Chapter Ten CASEY
Chapter Ten
CASEY
Phillip doesn’t say a word, but I can tell he wants to laugh at my proposition.
Dammit. That’s what I get for being cutesy rather than sexy. I wish I could snap my fingers and create some luscious curves. The kind guys go gaga for. I settle for arching my back a little, accentuating my nice, full C -cup chest.
Phillip notices. Oh yes. His eyes widen just enough to let me know that he’s not immune to my advances. I watch his Adam’s apple bob before he narrows his eyes and asks shrewdly, “You’ll sell your body for a story?”
I cross my arms and reject his judgment with a bored tone. “When you put it like that, it sounds crass, but yes, I suppose so.”
He advances on me then with a dark look. Apparently, the time for conversation is over. This is happening. He’s going to pounce.
My arms drop back down to my sides. My lips part in anticipation.
“You’re going to show me how badly you want that exclusive, Casey?”
Oh, how dirty .
I didn’t think ole Mr. Quiz Bowl had it in him.
“ Yes .”
There’s no tripping over that word; it spills out of me like I’ve been waiting to say it for days. His eyes spark with mischief, and that little muscle in his jaw works as he clenches it, approaching me confidently as I hold my ground despite my shaking knees.
I’m frozen in surprise. I didn’t think we’d get here this fast. I thought there’d be a bit more give-and-take, some convincing on my part, but his blue eyes challenge me to uphold my promise.
“Show me what you’re willing to do, Casey. Make me believe it.”
Oh my god.
I try not to panic.
It’s happening! IT’S HAPPENING!
Right, but ... does he want me to do something here ? In the hall? It’s one thing to talk a big game and another to actually go through with it in public like this. It’s a sort of dare, I realize. He doesn’t seem bothered by our current location, and so I damn well don’t care either. Hah. I peer around the corner to find the coast is clear, and by the time I look back at Phillip, my mind is absolutely made up. I’m going to kiss Phillip, and if it’s a disaster, then let it be a disaster. At least I will have done something worthy of regret. At least I won’t have to sit in that uncomfortable state of wondering what if for one more day. I look at his mouth, at the luscious color, at the slight fullness and pout. He has lovely lips. That doesn’t seem like a compliment you can give a man, but he deserves to hear it. I’m too shy to tell him, though, so I’ll just have to show him. I sidle up to him, and after taking a moment to gather my bravery, I slide my hands up the front of his suit jacket—over his broad chest—until they come to a stop at the lapels. I look up, waiting for him to call it, to laugh or shake his head, to give some indication that I’ve pushed things too far. When he just stares down at me in silence, I take it as a green light.
With one final quivering breath, I rise up and lean ever so gently against him before pressing my lips to his.
It’s a kiss, but it’s one sided. I’m kissing him. I’m leading the charge with soft lips and gentle teasing.
For so long, he makes me work for it. His hands move to rest on my hips, but that’s it. There’s barely any possession there. He could be holding on to a stair rail, for god’s sake. He doesn’t lean in; he doesn’t make a sound. His lips move only in accordance with mine, and it pisses me off. I press closer and part my lips so my tongue can dart out for a lick. I make a tiny sound of longing—a desperate plea, more like—and it’s as though I’ve just shocked him with a defibrillator and brought him back to life. Now he moves; now his fingers dig into my dress. Something hot flutters in my belly as we kiss hungrily, devouring each other. God, now it’s good. Everything I wanted it to be. We kiss, and we kiss, and I start to slip away from that deserted hallway. I’m nothing beyond a racing heart, a tightly wound belly. His hands slide over my backside as my own sink into his hair. Ownership—that’s what we’re playing at. Our lower bodies mold together, and without warning, he whirls me around so that my front is flush against the wall, my arms down by my side, caged in by his hard body. Holy ... As my mouth is torn away from his, I swallow a squeal, our heavy breaths mingling as our faces stay close together.
He bends low and nuzzles the side of my neck. “That’s good, but it’s not enough.”
The arrogant bastard.
My nails scrape down the front of his thighs. “What do you want, then?”
“Truly?” he asks, tipping his head back to meet my eyes. “Nothing will convince me. You shouldn’t bother.”
I shouldn’t bother?
He has me pressed up against this wall like he’s about to take me here and now. I can feel how hard he is, pressed right against my backside. I roll my hips to prove my point, and I succeed in provoking a low groan from him.
“You’re putty in my hands,” I goad with a triumphant smile.
He kisses the side of my neck, stealing my glee and replacing it with red-hot wanting.
If he meant to make it quick, he doesn’t succeed. We’re dragged right back down to a place full of feelings and baser needs. His body presses up against mine, and we grind on each other, trying to sate our growing desire. My hands band around his thighs, and I feel his muscles shift. His body is so full of strength, but his kisses are slow, mesmerizing, explorative ... He’s no brute. He’s sensual in a way I wasn’t expecting, wasn’t prepared for. When was the last time a man kissed me like this?
Oh, right . . . never .
I turn and push him off me, suddenly needing air. Only the second I do, I want him back. I fist his jacket and tug him closer again. I’m about to lock our lips together when he turns his face to the side and strings kisses down my neck instead. It feels like a teasing rejection, more of this addictive game.
“Should I show you how it’s really done, Casey? Show you what I would do if I were in your position? If I were trying to convince someone in this way ...” His teeth barely scrape across my skin, and my eyes flutter closed as my head tips back to give him better access. “I’d be sure to make them think my entire heart was in it.”
For the first time, he moves one of his large hands so that it’s just at the hem of my short dress. Do it, please , I plead in my head. Then his thumb caresses the inside of my thigh as he slides his hand up under my dress, bunching it enough so he can easily trace my panties, right at the spot where my pelvis meets my thigh. Then he runs his finger up and down, right along the edge, but he never slips a finger beneath the silk. A whimper leaves me, louder than I’d intended. I try to press my lips together, but it’s no use. Phillip has already heard me.
“I’d be sure to make it feel like they were mine, totally .”
His fingers brush me on top of the silk, right over that tight bundle of nerves, and I shudder. “Your plan, sweetheart ... it’s not working.”
Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I know that he’s mocking me, that I should call him an arrogant bastard, push him away, and storm off in a huff. Oh, that would be good. Someone should really do that! Not me, though. No. I’m seeing this through.
At this point, I’m panting and desperate. We’d have to hit an iceberg before I forfeit my night with this man. “Take me back to your room.”
“I’m not giving you an interview,” he murmurs against my skin, lifting up to recapture my mouth in a long, searing kiss as his fingers continue to work me up.
“Then we should stop.”
He makes a move to pull back, and I growl at him. Actually growl! Damn my traitorous mouth!
“Don’t listen to me; I don’t know what I’m saying!”
His eyes sweep down the length of me; then he looks me square in the eyes as he takes his hand out from between my legs. “The interview isn’t happening.” There’s a stern edge to his voice that turns me to absolute goop.
“Fine.” He thinks I care about the interview right now? “Take me back to your room.”
He laughs like I’m kidding. Oh ho, buddy boy. I’m not joking in the least.
“One night,” he tells me.
I roll my eyes, like obviously .
I step forward and drop my hand to the front of his suit pants. He hisses in a sharp breath as I rub him, revealing just how badly he wants this. I’m not alone here.
His hand reaches out to grip my wrist and still me, but somewhere along the way, he loses the will. I smile as he captures my hand and tugs me from my spot. I nearly get whiplash, he’s moving so fast.
I laugh. “Where are we going?”
Already, he has me halfway down the hall. We’re not going toward the central bank of elevators. We stop in front of a discreet door built into a paneled wall, and he keys a four-digit code into a small pad before tugging the handle and revealing an austere staircase clearly meant for staff and crew.
Racing down three flights has my heart pounding.
Phillip has no issue, though. “Should I carry you?”
“Stuff it. I’m in sky-high heels.”
He laughs and slows down a bit until we make it to deck six. We slip out of the crew door and into the central hallway. I haven’t explored deck six yet beyond our tour on the first day, and it doesn’t look like I’m about to get a chance to do it now either. Phillip’s on a mission, his fingers laced through mine. He stops to kiss me for a moment.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” he murmurs against my lips. “Now. Later. You have to be honest with me.”
“Okay, you want honesty?” I fist the lapels of his jacket. “ Honestly ... if you don’t take me into your suite now, I’m going to pounce on you right here in the hallway.”
Too direct? Oh well. He kisses me once more, and then we proceed until we make it all the way down to the last door at the end of the hall, the one removed from all the others, with its own private lobby, for god’s sake. As soon as he touches the door handle, it opens. Either it was already unlocked or it recognized the key in his wallet, or perhaps there’s a sensor in his watch. At the moment, I don’t care one way or another. The door opens into his suite, and I take it in—absolutely not shocked to find it’s a floating palace.
I point toward the dining table ... the one that can comfortably seat twelve. “Understated, I see ...”
He smiles at my sarcasm. “It’s not mine. I’m merely using it for the next few days. It’s the presidential suite. It needed to be ... presidential.”
“I thought mine was the presidential suite,” I mumble; then I turn to see a geometrical abstract painting hung in the living room, done in primary colors with stark black lines. “ Jesus .” I turn to him. “Is that an original Mondrian?”
He looks it over and shrugs. “Are we here to discuss art or ...?”
“Oh, right. Very to the point. Well then, strip if you’re in such a rush.”
He laughs and walks toward me, only stopping when his dress shoes touch the tips of mine. He doesn’t touch me at all, save for the hand he slowly lifts so he can cup my chin and tilt it up gently, angling our mouths so they’re only a few inches apart.
“I’m sorry. I’m rude.”
My brow furrows. “You aren’t rude.”
“It is a Mondrian.”
My jaw drops, and he leans in to press a kiss to my cheek. “Now, should I undress you here?”
I smile. “Show me the rest of the suite.”
He groans. “ Casey .”
I feel almost lightheaded with power knowing he wants this as badly as I do.
“I’m not giving you a tour. There are a few powder rooms, a living room, dining room ... guest bedroom ... main bedroom ... who fucking cares.” His hands slip around the back of my dress until he finds the zipper, which he slowly works down my back while he speaks.
I don’t stop him. I hold perfectly still until the material gapes open.
He steps closer as he gathers the two shoulder straps of my dress and pulls them down. The material gathers at my waist, and then he pushes it until it pools on the floor at my feet.
“Step out.”
I do, listening to the click of my high heels on the marble floor.
Only when he has me completely sans dress does he step back to look at me.
I’m flush with nerves, hyperaware of the rise and fall of my chest, of my quaking stomach. I want to band my arms across my belly, to cover up in some way, but the moment his eyes fall across my skin, I can’t. I want him looking. I feed off of the way his eyes darken and narrow as he takes in my panties and bra. They’re the palest pink, almost sheer. That muscle tenses in his jaw, and I dip my head and bite down on my lower lip to keep from outright gloating.
“This is insanity.”
My gaze rises to meet his in question. “Sleeping together?”
He nearly smirks. “You think we’ll sleep?”
My mouth goes dry as he takes me in, lazily drawing his gaze down my chest, my stomach, my hips, that private spot between my thighs. “I’ve never done this,” I blurt.
His eyes grow wide in fear. “Sex?”
I nearly snort. “Sex, of course. The one-night stand thing ...” I shake my head. “No.”
“Right. Well ... I’m not really the type either.”
“Shocking.”
His blue eyes pierce mine.
“Is it?” he presses, wanting my full assessment of his character.
“No,” I amend.
I feel bad for throwing out such a capricious comment. It’s not true. Just because he carries the money and title doesn’t mean Phillip falls in line with the playboy stereotype. He seems too thoughtful. There is Vivienne, though. Do I ask about her now? Confirm that the rumors about their recent split are true? It seems like such a heavy topic to bring up, but I’d rather not accidentally become the other woman simply because I didn’t want to ask a tough question.
“Just to confirm ... you are single, aren’t you?”
He looks offended. “Of course. Aren’t you?”
My eyes widen. “Yes. I just ... wanted to be clear.”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” he confirms.
I lift my chin. “Good.”
“And we’re clear on the interview?”
His tone is sharp and unyielding, like he’s speaking in a boardroom.
I roll my eyes. “Oh my god. Yes. Mr. Woodmont , I’m aware you won’t be giving me an interview. Enough . I’m not here to persuade you. I want—”
His lips twist into a gloating smile when my sentence hitches. “You want what , Casey?”
I can’t say it.
I’m not used to having conversations like this. My previous bedroom encounters included a lot of lights-out fumbling. Let’s just say I’ve never stood on board a luxury cruise liner, inside a presidential suite, in nothing but a revealing bra and silk panties. This is uncharted territory, and Phillip can see that plain as day. He knows, of the two of us, he has the upper hand. That should make me nervous, but instead, it turns me on. This imbalance between us, down to our current state of dress ...
He slowly slides off his suit jacket, moving to place it over a chair before rolling up his shirtsleeves. That’s it. That’s as far as he undresses before he looks at me, holds my gaze, and asks with a wicked gleam, “Should I fuck you?”
My mouth falls open. “ God , Phillip.”
That word from his lips. The raw nature of it compared to his prim and proper exterior. The juxtaposition catches me off guard, makes my heart race.
“Let’s be honest. This is ...”
I cut him off. “The sexiest thing ever .”
He grins and strolls over to reward me with a soul-searing kiss that’s over too soon. I’m leaning into him as he pulls away. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“And I’d appreciate if you’d lose some of these clothes. I’m nearly naked here.”
“Nearly naked and entirely naked are two different things.”
“Ha ha ha.”
I toy with the buttons on his shirt until the top three are undone. I spread it open to find his chest is toned and tan. He’s all man with a smattering of dark hair. Just enough to prove to me how far we’ve come from when we first knew each other as kids. He doesn’t stop me, so I grow bolder, undoing the rest of the buttons and pushing his shirt off his shoulders. His arms are sinewy muscle, hard and strong. The sight of him takes my breath away, and I’m careful to keep my gaze pinned on his chest rather than his face. He knows so much already, why offer even more?
His hand circles my neck, his thumb just over my throat. I swallow, and his hand tightens. There’s no threat there; he’s not choking me. It feels different somehow. Sexy in a way that has me trembling. His mouth lands on mine as his other hand returns between my legs. He rubs me back and forth over my panties, working me up, and I let him—standing stock still, a puppet on a string.
I close my eyes and think of what we must look like standing together in the middle of his suite. Me in my high heels and not much else. Him in his midnight-black pants, his dark hair ruffled from my fingers. Everything else about him? Perfect.
His fingers slip inside my panties, and I whimper. He must feel the vibration of it in my throat. His body is cloaking mine, heating me from head to toe. I feel as if I’m about to go off like a firecracker as I spread my legs slightly, my high-heeled feet sliding across the marble. Every ounce of energy is focused between my legs. I’d sag if he weren’t propping me up with his body, his hand around my neck. He sinks his fingers into me, stretching me, and I gasp.
I want . . .
That’s just it, I want . Everything. Suddenly.
I want him with a fierceness that scares me.
He murmurs the most descriptive things, tempting, erotic words falling against the shell of my ear as his fingers continue to sink in and out of me and his thumb rubs expert circles.
The orgasm slams into me so quickly, out of nowhere. I grip his arms, shuddering as the moment stretches on. My breath arrests in my chest as tingles spread from the center of my legs, up my spine. He makes a growling sound of satisfaction, dragging his fingers in and out until he’s eked every bit of pleasure from me that he possibly can. At least for this first time ...
He withdraws his fingers and steps back, composed, sedate almost.
I have no doubt that I look the exact opposite, hot and tingling from the high of my orgasm; I feel like my skin is electrified.
His eyes rove over me as he whispers a muted “ Fuck .”
I don’t even think, I reach behind me and undo my bra clasp. The silk eases off my hot skin, and I let it fall slowly to the ground. I watch him swallow ... processing ... desire so evident in his gaze I wonder if he’s even bothering to try to hide it.
I’m not.
He pounces on me suddenly, backing me up to the couch until I think he’s about to prop me up onto the back of it. Instead, he turns me around, cups the back of my neck, and slowly pushes me over. The sight makes him groan. With a sexy ferocity, his hand grips my hips, and then he gathers my panties up on both sides, revealing my ass. I’m fully on display. Almost uncomfortably so, but he makes me feel so sexy, at his mercy and yet somehow still in control. He twists the material until it bites into my skin, and at the same time, he rocks into me, grinding his hard length against me.
“I feel possessed,” he admits, doing it again so that I shiver, the tendrils of a second orgasm already reaching out for me.
I’d assumed we’d make it to the bedroom, and maybe eventually, we will, but first? Phillip takes me against the back of the couch. He pushes down my panties, unzips his pants, fists his length, and unrolls a condom. I shimmy my hips, impatient, needy. He stretches me once more with his fingers, ensuring I’m ready, and then I feel him sink into me—all that heat pouring inside me until my elbows buckle and I fall over.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
I nod reassuringly.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says while slowly pulling out of me only to thrust back in roughly.
God.
Why is it like this? How could he possibly understand this part of me so well?
“Casey,” he murmurs, caressing my hair, forcing me to turn my head to the side so he can see me. “Tell me to go slower. To go easy on you.”
He wants me to push back, but I won’t. I’d rather swallow my tongue.
“I—like it,” I say, my voice lilting up just as he thrusts in all the way to the hilt.
It’s magic, pure and simple.
I don’t overthink it; I don’t try and reconcile whether it’s proper or good for Phillip to be taking me in this way. I just feel it, enjoy it. I tease him and let the whimpers fall from my lips as the tightness in me starts to wind up like a band about to snap.
My toes are tingling as he picks up his pace. It’s maddening, but nothing I can’t handle. My hands bite into the back of the couch as I lean over even more. And I know without asking that Phillip loves the new arch in my back, the way my body drapes over for him.
I feel him in ways that I know will haunt me, but I don’t struggle against the burn. I let him tug my hair, fist it in his hand. Then he touches me between my legs, whispering those dark words again. Telling me what a good girl I am, how much he likes me like this, bending over the back of his couch, letting him have me in this way.
I let him take, and then he gives me everything in return—a second orgasm that has me crying out so loud I’m almost ashamed, but he feeds off my cries, tumbling into his own release, shuddering and pulsing so roughly it’s almost like I’m hurting him .
My name falls from his lips, and when it’s finally over, when I can focus again, I realize he’s propping me up, cradling me against his body now, holding me in a tight embrace.
“Tell me you’re okay,” he says, withdrawing and turning me around, holding my cheeks.
“I’m fine,” I say, almost laughing.
Does he think he hurt me?
He didn’t. Far from it.
He’s the one who looks shaken from the experience. He kisses me again, and then like a child who’s had a first lick of ice cream, who’s desperate for more, he asks, “How long do I get to keep you?”