn’t mocking you. I’m trying to understand what you like and what makes you feel so good that you leave the world behind for a little while and enjoy the ride. ”
His argument is valid, and since I overreacted, running hot-blooded in my thoughts as he had my body all twisted in desire, I close the distance between us, wrap my arms around his middle, and rest my cheek on his chest. The scent of his soap and cologne is euphoric, and the safety of his arms when they hold me the best feeling I’ve ever felt.
When he places one singular sweet kiss on the top of my head, I confess my shame, hoping he doesn’t hold it against me. “I’ve only had an orgasm alone.”
Two of his fingers slip under my chin, lifting until our eyes meet again, and he says, “We’re about to change that.”