Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) (13 page)

It drives me crazy. In all the good ways.

Too many ways.

I reach up, snaring her hand again. Swing it over her head, until it’s pinned to the floor there. In the same violent sweep, I thoroughly embed my thighs against hers. Push up, notching the bastard of a ridge in my pants against the sweet, wet patch in hers, until we’re dry-humping like kids stealing a quickie between classes, fast and fierce and feverish.

“Fuck. Me.”

“Take. Me.”

“You’re so…
hot
.”

“You are so…
huge
.”

“I—we—have to—slow down.”

“Wh-what?
Why
?”

“Can’t…hold back. Not for much…longer.”

“Then do not. For Creator’s sake, Cassian,
please
!”

I rear up. Try to shake my head. That’s a big fucking
try.
“No. There’s no do-over on this. I’m going to make this good for you, dammit.” In my head, I already have a vision of how this should go. Candlelit bath, champagne by the fire, and
then
the roll in the sheets, going as gently as I can. Nothing in there about screwing her senseless in the turret, in the middle of the night, with half of Manhattan watching. Okay, Manhattan probably doesn’t care, but that’s beside the point. “It’s going to be the best for you. It’s going to be—”

Her laugh cuts me short, so manic it’s cute. “Cassian, if it is more ‘the best’ than this, you will kill me from sheer pleasure.”

I let a taut growl go free. “With all due respect,
favori
, let
me
worry about your death-by-pleasure.”

Her nose crinkles. It disappears into a stare of pure resolve—an unnerving sight, for the second I’m still able to think—before her hand is under my pants and all over my erection, milking the pre-come I’ve somehow kept at bay. Not anymore. I turn into one groan after the next as the drops escape, searing and perfect—and torturous. With every one of my moans, her smile kicks up a little higher, until I’m not sure what’s snipping the neurons in my brain quicker: her perfect touch or her incredible beauty.

“Stop!” I finally groan it out. “For the love of Christ, Ella, stop or I’ll come all over your hand.”

Her eyes darken. Her teeth catch her bottom lip. “And how would that not be ‘the best,’ either?”

My growl lengthens. Little minx, goading me on to more. Notation for my own journal: my proper little Arcadian likes filthy verbal foreplay.

A detail that deserves a little more…testing.

With a commanding yank, I tug her hand back out. With a brutal sweep, slam it again to the floor. Our bodies slide back together, hard to soft, pulse to pulse, arousal to arousal. Her chest surges up, stabbing her nipples against mine. Her mouth falls open on another gasp, nearly begging for my kiss.

I don’t give it to her.

Instead, I linger inches above her, savoring the taste of her anticipation, giving her something even better. The words. “Do you like this,
favori
? Do you like being flattened on the floor beneath me, trembling and aching for me? Do you like my erect cock against you, leaking come in its need for you?”

“Oh,” she grates. “Oh…yes.”

“
Oh yes
is fucking right.” I dip my lips to her neck. “I can feel it in your pulse, Ella. Taste it on your skin. And I treasure it…everywhere.”

I emphasize that with another roll of my hips. Rejoice in the answering buck of hers, adorable little jerks responding to nothing but her most primitive instincts. Have I ever been with a woman like her, so open to feeling everything and thinking about nothing? Have I ever
known
anyone like her, so transparent about her desire, uncaring that her hair isn’t “fanned out” just so, that her feet aren’t “daintily pointed,” that the sounds bursting from her throat are awkward and rough instead of a mewling porn kitten?

She is a revelation.

A sensual, incredible burst into my psyche. Into my world.

My logic defaults to the only possibility. My lips burst with it, while continuing to suckle her delicious skin. “
Sorceress
. Dear fuck…that has to be it. You’re a sorceress, woman, and I’ve become your willing slave.” I lock her other wrist down with my grip. Rise up, deliberately exposing my muscles and might against her silken skin and curves. “Look at this. Look at
you.
Do you know what power you have over me, even in your shackles? How your beauty—” I stop, needing to fit breath around the space now occupied by her. “You command me, Mishella. God
damn
…you possess me.”

Her own chest pumps, matching the desperate cadence of mine. “
Cassian
.”

I shake my head again. My hair falls into my eyes but I drill a solid stare through the mess at her. “Look at you…begging me. But
I’m
the one who should be pleading with
you
.”

“Oh…no. Oh…
yes
…”

“You rule, me, woman. You…destroy me.”

As the confession soughs out, I scrape both thumbs across her pulse points. Slide them up, until they dig into the centers of her palms. Deeper…deeper…

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner…because he wants to sin like he’s never sinned before, and the only redemption
is
the sin. The only heaven left is her…

“Tell me.” Now I’m the beggar—and it finally feels perfect. “I need to know. I’m your convert. Your slave. What do you bid of me, sorceress…
goddess
…?”

Her fingers curl around mine. Her back arches, her thighs constrict…her pussy softens. “Destroy me too,” she whispers. “Cassian,
please
…take me. Fuck me.”

My own muscles shake—fighting the surge of heat her plea brings. I breathe raggedly. I’ve expected the words, so why do they make me feel regressed to sixteen again? Why does air feel like fire as I force it in down my nostrils? Why am I an all-thumbs idiot after rising to pull off her pajama bottoms, then mine?

And now, why does the sight of her mound make my cock drip all over again?

I stare at the rigid fucker, finally admitting my bewilderment. I’ve always been a Brazilian fan: the football teams, the food, and definitely the bikini wax. But Arcadia is nowhere near Brazil, and the reality here is, again, as I expected—except for one astonishing difference. Beholding Ella’s unshaved “wilderness” has turned
up
my desire—especially when the evidence of
her
lust forms glittering beads on her tawny curls.

“Fuck. Me.” My snarl only hints at the toll she and her enchantress pussy already take.
Need to—get in there—so bad
.

“A wonderful idea.” Her throaty rasp more perfect torture—to which she adds a
coup de grace
, kneading her breasts until the tips are stiff and red. “Cassian. By the creator—I need you
now.
”

My dick throbs against my palm.
Hell yes
, it screams—

To be countermanded by my brain. And its evil sense of humor.

Evil.

“You need me, hmmm?” I line myself up, pointing my glistening crest toward her exquisite entrance. “This, right here? You need…this?”

Her whole body tremors. Her hands work her flesh harder. “Yes,” she pants. “Oh
yes
!”

“Not yet.” I chuckle in answer to her moan of despair. “First, not without this.” Thank fuck I remember Doyle’s stash of condoms in the table next to the chaise. This is probably the first time I’m thankful for being aware of the “accessories” he likes to leave behind all over the house. “And second,” I continue while sheathing up, “not without you showing me more of…this.”

My free hand illustrates the point, running through the slickness between her thighs. Though it elicits a higher cry, she manages to stammer, “Th-this? Wh-what…do you…mean?”

“I mean show it to me, Ella. With both hands. Take them off your tits. Slide them into your pussy. Rub them on your lips then spread yourself with them. Let me see the gorgeous cunt I’m going to fuck.”

Without another question, she obeys. Dear God, so perfectly…proving I was wise to make that mental journal entry in ink. This woman, and her gorgeous passion, thrive on nasty words like a flower in the sun. As she blooms for me I grow for her, my flesh filling the rubber…straining for the slick, tight tunnel beyond her dripping curls.

The depths I’ll mark for the first time.

The place I’ll have in her soul…forever.

The virginity I’ll claim…and cherish.

“
Damn
.” Great.
That’s
eloquent. But nothing else is possible in the moment I fit myself to her opening, and push into the impossible softness…the resistant walls.

I halt when she winces. “It—it is all right,” she protests. “I—I am all right. Probably just a little…” A sheepish shrug, a stunning blush. “Scared.”

I dip my head, kissing her. “It’s all right to be scared. But it’s also all right to breathe,
favori
.”

She laughs. For a moment. “Oh. Yes.
That
.”

I take advantage of her distraction to push deeper. Clench back a groan, letting that privilege belong to her. “Good, Ella. You’re doing good, my little beauty.” Brilliance strikes. “Try to bear down a little. Just pretend it’s a couple of your fingers, only fuller.”

“My—my
fingers
?”

Okay. Screw the brilliance. “Fuck,” I mutter, punctuating with another laugh. “Well, that explains things a little.”

“A little…like what?”

“Like why you’re so goddamn tight…and good.” I’ve used the conversation for the same nefarious purpose: now, I’m nearly two-thirds in.

And blindingly ready to give her the rest.

“So.”

A small test thrust.

“Fucking.”

A deeper one.

“
Good
.”

She doesn’t scream.

She
does
try to tear off a layer of my back flesh, as her body accepts the last inch of mine. My mouth opens, needing to tell her to relax, but I selfishly savor one more second of her tension, and what it does to the suction power of her walls.

Pray for us sinners…

Now, and at the hour of our death…

Yeah. That’s it. That
has
to be. I’ve died, and this is heaven, and—

She really has destroyed me.

“
Ella
.” There’s nothing left on my lips but her name. Nothing left in my senses but
her
, surrounding me, consuming me—propelling me to an ether comprised solely of that place in space and time where our bodies pulse together, our hearts hammer together. “
Mishella
,” I whisper this time, squeezing the globes of her ass, forcing her tighter around me. “We’re there. You’re there. Feel me,
favori
. Feel all of me…”

“Mmmm.” It’s not a pleasant hum. It’s the
I’m trying
sound, and I don’t fucking like it. But the moment I withdraw even a millimeter, she scratches once again. The sorceress has claws. Sharp ones.

She pulls her arms in, shifting her hold to my jaw. Forces my lips to hers in a kiss that’s so searing, it’s haunting. As our mouths mesh and our tongues swirl, I am suddenly able to feel her soul, to see inside her heart…for they are the same as mine.
Remember. This.
The tastes of it, passion and salt and need. The smells of it, sex and skin and jasmine. The sounds of it, roaring in my ears and throbbing through my blood. The feeling of it, a magic that will follow me until those suspended moments between life and death, when all the best moments of my life return…and I pray more of them await me on the other side.

Unless that moment is now.

As she begins to rock her hips, working her body around mine.

As she arches her head back, releasing a sibilant sorceress sigh.

As she cries out, in the second I slide my touch between our bodies, to finish her first.

And she dies too…convulsing through the most perfect end I’ve ever witnessed. The orgasm strains her muscles, bulges her eyes…and squeezes every inch of her pussy.

Dear. Fuck
.

Over and over she seizes me, her body signing the death warrant for mine. I am executed in a hot, consuming flood, life pouring from me, immense and primal…

And perfect.

“Do not…stop. Oh please, Cassian. I think I might…oh,
again.
Do not stop!”

“Never.” I grate it into her neck while continuing to pump her pussy and work her clit. “Never, sweet
armeau.
”

When I take the throbbing little nub and pinch just the tip, she finally gives me her scream. She vibrates, wild and unthinking, gripping me in desperate need, like the fucking angel leading her to heaven.

She has no idea…of how things really are.

That
she’s
the angel. The enchantress gifted from the clouds…to lead me back from hell.

Morose thoughts—for much later. Now, I only want to think about her laugh in my ear, the mix of melody and husk that brings satisfaction as complete as her climaxes, making my resolve official. This really is where I want to die. Right here, right now. Surely, no other moment in my life is going to equal this perfection.

“Oh…my…high…holy…Creator.” She lets her arms sprawl, limp as noodles, straight out to her sides. I chuckle my way into a new kiss, letting my grip slide along them, until our fingers are again twined.

“Certainly took the sting out of jet lag.”

“Jet lag.” She repeats it softly, her face remaining dazed. “So…how long does that last?”

I laugh again, not missing the hopeful lilt with which she finishes. “Not sure.”

“Why not?”

“Usually too keyed up to pay attention to it.”

“Hmmm.”

It’s the hum I’m used to—on the other hand, hope to never be used to, because it’s so damn adorable. Half of it is barely audible, since she’s already dedicated half her brain to at least eight layers of deeper thought. The exciting part is watching her cycle through them, and wondering what she’ll say to make the wait worth it.

“Perhaps we should try to find out.”

Definitely
worth it.

After grinding a slow, savoring kiss into her, I answer, “Perhaps we fucking
should
.”

*