CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CASH
An unfamiliar war wages within me. Friend, foe, or feline suddenly holds the weight of prophetic wisdom.
That’s disturbing, but nothing about this is simple.
My dick unabashedly stakes his position.
There’s not much I can do about concealing his stance.
Maybe I’m not expected to. This is all new territory.
I spin, prowling toward her—unwavering but leisurely, like she might get spooked and bolt if I move too briskly. But even with only the LED strip lighting the hallway, it’s evident I’m met with the same boldness Sylvie brings to everything, and, fuck, it’s addictive.
“Did you have something specific in mind, Palmer?”
Her gaze rakes down my body, not missing the evidence of what she does to me, and slowly roves back to my face. “I think you’re reading the cues just fine.”
There are probably conversations we should have, and I’m sure I’ll manage that … soon. But all I can focus on is the amber-eyed beauty, with a lethal thirst to her gaze, who owned this whole goddamn place tonight.
Who’s owned me since I first found her swiping a treasure on the streets of my city.
Before I can blink, I scoop her into my arms. Her legs lock around my waist, and her wrists entwine behind my neck.
Our mouths collide as her back crashes into the wall, her tongue chasing mine.
She uses the extra leverage of our position to roll her heat against my rock-hard length.
And as I pour everything I am into this fusion, a purr emanates from her lungs, the prelude to her going fucking feral.
Her nails scrape my nape. Her lips move to my earlobe. Her body writhes against mine. She rocks and nips and moans, and I’m left wondering what the hell flipped the switch.
How did she go from wanting this left on the table to sweeping the table with her pussy? Maybe she’s just riding a high. That could mean this is a really bad idea. Not if I make her come over and over again. Maybe even then. Who thinks at a time like this?
I stuff down the unwelcome internal commentary and lean into what I excel at. My fist around her ponytail, pulling to extend an alluring prickle on her scalp. My lips and tongue, drifting to the hollow of her throat. My cock, grinding to the rhythm of her gyrating hips.
Letting my fingers travel over her curves, I trail a path from the globe of her ass to the bend of her waist to the swell of her small but perky breast. She’s so fucking perfect. My thumb dusts back and forth over her peaked nipple before I pinch to gauge what she likes.
A sultry whimper escapes her. “Cash, oh my God, right there. I think I might … I might come like this.”
“You keep moaning my name like that, baby girl, and I might too.” As that truer-than-I’d-prefer proclamation leaves my mouth, the penthouse door opens downstairs.
A boisterous debate between my family members floats up toward us, but I don’t have any idea what they’re arguing about. And I have no intention of giving two shits that they’re interrupting us.
I migrate to Sylvie’s jaw, catching her dilated pupils in the dim glow. I’m suddenly eager to see how she responds to this unexpected conundrum.
Maintaining my unforgiving pace and my homage to her pert nipple, I whisper in her ear, “Don’t forfeit now, Sly. No one steals from us. Give it to me.”
Like I knew it would, the mere prospect of forfeiting spurs her on because my girl does not back down—which is so goddamn sexy. Her chest heaves against mine, her breaths pant out, and her limbs begin to tremble.
Those gorgeous eyes latch to mine with a wicked demand. “Come with me, Cash. Please.”
That’s all it fucking takes. Maybe because it’s been months with nothing but my hand and visions of the goddess before me.
Or perhaps it’s that I’ve never fantasized about any other person so much, so this doesn’t even feel real.
But I’d venture that my body and mind are slaves to this woman’s pleas.
I’m more turned on with all our clothes intact than I’ve ever been in my life.
Whatever the culprit, the instant I sense her tipping over the edge, my orgasm rips through me.
“Fuuuck me,” I gasp against her skin, biting my lip to keep from bellowing through my release.
My balls draw up, and an electric current surges through my veins and coiled muscles, forcing me to rut against her clit with a vehemence that is her ultimate undoing.
I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her delicate whimpers and heeding every indication of her falling apart in my arms.
She shakes and shivers and arches into me on a shuddering breath. And everything about her consumes me. Her decadent-dessert fragrance. Her tenacity to take whatever the hell she wants. That flush on her cheeks and the way her frame fits so perfectly in mine.
The voices grow closer, footsteps clomping on the lower stairs—probably Jax—so I dash for my room, and Sylvie grips me with her face buried in my neck, a silent giggle coasting over my skin.
Once the door clicks softly behind me, we both dissolve into laughter.
I set her on her feet, yank her ponytail free, weave my fingers into her silky strands, and conquer her mouth again.
She hums a provocative invitation, clutching my shirt with both hands to keep me close, and just like that, I’m hard again.
She pulls back, studying my face before she chances a covert peek at my erection. “I thought … but good. That’s good.”
I would be so embarrassed about this in any other circumstance, but I’m not with her.
Because of course she had me coming in my pants with only a dry hump.
I’ve envisioned countless fantasies of her since Mardi Gras, and she’s already surpassed them all.
But also because I allowed it. She deserved to know what she was doing to me.
And I wanted her to grasp that she can ask and I’ll deliver.
“That’s all you, Sly.” I move her hand to my pants so she can feel both the evidence of my release and how hard I am again. “You wrecked me, like you wanted, but those fucking sounds …”
She bites her lip, a rare moment of shyness cloaking her, even as she clutches my shaft with a playful squeeze. And again, I wonder what’s going through her head.
“You really know how to make a girl feel special on her birthday.” There’s a teasing lilt to that statement, but something heavier behind it. “I’m not big on celebrating, but this was nice.”
I’d guess she’s not keen on celebrating her birthday because her father died within a few days of it. I’m sure that anniversary taints this entire week. But there’s more than grief laced through her words.
“Not any girl, Sylv.” I drag my thumb along her swollen lip. “You.”
She nods and works through what appears to be a laborious swallow. “Mind if I change? I’ll be quick.”
I push her ballerina-inspired cardigan aside and slip a finger under the strap of her tank top, gliding it back and forth over her shoulder. “I can help with that.”
“I’m sure you could.” She smiles, reaching up to brush my cheek with a hint of melancholy. “I’ll only be a minute.”
There’s a whisper inside me, warning me that she’s retreating, but maybe taking a moment to breathe and freshen up is good for both of us.
“Of course.” I plant a quick, reassuring kiss on her mouth. “I’ll be waiting.”
After she makes her way into my bathroom, I run to Maddox’s old room to clean myself up. And that brief reprieve is fucking torture. The internal commentary from earlier goes hog wild, to the point at which there is a two-sided debate ensuing in my mind.
She’s going to freak out and bolt because I couldn’t take it slow.
How much slower could I take it? I came in my pants like a teenager.
It doesn’t matter. She was in her head before she went to the bathroom.
So, I need to get her the fuck out of her head. Carefully.
Shit, I’m so out of my depth here. I’m going to screw this up, and I don’t even know what the hell this is.
Since my brain has officially revolted against me, I finish washing up and stride back to my room. The shower is running, and I don’t know why that sets something off inside me, but it does.
I knock, and her response of, “Be out soon,” echoes from within the streaming water, so I waltz in.
Her mouth pops open with shock, but she doesn’t cover herself or chastise me for barging in. She keeps lathering herself with those seductive ambers fixed on me. “Patience is not your strong suit, I see.”
Jesus, I was not prepared to open that damn door. For a split second, I permit myself to spiral. My gaze traces every ravishing inch of her as I pace with my fist against my mouth.
Beyond my imagination is the understatement of my life. Athletic but round and supple and so … tan and wet. My vision starts to cloud around the edges. I’m so fucked.
To center myself, I concentrate on everything else.
Steam billows near the ceiling. It’s a large space, filled with a black claw-foot tub in front of a wall of windows that highlights the Big Easy and a glass-and-stone shower with a small fireplace.
The counter that runs the entire length of the room is strewn with the money she won and her beauty products—vanilla-bourbon lotion and Valentino Donna perfume. Noted.
After a beat, I pull myself together, masking my untethered condition with sternness.
“I would argue that I’ve been incredibly patient in the grand scheme of our …” I tread to the glass door, pull it open, and flip my hand between us. “This. But you said you’d only be a minute, and if you’d mentioned a shower, I would have protested.”
Careful not to get her hair wet, she leans further beneath the showerhead, rinsing herself—which brings her closer to me—her brows knitting together. “Why?”
In answer, I reach through the rainfall stream, grip her hips, and cart her to the other side of the room. Water cascades off her in a sheet, sprinkling the tiled floor with puddles and soaking my clothing.
“What the hell, Noire?” she shrieks, not for the first time.