by Kane, Jessa
Those would be the actions of a bad man, though.
I am a bad man. But somewhere in the middle of the night, while watching her sleep so peacefully, I didn’t want to be one anymore.
At least, not to Shelby. Fuck everyone else.
She stumbles to a stop in front of me, twisting the hem of her dress in her hands. I come up beside her and look over, finding her mouth in an O shape. “Are we the only ones who are going to be flying on this? It could fit thirty people.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Based on what you know about me, do you think I could stand being in a confined space with thirty people for six hours?”
“You never know,” she says, leaning down to run her fingertip along the cushy, gray-leather bench seating. “Maybe if you talked to people, you’d realize they’re not all terrible.”
“Not interested.” I notice her shoulders sink slightly at my response and I don’t like it. “This is important to you? That I try to…endure people?”
“I was just thinking of…my family.” Her green eyes peek up at me through her eyelashes. “If I’m going to spend every night in your bed—”
“You are, Shelby,” I say tightly, my pulse quickening. “There’s no if about it.”
“Okay, so…if I’m to live with you—”
“What did I just say about if?” I growl.
“Holy moly, you’re touchy. Fine. When I live with you, don’t you think you’ll have to meet my family at some point?”
Honestly? I hadn’t thought about that. In my world, money organizes things the way I want them. If I want a quiet, empty plane, it’s done. If I want space and solitude, it’s arranged. A tenant removed when they can’t pay what they contractually owe me? They’re gone. Now I want Shelby all to myself, but relationships don’t operate under the same principles as the rest of my life. She’s a living, breathing human being who loves her family. If I want her to be happy…
Maybe I have to accept that there are two sets of desires here.
Not just one anymore.
God, these feelings are a pain in the ass.
My withering sigh makes her smile—and I change my mind. The feelings I have for Shelby aren’t a pain. They make me feel like I’m coming back to life after living for years in a dark, underground coffin. “I suppose I’ll be seeing them on occasion, yes.” I grimace. “As long as they don’t annoy me.”
“I’m sure they will,” Shelby says, but her smile is huge.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m smiling back. “Who do you think you are, little girl?” I say, invading her personal space and scooping her up, groaning inwardly at the way her legs automatically wrap around my waist. “You think you can just show up and rearrange my meticulously organized life. Is that it?”
She gasps with mock outrage. “I’m the one being kidnapped to Paris.”
“Kidnapped?” I snort, laying her down on the bench seat and settling myself between her thighs. “Yes, I’m sure you’re going to hate the penthouse overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the all-new wardrobe that awaits you there. I’m sure you’ll suffer through all the desserts I plan to spoon feed you in between…” I lean down and breathe into her ear, rocking my hips forward. “Round after round of the orgasms I plan to provide.”
Her eyes take on a glassy quality, her voice breathless. “I’ll try to keep my complaining to a minimum…” A beat passes. “Daddy.”
My cock was already rigid, but it pulses eagerly at that title. One I never expected. One that only applies to this unique relationship with Shelby, which has a life of its own. “Talk to me, angel,” I say, kissing her pouty mouth. “When you call me that, tell me what it means to you.”
Beneath us, the jet engine rumbles louder and the aircraft begins to taxi. “It means…you’re in charge. But…at the same time…”
“I’m wrapped around your little finger?”
A moan slips out of her mouth. “Yes. The idea of that makes me feel…” She wets her lips, her back arching slightly. “Sexy. Protected.”
“You are,” I rasp, raking my mouth down to her throat, licking my territory, razing her sensitive skin with my teeth. “What else does it mean to you?” I ask, starting to unbutton the front of her dress with my left hand.
Her tits heave up and down. “It means you’ll hold me when I’m scared. L-like right now.”
My world crashes and burns. “You’re scared?” Jesus, it’s like my blood has been replaced with acid. Her fear is unacceptable. Torturous. “Why, Shelby?”
“I’ve never flown on a plane before,” she whispers unevenly, her fingers digging into my back. “I didn’t think I was going to be scared, but now that the plane is moving, all I can think about is how high we’re going to be.”
Ignoring my throbbing dick, I sit back and bring Shelby with me, positioning her in my lap and rocking her back and forth. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise. This plane is safe. You are safe. I’m not going to let a thing happen to you. Ever.” She curls into me, hiding her face in my throat and oh my God, it feels like my chest has been ripped wide open. Is this normal? “Shelby, please. You will stop being scared immediately,” I say, sounding winded.
She lifts her head, some of her fear clearing. In fact, she giggles a little and the churning in my middle eases slightly. “You can’t just order me to stop feeling something. You know that, right?”
“Can I order you to start feeling something?”
“Like what?” she asks.
“Like happiness. With me. Now.”
“Just because I’m scared in this moment doesn’t mean I’m not happy overall.”
I process that, surprised to find it has a calming effect in my chest. Perhaps if I add to her happiness, it will eclipse the fear completely. “What else can I do to make you happy? I’d like a list, please.”
Another giggle. “A list?”
“Yes. Right now.”
She leans her cheek against my shoulder, looking thoughtful. “It will make me happy if you try to be more understanding with people. If you give them a chance to be something other than deceitful. The way you’re going to do with my family.”
I would agree to anything right now to keep the tremor out of her voice. “Done. I’ll give people a small chance. What else?”
“I don’t need anything else,” she whispers, reaching up to touch my cheek.
A sound of disagreement leaves me. “There must be something, Shelby. A dream that you have that I can help you fulfill…” When her gaze darts down to her lap, I know I’ve struck gold. “What is it?”
Her teeth sink into her luscious bottom lip. “You know how I like to write in my diary?” I nod and she continues. “Well, I’ve always kind of wanted to design my own diaries. Special lettering. Personalized for the owner. Is that silly?”
I’ve lived a bitter life, but I must have done something right to have this little ball of sunshine land in my lap. And now that the fear seems to have left her—she doesn’t even seem to realize we’re in the air—I lay her back down on the wide leather seat, slowly pressing my weight down on top of her. “No, angel. I think it sounds like something that bring people happiness, the way you’ve brought it to me.” I bring our lips together and lick into her mouth, reveling in the flavor of her moan. “I’ll make it happen, baby,” I mutter thickly, dragging my mouth along the curve of her neck, gathering the hem of her dress in my hands. “Anything you can dream of is yours.”
Before I can get my tongue back in her sweet mouth, she whispers. “It was you, Alistair. You’re what I dreamed of most.”
Oh.
Oh Jesus. Fuck.
I’m in love with this angel.
It’s like being stabbed in the chest, but the result isn’t pain, it’s a rush of euphoria and lightness. It’s hard to breathe. I’m sinking.
“You have me,” I grit out, my desperation to be inside of her reaching a fever pitch. I need to be joined with her, as close as humanly possible. To cement the fact that she�
��s mine. Mine. Mine forever.
With shaking hands, I turn Shelby over onto her stomach, yanking her dress up and leaving it around her waist, my palms raking over her bare, supple bottom, my broken groan filling the cabin of the jet. I squeeze her tight cheeks in my hand, pushing them up so I can see her dripping wet pussy—and I’m lost. I’m so desperate to fuck her, time seems to lose its structure as I let go of her backside and seek out my zipper, shoving it down and climbing on top of Shelby at the same time.
“Open your thighs,” I rasp, pushing my pants down, along with my briefs, the belt clanking loudly. “Daddy needs it rough this time, angel.”
When she does as she’s told without a second’s hesitation, showing off all that pretty pink between her legs, seed sprays from the head of my cock, leaving a stripe across her gorgeous ass. Christ, she’s such a fucking turn on. The sight of her alone, the anticipation of thrusting into her, pushes me right to the edge. Knowing I don’t have long before my balls give up the fight, I fist my erection and tuck it up against her quivering little hole.
“You love having me wrapped around your finger, don’t you? This is how you do it. Treating me to this tight goddamn pussy, baby.” I sink several inches inside of Shelby, her eager whimpers spurring me on. Making me want to pump hard, fast. Violently. “You spoil me, I spoil you. That’s how it works. I’ve got the money and you’ve got this hot, young honey cunt.”
Shelby shocks the hell out of me by tightening up her channel, a wild tremor passing through her, a scream ripping from her throat. She’s coming and I’m barely halfway inside of her yet. “Alistair,” she whines, whipping her hips back and grinding all the way down on my cock, drawing a hiss from my lips. “Daddy.”
“Sweet fuck,” I growl, flattening her to the leather bench and going for broke, driving into her wet, clenching entrance hard, hard, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs, vision doubling from the extent of the pleasure. “You like when I talk about spoiling you?”
“Yes,” she gasps, her body bouncing forward and back on the seat, flesh smacking against flesh, faster and faster. “You could b-buy and sell me.”
“Sell you? Never. Not for all the money in the world.” I growl into her neck, my knees shoving her legs wider, so I can get that much deeper—and ahhh, shit. That’s it. She’s got all of me now and she’s milking every inch. “Will I use my wealth to keep this pussy damp and a smile on your face? Fucking right I will, baby. I’d buy the privilege of fucking you with my last cent.”
Shelby bucks beneath me, her fingertips clawing at the leather seat, chanting my name over and over, in the throes of a second climax. God yes. I knew she was responsive, but this goes far beyond that. Either my dick hits her just right in this position or it’s me talking about buying her. And goddamn, how hot is it that this near-virgin has a dirty little kink?
I bring my weight down on her hard, pushing my mouth up against her ear. “I’m going to come deep enough to get you pregnant. Is that going to cost me extra?”
The scream that comes out of her is frantic and beautiful. There is no way for me to last when her pussy clamps down tight, her muscles flexing in waves around my cock. I choke out a rendition of her name, humping furiously, driving her up the bench, grunting into her neck. All the while, she keeps coming, lost in the never-ending pitch of the climax. And I join her, going blind at the immense relief, the chaotic bliss of what she gives me. Only her. Only her forever.
There is relief for my body, yes, but not for my heart.
Even after the final ounce of my spend leaves me, I still gather her up, desperate to get close. To smell her, lick her, feel her everywhere—and she allows my new favorite ritual, allowing me to turn her over, drag my tongue over the hills and valley of her body, marking my territory, whispering words of reverence.
And then, when I reach her mouth, I can’t hold in the truth.
“I love you, Shelby.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I love you, Alistair. I love you, too.”
With that miracle, the remaining ice inside me melts completely.
Chapter 9
Shelby
In my wildest dreams, I never could have imagined being in love in Paris.
Clocks and calendars don’t exist. There is only day and night and Alistair.
When we arrived at the hotel, he practically had to carry me through the lobby because I kept stumbling into things in a daze, unable to believe what I was seeing. Everything shimmered and glowed. Chandeliers the size of cars, indoor fountains, people elegantly dressed. And our room was even better. Cream furniture, artwork on the walls, a furnished balcony overlooking the magical city, the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
It took us two days to leave the massive suite because every time I got dressed in one of the new outfits that had been waiting for me, Alistair felt the need to take it off. We’ve made love in every room of the suite several times. Not to mention on the balcony and once in the private elevator on the way upstairs after arrival.
True to his word, Alistair has spoiled me rotten and I’ve given up on trying to convince him I don’t need the fancy trappings. He enjoys giving me jewelry, silk lingerie and feeding me desserts—and I like seeing him happy.
Yes, happy. That’s what he is. Every hour that we’re in Paris, he grows more comfortable, smiling, laughing, being optimistic. I thought he was handsome before, but now that he constantly wears a grin, his hair tousled from sex, I lose my breath every time he walks into the room.
Okay, so maybe I’m partially responsible for us remaining in the suite so long.
But we’re outside now, evening has just fallen and we’re walking along the Seine. I’m wearing a pastel-pink dress with a corseted top and a flowing skirt that blows around my knees and makes me feel beautiful. Alistair never takes his right hand off me, resting it on my hip, then my shoulder, occasionally fisting my loose hair and forcing me to look him in the eye, as if reminding me who I belong to.
I don’t need a reminder.
Alistair already has my heart and he’s quickly capturing my soul. With every look, every touch, every night that he holds me. The only thing stopping me from handing over every part of myself completely…is the fact that I haven’t told him the truth about who I am and how we met.
In Paris, though, so far from reality, it becomes easier and easier to forget.
Especially now, when the sun sets and Paris lights up around us, romantic and beautiful and full of history, hope, music. We’ve just had an amazing dinner at a dark, candlelit restaurant and I’m delightfully full. Alistair pulls me to a stop in the middle of an elegant square, complete with a marble fountain, spilling with water and red flowers. Twinkling lights are strung overhead. I’m so far from my old life that when Alistair picks me up by the waist and settles me on the edge of the fountain—and pulls out a black velvet ring box—I think I’m dreaming.
“Alistair,” I breathe, hands flying to my mouth.
“Shelby.” His throat works with emotion.
But before he can say another word, a man appears to his right. An old, hunched-over man in tattered clothes and no shoes. He’s holding an ancient violin in his hands, the neck partially bent.
He says something in quick French.
Neither of us responds and when it becomes obvious that we didn’t understand him, the man repeats himself in English.
“Play music for you and the lady?”
A flash of annoyance crosses Alistair’s face. He starts to tell the man to leave us alone, but something in his expression shifts. And instead of shooing the man away, Alistair nods. “Yes. Thank you.”
That’s when I can no longer keep my soul from becoming Alistair’s. Because he doesn’t merely love me, desire me…he listens. He listened to me when I asked him to be more patient with people, cared enough to try.
His actions are rewarded a moment later when the old man begins to play… and it’s quite simply the most incredible sound I’ve ever heard. The swell of sound, the de
licate romance of the strings being finessed by the bow, is poetry. The square is filled with even more life than before, passersby stopping to appreciate the music.
Alistair looks at me in wonder, the ring box still in his hand. “Shelby, you’ve made me a better man. Made me see the world as a beautiful place. A place to appreciate instead of conquer. And I just want to walk beside you through it forever.” He opens the ring box as the music drifts around us, the size of the diamond almost causing me to fall backwards into the fountain. “Be my wife, angel.”
“Yes,” I whisper, moisture crowding my vision. “Yes, Alistair.”
There is a sheen in his eyes as he slides the ring onto my finger and pulls me into his arms, spinning me in a circle in the middle of the square, laughing. My heart expands with hope and awe and affection. Our mouths lock together, as they’re wont to do, and I’m being kissed passionately. With such growing fervor that my thoughts begin to cloud, lust tightening and wetting my flesh.
Barely conscious of our audience, my legs cinch up around my future husband’s hips and the kiss changes tempo, growing more ravenous, Alistair’s shaft hardening against my mound, a groan emanating from his throat. His fingers plow into my hair and he attacks my lips, his tongue plunging deep inside my mouth, his hips tilting forward at the same time and I whine his name.
“Christ, I know what it means when you cry my name like that,” he says hoarsely against my lips. “Means you need a good, hard fucking.”
“Please, Daddy,” I whisper, my femininity clenching.
He glances around us in frustration, making note of the busy square, the people seated at the nearby café who watch us openly. “We’re a half a mile from the hotel,” he says, striding out of the light onto the sidewalk, before hooking left onto a lesser populated side street paved in cobblestones. My mouth races up and down his neck, his hands delving beneath my dress to palm my buttocks, his fingers tangling in my lacy thong, tugging, sliding it back and forth through the valley of my sex.