CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO #2
A sonorous groan punches out of me, so I mouth, Sorry, even though I’m not sure I am. He feels so fucking good. And the satiny sensation of skin to skin, combined with his all-consuming pumps and euphoria-granting jewelry, is simply more than my self-control can keep under wraps.
“What’s going on in there?” is bellowed from our spa neighbor, proving how thin the walls are, and an indiscernible retort follows—likely the masseuse.
Maybe I should feel guilty. We’re interrupting someone’s moment of Zen to pursue a mind-altering realm of ecstasy.
Yeah, still no.
“Don’t be sorry,” Cash rasps in my ear, obviously on the same page, and he is the owner, so his judgment reigns. He pistons his hips, his chest skimming mine as his pelvic area grazes my clit. “Wanna put on a show?”
A thrill rushes through me. I’m not sure what he means, but I enjoy anything that pushes my limits. I drag my fingertips over his golden scruff, savoring the scrape of his bristle and admiring his scheme in advance. “What did you have in mind?”
“Vengeance. Reprisal. Counterblow.” His trip through a thesaurus is perplexing, but he doesn’t let me pull away to question him. He keeps ramming into me, dizzying me with his unforgiving thrusts and his tempting explanation. “Athletes often recover here. Mr. Gordon is getting a massage next door.”
My breath hitches as I try to decide what to do with that information. Cash’s cock is etching my insides. Danny’s over there, listening to us. And the reason for the impromptu amorous massage becomes clear. Another concealed treasure revealed. Cash always has something up his sleeve.
“It’s your call, Sly.” His hand floats to my lower back, but his brutal ruination never falters.
He hammers into me with pumps that send me airborne, stealing my breath and my good sense.
“There aren’t many opportunities that offer closure, orgasms, and a middle finger in one fell swoop.
This is just the beginning of providing you everything, baby girl. ”
He’s a mind reader. And a sinister puppeteer. How does he always know what I need?
“Yes,” I chant. “Fuck yes. Rail me.”
He chuckles because my volume escalated on that final statement, declaring my commitment to the cause. And in true Cash fashion, despite the marvelous position in which he’s currently wrecking my pussy, he pulls a fast one on me.
In a blink, he’s on the table with me, I’m lying flat on my back, and a belt is being whipped around my wrists and through the face hole.
I’m pinned with my arms above my head and my breasts jutting toward him.
He sucks each nipple into his mouth, finishing with a stinging nibble, before he pulls out of me and leaves me there.
“What the hell, Noire?”
That goading grin of his lights the room far more than the candles. It’s the only warning I receive before my beloved vibrator descends on my clit, whirring deliciously. I arch my back, pressing into the sensation, though it pales in comparison to his mouth.
It doesn’t matter. He yanks it away. “You know the rules.”
He swirls the buzzing avocado-shaped toy over my inner thighs and lower abs, up to my breasts and back to my clit, smirking wickedly when I rut against it and sag from its retreat.
I speak no coherent words through the next few rounds.
He paces about me, delivering one plague of fleeting rapture after another.
My vision streaks to spun gold and duplicitous desires. My limbs quiver. My inner walls contract as I leak all over the table and whimper for what I crave.
He wants me to beg, and, yeah, I see the appeal in this situation.
Still, even with Danny on the other side of the wall, making Cash work for my pleas is too much fun.
So, as he circles the table, nearing my head while he glides the vibrator up the valley of my breasts and over each nipple in a taunt, I take matters into my own … thighs.
Using my core muscles, I boost myself up until my legs are high in the air and my weight is balanced on my neck and upper shoulders.
Bound but bold.
The move stops Cash in his tracks, like I hoped, so as he dissolves into laughter, I bracket his face with my knees, and he indulges me.
“Christ, Palmer.”
I’ll never get over surprising this godlike man. That awe on his face is a gold medal and priceless work of art. A rare fortune.
“Forget the vibrator and the edging. We always start with crème br?lée, right, pretty boy?”
“Dessert first.” Smacking his lips, he reiterates my quip from when he painted me in his closet.
“That’s a currency I can get behind.” He dips his mouth to the apex of my thighs, and when his tongue sweeps over my heat, he growls and grips my ass possessively, reveling in that first taste as much as I am. “Mine. Every. Single. Drop.”
He flicks and swirls, spears and feasts.
So, I reward him with the outlandish response he was hoping to evoke. “Yes, Cash! Right there.”
I mean every zealous word. His mouth is heaven. His stubble brushing against my skin is delicious. And something about this upside-down position has me seeing everything in a whole new light. Stars and hope and a champagne glow. A pond of pleasure and promise.
I squeeze my thighs against his ears and hoist myself more firmly against him, increasing the friction until this serene sanctuary morphs to twisted rhapsodies. “Fuck, that’s it.”
My abs clench and burn, and my legs practically convulse with my delirium.
I tilt my head to find the dripping tip of his dick near my cheek and manage a teasing swipe that grants me the salty tang of us.
That simple lick renders him feral seconds before I explode with his name on my lips.
My blood rushes to opposing destinations, divided between my foggy brain and my pulsing clit, as I erupt with purrs and whimpers.
I soar into an inside-out realm of euphoria. Boneless limbs and silky flesh.
Before I’ve even floated down, he drops my legs, climbs on the table, rests my calves on his shoulders, and slides inside me. Soft and slow and achingly haunting. As soon as he fills me, he reaches hidden crevices. Soul-deep places, once lost to a prison cell and vanquished dreams.
Something transpires on the other side of the wall—banging and a booming tenor—but I’m too locked into Cash.
As the tide entrusts the moon, we move in tandem.
Molding and mirroring. A current and a command.
His tempo increases, his fingers caper over my clit, and his lips plant tender kisses on my legs. But those smoldering eyes never veer from mine.
He’s everywhere—in my veins and cells, muscles and soul. I’m lost and found inside the Noire who holds all the cards.
Bending toward me, he cups the side of my face, as if he’s seeing me for the first time or memorizing me here in the placid bubble of us with hell beating down our door.
“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers—because it isn’t for show; it’s for me. “You’re the magic I’ve been searching my whole life for, Sly.”
My eyes prickle. I pride myself on seeing every angle, but I never saw him coming. “I love you too.” I can barely squeak out the final sentiment, but I know he understands why—this is the paragon of beauty I would risk it all to harbor. “You’re my magnum opus.”
He bobs his head on a stuttered breath, permitting himself to heed every ounce of emotion enveloping us, as he fucks me with everything he is.
Until up is down and sky is ground.
Until cerulean blue and honey amber meld to flames extinguished and busted bars.
Until all our broken pieces tumble around us to form a breathtaking mosaic.
Shards that shape us and reflect us.
I’m not a washed-up gymnast or the daughter of a murdered convict or the woman scorned who set the fire that won’t stop burning her.
Or maybe I am those things. But it isn’t the whole picture. In the depths of those alluring eyes, I am talent, ambition, heart, and loyalty.
A pillar and pandemonium. Value and victory.
His.
The babbling brook and chiming drums can’t devour our slapping skin or grunts and moans. The shadows cast from the candlelight can’t dim the electricity illuminating us. Together, we’re more—more than our pasts and this moment and the treacherous task awaiting us. Combustible and uncontainable.
“So good for me,” he praises. “Look at your pussy, swallowing my cock, Sylvie. Gorgeous.”
He pistons and pumps, and I let go and become.
A shriek of pleasure blasts out of me from an orgasm that is cliff diving and coming home—sunlight, shadows, ravaged bones, and a fervent hug. “Jesus, Cash.”
“I know, baby.” He jerks into me, cradling and decimating with every jagged thrust. “Fuuuuck,” he wheezes as spurts of his cum spill into me, but he still vows, “I’ve got you.”
And he does. He melts against me, our limbs entwined, our breaths tangled.
Hope revived.
Bliss interrupted.
The door swings open, and I swear a smile lights Cash’s face, but everything moves too fast to be sure.