Chapter 55
Sabine
“Wake up.”
I hear the door closing. Footsteps. Movement around me.
My eyes fly open.
Astor, looking impeccable as always, breezes past the foot of the bed and yanks open the curtains. Bright, crystal-clear light washes over the comforter.
I blink several times as I sit up, the haze of sleep still heavy in my head. “What’s going on?”
“I have an event to go to in New York tonight. You’re coming with me.”
“An event?”
“Yes, a charity gala, to be specific.” He ties back the curtains. “A black-tie event.”
A black-tie event?!
“Hang on. Are you taking me as your prisoner or as your date?”
“You’re no longer my prisoner. We both know that.”
“So . . .”
“Yes—my date.”
“Was it really that hard to say?”
“Almost as painful as that smart mouth you have on you, Miss Hart.”
“You like it. So, a date, like, out in public?” I cock a brow. “You didn’t even go out in public with your wife.”
He turns from the window and rests his hands on his hips. “Correct. You’ve obviously driven me completely mad.”
“Only you could ruin a potentially romantic comment, you know that?”
A grin tugs at those luscious lips as he meets me at the side of the bed and runs a knuckle down my cheek. “You’ve ruined me, Sabine Hart.”
Butterflies awaken. Everything is good. Last night, I confessed that I loved him, and everything is okay.
Things are good.
“Well. Unless you want me to go as your fourteen-year-old little brother,” I say, and he wrinkles his nose. “Because I only have baggy jeans and sweatshirts. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Yes, you do. Everything you need is in your closet and bathroom. It’s a four-hour flight. We leave in two hours.” He glances at the gold Rolex glittering on his wrist. “I need to get some work in before?—”
“Wait.” I take his hand, slip out of bed, and onto my knees. I’m wearing only panties, and based on the immediate flush on his cheeks, he’s pleased by this.
“Surely, you can spare a few minutes. The emails can wait.”
“What emails?”
Grinning, I undo his belt. He’s already rock hard by the time I unzip his slacks.
I take him in my hand, this gloriously beautiful muscle that magically turns me into a confident, don’t-give-a-damn, willing slut. A new side of me that I really like.
“God, Astor.” I look up at him. “You are truly something else.”
I slide my tongue over the engorged head of his penis.
“Damn, baby.” He exhales, tipping back his head in ecstasy.
The fact that I can turn Astor on so quickly turns me on like nothing else.
“Still annoyed by this smart mouth of mine?” I ask, mocking him.
“No—God no, it’s perfect, you’re perfect, please—for the love of God—keep going.”
I grin, then begin circling the tip with my tongue while gently stroking his shaft.
He moans, threads his fingers over my scalp, and takes a fistful of my hair. “Keep looking at me, baby.”
My eyes water as I take him as far as I can, gagging on the sheer girth of him.
“Fuuuuck, Sabine.” He growls, the veins popping out on his neck.
At the sound of my name, a switch flips inside me, and I am suddenly dripping wet and throbbing like a jackhammer. I suck frantically, chasing my lips with both hands, stroking him into oblivion.
His words are unintelligible as his whole body begins to tense.
“Sabine. I’m going to come.”
Tears run down my face as I allow him to fuck my mouth.
“Can I come?—”
“Yes.”
With a guttural groan, he explodes in my mouth, shooting hot ropes of cum down my throat. I swallow it all—every last drop of it.
When I look up, Astor is gazing down at me, his face red, his eyes heavy with satiation. I wipe the corners of my mouth and wink.
“Jesus, Sabine.”
Smiling, I stand. “How’s that for a proper good morning? Now,” I flick my wrist toward the door, “carry on.”
“Oh, hell no.”
I’m lifted off the floor and tossed onto the bed like a rag doll. I giggle as he clumsily rips off my panties and presses open my legs.
“You have the most beautiful pussy, baby, you’re just so perfect. I want to taste every inch of you.” Astor buries his face between my legs, slides his hands under my ass, and lifts me slightly. “Fuck my face, baby.”
Moaning, I plunge my fingers into his hair while gently thrusting against long, wet strokes of his tongue.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he mutters while French-kissing my pussy with such fervor, I begin whimpering.
I writhe under him, my body feeling like it’s about to explode.
His tongue slides over my clit, back and forth, then circles, circles.
My eyes flutter closed, and once again, I feel like I’m floating. “I’m about to?—”
“Say my name when you do. You’re mine, Sabine.”
He clamps down, sucking hard while flicking the tip of my clit with his tongue.
I scream his name and come in his mouth. Wave after wave, I ride his face, whimpering, screaming, crying out. I lie limp as he licks me clean, swallowing every bit of my essence.
I’m hardly aware of anything as Astor rises from between my legs. When I open my eyes, I find him staring down at me, his lips plump and swollen, his eyes filled with emotion.
“Sabine Hart, you are going to be the death of me.” He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “Two hours, okay?”
“Okay.”
I watch as he crosses the room. At the door, he stops, turns back, and smiles before closing the door behind him.
Astor Stone, I think, you already are the death of me.
I lie there for a minute, allowing myself to delight in the moment. Then, grinning like a child, I surge out of the bed and jog to the closet.
I gasp.
An off-the-shoulder black ballgown with a velvet bodice and a tiered ruffled skirt stares back at me. It reminds me of a black Cinderella gown. On the floor next to it are a pair of black heels with red soles.
“Oh my God.” I drop to my knees and smell the shoes. Christian Louboutin.
My gaze shifts to a stunning ivory cashmere trench coat and wide-leg trousers. It reminds me of every classy rich woman I’ve ever seen sauntering down the streets of New York.
I’m staring at the pieces in awe when it hits me.
There’s no way Astor got these last night or early this morning. Which means he prepared for this trip days ago ... which means, he’s wanted me to accompany him since day one.
I smile, shaking my head. Until Astor is able to communicate his emotions like a real grown-up, his actions speak volumes. I’m okay with that, I decide. For right now, I’m okay with that.
Men take work, after all.
I find a note in the pocket of the white trousers. It reads: To wear on the plane.
In the other pocket is another note, this one wrapped in cherry-red strings of lingerie. It reads: To wear under everything.
I press the notes to my heart.
Astor picked these out, he did the shopping, he wrote the notes. Not Prishna, not Leo, not Cillian. Astor. Once my captor, now my (emotionally-challenged) Prince Charming. And me, his (slutty) Cinderella.
Could this actually work?
Could he and I work?
Elated, I move to the bathroom where rows of cosmetics and skin care are organized on the counter. All luxury brands.
Bracing myself on the sink, I stare into the mirror, my pulse flying.
A change is coming.
I can feel it.
My life is about to change.
This is it.