Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
George Clooney said, “I'll direct.”
Leo Dicaprio said, “I'll produce.”
And Matthew McConaughey said, “I'll write, I'll write, I'll write.”
—From Bash’s dad joke collection...
only slightly pissed my name wasn’t in the joke
Bash
Three days in Manhattan felt more like three painful, never-ending lifetimes.
The press junket for his upcoming premiere was exhausting and frustrating—the wash-rinse-repeat of the same questions about the movie, his family, their success, blah blah blah, particularly annoying.
Some buzz had begun around Paradise, with rumors dropping of his involvement.
But since he hadn’t signed the contract—hopefully that would happen in the next week—Bash couldn’t say anything about the film.
He did take advantage of the opportunities provided to share his admiration for Walt, for the director, and the cast that had been named and confirmed.
Bash adroitly danced around questions pertaining to Arabella, only saying they were enjoying each other’s company and she was magnificent—his favorite adjective to describe her.
He didn’t reveal their engagement. That would happen after he returned home to his queen.
She was his home. And he was stunned at how much he missed her.
Every night, Bash fell asleep imagining her tucked in bed with her laptop doing something ‘doctory,’ as he finished his nighttime routine.
At least he’d finally convinced his woman to use his facial cleanser.
But she’d drawn the line at his ‘potions and lotions,’ as she referred to the half dozen bottles that comprised the ablutions he completed by faithful habit every night.
And every morning at the hotel, he reached for her, disappointment settling low in his belly when ‘her’ side of his hotel bed was empty.
They hadn’t been intimate since Miami. It wasn’t from lack of desire. Far from it. He was about to explode from the need, taking himself in hand more the last week-and-a-half than he had in the previous six months combined.
Oh, he’d booty-called her last Sunday, so overwhelmed with a need to bury himself between her legs that his rock-hard cock felt like a third, very insistent, appendage.
But when he got home, he’d found her still in her clothes, nervously pacing the room.
Bash saw the desire in her eyes. That was hard to miss—flames of heat sparking in the loveliest sapphire.
But the taut lines of her body as she wrapped her arms around herself revealed something just as compelling.
Arabella was scared. Nervous. She needed to be cherished, not ravaged.
Instead of tossing her onto the bed they shared and bringing her to a screaming orgasm, he’d merely wrapped his arms around her tense body and kissed the top of her head. The slow wave of relaxation through her body was almost as gratifying as the release he was denying her. And himself.
That restraint had continued into Monday night, when he’d longed to celebrate their engagement the good, old-fashioned way. But he’d held back.
His hesitance was partially self-preservation and partially because he knew his queen well.
He’d breached her walls quickly in Miami, and unsettled her.
Then he proposed. Arabella needed time to process, her agile mind turning over every facet of this relationship that had only been fake for him for about two-point-five seconds.
And the self-preservation part? Bash knew, deep in his bones, the next time he held Arabella Remington in his arms, he’d be making love to her. He’d reveal the depth of his feelings. The foreverness of his commitment. He’d say the words that formed on his lips over and over again.
And he had to know she was ready for it. Because he sure as hell was.
It was well after ten when the town car pulled into the driveway.
Bash could see a faint light peeking under the shutters in the family room, but the rest of the house appeared dark.
Disappointment bled into his veins, overtaking the excitement he’d built up at the idea of Arabella waiting up for him.
He waved at one of their two night guards—shaking his head again at the vulnerability of this house—and crept silently through the front door. Bash’s lips curved in a fond smile as he quietly toed off his shoes, leaving them in the appointed spot. His queen had trained him well on the house rules.
In the family room, Arabella had left a lamp on.
Bash looked around, soaking it in. For all that he worried about the lack of safety for both of them living here, this place had become special to him.
He tiptoed over to Chicane, who didn’t even stir from deep inside his elaborate bunny mansion, then advanced to the bedroom.
Bash stopped in the doorway and let out a small sound of stupefaction.
The moonlight filtered through the closed shutters, creating just enough light to illuminate Remy.
Wide awake. Stretched out on her side, her head propped in her hand. Like a queen in her bedchamber.
Stark. Freaking. Naked.
She was a feast for starving eyes, and his starving eyes roved over her pale skin, the mecca between her thighs hidden by her top leg dangling over the other.
She wore only one thing—her engagement ring.
Bash’s feet were frozen to the spot, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Which was preferable to it lolling out of his mouth like a drooling dog. She looked like a delicious feast, and he wanted to devour her.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see the lift of her lips—a soft smile that would have been sweet…except for the come-hither gleam in her eye. His dick turned immediately to iron.
Wordlessly, she lifted one finger and curled it, motioning him forward.
Slowly, entranced, Bash followed her command, halting just at the foot of the bed.
She nodded, then gestured for him to remove his clothing.
He wanted to tear it from his body, then pound her into the mattress.
Instead, he forced himself to go slow, first tugging off the athletic tee he’d worn on the plane and then sliding off his jeans.
He kept on the navy boxer-briefs—part of a set he bought because the color navy reminded him of his queen.
She rolled her hand in a ‘keep going gesture’ and he complied, tossing the final article on a chair and enjoying the flare of annoyance that momentarily had her lips pursing.
He smirked. Even in a seduction scene, his queen liked tidy orderliness.
Bash slowly turned and picked up his discarded clothing, taking care to walk slowly to the hamper.
It was no Milan runway, but he did it proud.
Slowly turning to meet her gaze, Bash could feel the weight of her stare on his naked body.
Arabella’s eyes traced him, widening as they landed on his fully engorged cock, standing proudly like a homing beacon pointing the way to paradise.
Her mouth dropped open and he saw the shuddering intake of breath.
He could hear her panting softly. Arabella’s nipples were hardened buds, and one hand floated up to her breast, grazing the tip.
His queen was as turned on as he was, and all he wanted to do was bury his face between her legs and inhale her intoxicating arousal.
Instead, he waited for his next instructions, recognizing Arabella needed to be fully in control before she ceded it.
Once again, she motioned him closer, only holding up a staying hand as he reached the side of the bed. He could practically feel the heat kicking off her. Then Arabella rotated her hand, holding it out to him.
He enfolded it in his own hand, allowing her to guide his next move, stretching out alongside her as she tugged him down to join her on the bed. She lifted his hand and pressed it to her breast, sighing as she rubbed one nipple with his palm.
Arabella continued the movement, moaning softly as she used his hand to stoke her own need.
Her movements were a ballet, she the primadonna and he her partner, his entire job to frame and support her own pleasure.
Slowly she shifted his hand lower, her eyes tracking the movement, rolling back in desire as she pressed his fingers against her folds.
Easily reading her intention, he slipped two fingers inside her, and they both moaned softly.
With the sweetest, sexiest smile he’d ever experienced, she reached for him once more, cradling the back of his head in her hand, then guiding him to her breast. Bash traced her nipple with his tongue, enjoying the sensation of the ridged terrain of her areola before taking the purled tip into his mouth and sucking.
Arabella dropped onto her back, her legs widening in an unspoken plea.
Bash pumped two fingers in her slick heat, matching the pace with his mouth on her breast—sucking, licking, tugging.
Sensing she was close, he selfishly pulled back, momentarily ignoring her groan of displeasure. He wanted her to come on his tongue.
Bash kissed his way down Arabella’s soft, womanly body, pressing his lips below her breasts.
Then on her rib cage. A hipbone. The top of her pubis.
Her hips lifted in invitation, and Bash accepted, swirling his tongue around the nub that had hardened to a delectable morsel.
He licked and sucked, slowly returning his fingers to the tight warmth of her pussy.
Between his own legs, his cock wept for entry.
Soon.
He reached under with his free hand and titled Arabella’s hips, changing the angle.
She gasped, grinding against his hand and pressing his face between her legs.
Hard. Bash redoubled his efforts, and soon he was lost in the sensual blur of fingers and tongues and hands, his queen writhing and panting.
He took her pussy pearl between his teeth and tugged, as he simultaneously curled his fingers against the spot inside that would make her fly.
He couldn’t have taken his eyes off her if he wanted to.
She was a masterpiece. Her back arched and her mouth opened in a silent scream, her pussy clamping down on his fingers.
He pumped and sucked his way through her orgasm, building her up one more time before she could fully come down.
Her head thrashed against the pillow, her hips pressed to him, gasping out her crescendo before going slack, one arm draped across her forehead as her shattered body recovered from his onslaught.
This time, he didn’t wait for direction, moving up her body until he was cradled between her thighs.
Arabella held out her hand and he laced their fingers together, repeating the movement with their other hands.
He kept his weight on his forearms, their interlaced hands resting on either side of her head.
He waited at the precipice, asking the question with his eyes. She nodded at him, a small smile playing on her lips.
Bash slid home, burying himself to the hilt. They both moaned. Slowly, he ground his hips into her, knowing it wouldn’t take much to reignite that nub he’d just tortured to her completion.
Arabella rocked against him, seeking friction. He pulled out almost to the tip and slid home. Again. And again. Thrusting and grinding. Below him, Arabella met him, her hips lifting and welcoming him, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Bash slowed down, wanting to prolong the ecstasy of their joining.
He released one of her hands, snaking a hand behind her head to cradle it.
Slowly, he moved within her, the drag of his cock along her tight pussy tightening his balls.
Bash bent down and touched his nose to hers, and then dragged it to the tender skin below her ear, where he nuzzled and nibbled.
She moaned softly, rocking with him in the timeless cadence of lovers.
Tracing small kisses along her jawline to her chin, he paused to fully embrace the moment, then pressed a kiss to her lips.
His queen opened for him, their tongues tangling languorously as he worshipped her body.
As need built, their pace kicked up, and he pulled back, staring into the navy pools and seeing reflected there everything he was feeling.
Bash deepened the kiss, overcome by the connection of their mouths and bodies.
Arabella dug her heels into his back and he answered, burying himself into her welcoming warmth, harder and harder, both of them sweating and gasping.
He felt the clamping fist of her walls around his cock, tightening to a painful agony that he never wanted to end.
She threw her head back, pressing it into the pillow as she found her release, a gasping, bewitching exhale of completion escaping her lips.
Bash waited a moment, glorying in the spent queen now limp in his arms, and brushed her cheek with a knuckle, drawing her gaze back to him.
Their eyes locked as he pulled back and slammed into her…
once…twice…again, his balls drawn tight, his cock pure steel.
Every ounce of his awareness centered on the beautiful ache of imminent release.
He ground into her, painting her walls with his cum as he rocked his hips against her.
Not breaking eye contact, or their more primal physical connection, he shifted to his side. Bash traced his fingertips along her cheek and jaw, his heart bursting with the force of emotion that should’ve been scary. But wasn’t.
He realized with a mixture of amazement and rightness that it was the feeling of his heart locking into place with its fated counterpart.
I love you, he mouthed, not wanting to break the sacred bubble of silence they’d created.
Arabella was motionless for a moment. Then a gorgeous smile spread across her sated face. I love you, too.