Naughty Little Gift -- A Temptation Court Novella (Temptation Court, Book 1) (9 page)

The air.

We are…in the air.

My breath clutches to a brand-new stop—as I watch the runway disappear, giving way to the aqua expanse of the sea. Then a wisp of a cloud. Another.

“Holy shit!”

Cassian laughs from his belly but I do not care, nearly scrambling over that part of him to gape out the window. A sound escapes me, unlike any I have made before, because it is born of sensations I have never felt before. Fear, yes—but now churned into something beyond. Exhilaration duels with ebullience. Anxiety, but tempered with a new awareness altogether. Something light, like the dandelion seed the plane now feels like. Possibility in the space of a breath.

Is this…freedom?

The knowledge is a crash inside, breaking apart a shell I have never consciously admitted to—but now let myself step from, hatched into something new. Some
one
new. She is a stranger to me, and I long to crawl back right away into the safety of the tiny world behind me, to the security of the tiny girl who lived there.

Who
lived
there.

And I realize…

There is no “taking it back.”

I have agreed to let Cassian show me how good those words can be. Signed my name on his paper, giving him the right—and the power—to do so. Power not just over where my body physically goes…but the vistas my mind, soul, and senses are taken to, as well.

And I think an airplane take-off has been the most terrifying part of my day?

What in Creator’s name have I done
?

The query makes me tilt my head—toward the man in whose lap I am practically perched. I am not surprised to find Cassian already staring at me. The intensity on his face is another element entirely.

Arrogance in the Sky. He is still that—only now, Mr. Confidence is subdued to silence. Perhaps even humbled. The green glass shards in his eyes spike with the crowning truth atop that.
Because of you.

I have no idea how to answer that…save with one set of words.

“
Merderim
, Cassian Court.”

One side of his mouth hitches up. “Thank
you
, Mishella Santelle.”

More of the shell shatters.

As more of me steps free, my spirit moves toward the one path in this new world that makes sense…and the perfect, emerald-eyed guide waiting to lead me on it.

My fingers lift to his jaw.

The other side of his mouth raises.

I push my fingers in a little more. Pull tenderly at his jaw.

I want that mouth on mine.

With a ragged grunt of acknowledgement, Cassian obliges.

*

Cassian

How could just
a brush of lips be the best fucking kiss of my life?

There are no answers for that.

There are a million answers for that.

My mind implodes on the conflict—the same way it explodes from merely a memory of that sweet, inexplicable touch of her mouth…

Now nearly three hours ago.

I continue gazing at her in sleep, where I fixate on the plush pads that have tossed me into this chaos. Doesn’t help a goddamn bit. With Doyle snoozing in the small bedroom at the back of the plane, I’m alone up here with my sorceress—who has me as baffled, bewitched, and just as stunned as I was after kissing her.

And tasting her…

and breathing her in…

then fighting to push her back out.

A lot of good the effort yields me.

She has beaten me.

Good business means admitting when one is defeated, as well celebrating when one is victorious
.

And isn’t that the rub?

Mishella Santelle is
not
good business—or so nearly all my teams inform me. Flying all the way to Arcadia, searching for the angles to maneuver Fortin Santelle and
save
money, don’t match what I’m returning with: a contract at double the budget and a “houseguest” for the next six months. What the hell else am I supposed to call her? Like the explanation will fly for one second with Prim and Hodge—both of whom I will put off thinking about until we’re much closer to home. A “treat” to look forward to, if Doyle’s dour looks have been accurate prophesy—and they usually are.

I don’t give a fuck.

I would’ve paid four times as much for her. Been just as glad I had, for the payback of that kiss alone—though karma now carves her pound of flesh right out of my libido.

That kiss.

I crave so much more.

Goddammit, I’ve paid for it.

No. You’ve paid for the right to explore this with her, not take it from her. Dial it back, asshole. You’ve only brought this torture on yourself.

The woman herself helps with the meaning of that final pronoun, sighing sleepily…stretching until her pink sweater set is yanked tightly across her sleek figure. I watch the fabric slide across her breasts, mentally filling in the basic white bra that undoubtedly covers them.

Suddenly, every lace-clad temptress I’ve been with before is a dim memory behind Mishella’s hot-as-fuck take on that Doris Day goodness. Is she wearing matching panties? And is she still so soundly asleep, she won’t notice if I try confirming with a peek under her skirt?

Sick. Fuck.

“Mmmm.”

While her moan kills off my Peeping Tom, it wakes up my Ready-To-Go-Randy. I shift in my seat, adjusting the wood to a more tolerable angle.

Her eyes open halfway, then take me in fully.

“Hey there, little Ella.”

She curls a drowsy grin. “Bad princess. I fell asleep in the carriage—even after the prince’s kiss.”

Hell.
She has to mention the kiss. “I’m no prince, Miss Santelle.”
Especially after what you’ve done to my thoughts in the last three hours.

“Well, thank the Creator.” The moment it spills, she clearly can’t believe it has. With a dogged shake of her head, she peers out the window. “It is…still light outside.”

There’s a question in her voice. “Ah. Yes.” I follow her gaze, to where the dark orange rays glint against the plane. “We’re chasing the sun—for another hour, at least.” Unable to rein back the action, I run a hand down the back of her head—intending to do only that.
Slow the fuck down. You have six months.
But when I pull it back, she chases my touch with her head. Burrows so deeply against my hand she ends up pressed against my chest. After the discernible
click
of her seatbelt, the rest of her follows, sitting fully on my lap—

And I sure as hell don’t stop her.

“Do you…mind?” She glances up, adorably sheepish. “I can see the sunset better from here.”

“And I can see
you
better from here.” I let a full grin escape. Goddamn, it feels good. “So it’s a win-win.”

I hope for a smile in return, perhaps even one inviting a new kiss, but her nose crinkles, and her gaze remains somber. “This decision…the new contract…” She traces the pattern in my sweater with the tip of a finger. “It is
not
a ‘win-win’ for you, is it?”

“That’s not for you to worry about.”

Tighter nose crunch. “To be plain about it, Cassian, that is bullshit.”

I struggle not to laugh. “Is that so?”

“I have a
mind
,” she asserts. “And two ears that work.”

“I never doubted either,
favori
.”

“I know what Father’s voice sounds like, when he is trying to justify a business choice to a colleague. Yours sounded the same way during several calls on your cell phone today. You have walked out in a tree because of this.”

“Walked out in a—?” Deep frown. “Do you mean…gone out on a limb?”

She huffs. Waves an impatient hand. “You have taken a risk. A huge one.” Her hand slides up, sneaking a little beneath my sweater, caressing the side of my neck. Once more, the breath I’ve just regulated is a wind storm in my chest. Outwardly, I suck it in as calmly as I can…praying to God the tempest between my legs is equally obedient. “I want to be worth that risk for you, Cassian.”

I swallow hard. Run a hand along the back of her arm, up to her neck, around to her nape. “You already are.”

“Bullsh—”

I kiss her into silence, but with lingering tenderness. “Ssshhh. We’re not even halfway through the flight.” She draws breath to speak but I yank it right back out of her with another kiss—still lingering, not as patient. “We have time,” I grate. “Lots of time, all right? Let’s just—”

And suddenly, I’m the one being cut off with a kiss. Correction:
a kiss
, borrowing my idea but very little else; incinerating my temperance on the sacrificial pyre of her passion. Correction:
her passion.
She is a fireball in my arms: a groaning, grabbing, greedy burst of need, twisting her slender fingers into my hair until our mouths are meshed, our chests are fitted, and our crotches are grinding with inescapable heat…and lust.

Annnnd, the discreet hard-on is officially in my rearview. Who the hell have I tried to fool about that, anyway? Discretion is my Dulcinea when she’s near. A glorious, impossible dream.

A soundtrack for another time—definitely not when my balls pulse like this, rocketing my shaft to a solid ten on the pain scale. The fucker fills and lengthens, punching at my fly in response to her incredible little mewls and erotic little writhes.
She is going to kill me
, and right now, I can think of no better way to go.

When she finally relents, we are both breathing like goddamn freight trains—but she barely waits before pulling my hand free from her nape then guiding it down, down, down, until it’s formed to her inner thigh. With our gazes still bound, she rolls her hips…sliding her soft flesh against my trembling touch.

But that’s not my undoing.

Her awkward little swallow. The tentative flick of her tongue along the seam of her lips. The questioning glint in her eyes, so unsure about what she is doing but trusting herself—trusting
me
—enough to follow the instinct of her desire, and do it anyway…

“Wh-what if…I do not want to waste any more time?”

Now
I kiss my restraint goodbye.

With a long, slow, growl, I dip my head back down while inching my fingertips up. There’s a method to the madness—and with her, it
feels
like madness—of being able to read her better through her lips. Their stillness or hesitation will tell me that despite what her brain dictates about honoring my “risk,” her body is on an entirely separate page.

So far, we are very much on the same page.

Holy
fuck,
what a page.

As I sweep deeper into the heat of her mouth, my hand explores the silken valley between her thighs. Her skin is soft and shivery beneath my fingertips; her muscles bunch as she undulates in ready response. Pain pricks my scalp as she clings to me tighter, tighter still. “Yes,” I hiss, blowing the sound along her lips. “God, yes. Make me feel it, woman. Every shred of it.”

She moans and shakes…as I trail my touch higher.

Every. Fucking. Shred.

She arches up. Strangled sounds vibrate in her throat. I kiss down that strained column, reveling in her tension. She’s a drawn bow, coiling deeper as I glide a path toward the erotic triangle at her apex. It’s shielded by modest panties. I palm her mound through them, my lips hitching as she gasps.

“C-Cassian!”

I growl again. Rub fingers along the fabric’s center panel. “Wet panties, sweet Ella. They feel so fucking good.”

“Mmmm,” she stutters. “I—I am glad you—
ahhhh
.” She jerks upward as I circle my fingers. I can feel her clit even through the barrier, trembling…hardening.

“Tell me they’re white.”

She shoots a confused stare. “Wh-what?”

“Your panties,” I clarify. “So help me God, if we were in this airplane alone, I’d be hiking up your skirt to look for myself, but for now, you’ll have to let my imagination do the work.” I let my gaze grow heavy hoods while running fingers along the inner seams, never delighting in teasing a woman more. She’s slick with perspiration and arousal. She smells like tropical flowers and honey.

The crown of my cock is wet now too.

“Color,” I manage to command again. “Tell me the fucking color, Mishella.”

She gulps again. “Wh-white.”

I hiss, exposing my bliss.
Knew it.

“
Ohhhh
.” It’s the only option of a response I give her, working my fingers inward, against her bare flesh. “By the
Creator
. That is…that is so…”

I watch it all take over her face—the wonder, the awe, the heat, the passion—in a transfixed state of my own. Though my cock throbs, damn near screaming for emancipation, it isn’t as important as the horizon to which I’m guiding
her
. “Yeah. It is, isn’t it?”

“Cassian.” She sighs. “Oh…my…”

“My gorgeous girl.” I swipe my thumb in, testing the taut bundle at her very center. She jolts then mewls, fisting my sweater. “You’re a virgin to this too, aren’t you? Nobody has ever touched you like this before…right here?”

“Oh!” Her head snaps back. “Oh, by all the powers!”

“Tell me,
favori
. Has anyone—any man—ever stroked you here? Made you this wet and hot?”

“N-no,” she finally blurts. “Nobody, Cassian. Only you have touched me like this.”