Wildest Dream (Redfall Dream #4)

by B. B. Miller

  She gives me a lazy smile, her eyes still closed. “Not even sex?”

  “Sex with you? Yes.”

  The color in her cheeks rises, and she drops her face into the pillow. “Silver-tongued Englishman.” She tries to sound like she’s grumbling, but I can hear the amusement in her voice.

  “You finally kissed me last night, pretty woman,” I whisper against the curve of her neck, tugging on the tiny wink of a diamond nestled against her earlobe.

  “You started it.”

  “And it’s a damn good thing I did. I’d hate to miss a minute of how sweet you taste.”

  Finally, those blue-gray eyes open to mine, and I can see the heat there. “I wanted to take it slow. That was the plan.”

  “Hmmm.” Her lips part as I press my thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “Think we’re past slow now?”

  “Maybe…” She pauses before continuing, “I feel like I know you, but I hardly know you.” Her voice is soft, a little reserved.

  “I’m an open book. Ask away.”

  “It’s hard—”

  I press my hips forward so she can feel the length of my cock. “Seems to always be around you.”

  She makes a feeble attempt to smack me. “I was going to say it’s hard to ask questions when you’re between my legs.”

  “Would you rather be on top?” I tighten my arm around her waist, bringing her with me as I roll to my back, ignoring her squeal of protest. “Is that better?” I rest an arm behind my head. “What do you want to know?”

  She sits up and straddles my waist, laying her palms over my chest. She tucks a few strands of her hair behind her ear, and I let out a low hum. Christ, she’s beautiful, and I just want to bottle up this moment and store it away. “Tell me anything. What was it like growing up with a twin? I have a brother and—”

  “I want to meet him.”

  Her hand flattens over my chest. “You want to meet my brother?”

  “It’s the boyfriend thing to do, isn’t it?”

  Her lips twist, considering. “At some point—maybe.”

  I’m a little annoyed at that answer. “You’ve met my sister.”

  “Because she needed a wedding dress.”

  “Exactly! See? It’s fate. It’s meant to be, Fly-girl.”

  That little dimple in her cheek appears with her smile. “Tell me about growing up in England.”

  “Let’s see. My father is in politics.” That little crease at the bridge of her nose appears, and I brush my thumb over it. “I think I’ve told you, he’s the director of the International Development Agency.”

  The heat of her palm warms my skin as she smooths over my bicep. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Ah, yes. Because only American politics matters, right?” I take a tug of her hair when she rolls her eyes. “It’s focused on helping out in countries ravaged by poverty, disease, conflict. I saw the ugly side of the world with Dad growing up. He’d take Syd and me to build schools and help with relief efforts when disaster struck. Syd and I were twelve when he started bringing us along. He always wanted to make sure we knew there were people in the world who weren’t as lucky as we were.”

  “That must have been hard to see sometimes.”

  “It was, but it’s also an education they can’t teach you in school. You don’t really know what anyone is going through until you walk in their shoes.” She hums a response, brushing along the inside of my arm, creating goose bumps over my skin.

  “What about you? I know your father is in politics.” Her eyes widen as she rears back.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, you see, when your girlfriend is dodgy about telling you things, you look to your friend Google to help you out.”

  It’s meant to be a joke, but her hand covers her mouth. She looks terrified, the color drained from her face, her muscles tenses. “What do you know?” she asks, her voice guarded. Surely she can’t be surprised I would find this out. It’s not as if her father being in the senate is a secret she can keep. I don’t know what’s happened to have her do a one-eighty pivot on me, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.

  “Just that he’s a senator from Wyoming. Is that where you grew up?”

  She relaxes, pressing herself against my chest on an exhale. “Yeah.”

  “Should I start wearing my hats more? I have about twenty of them. Save a horse, ride a cowboy?”

  She shakes her head, her hands gliding over my sides, but I can feel her tension simmering just under the surface. I don’t like it. “I’m an equal opportunity woman—cowboys, politicians, rock stars.”

  I growl at that. “Not anymore you’re not. Only one rock star for you.”

  She drags a palm down my chest. “Only one.”

  “So, Wyoming? Is that where you went to school?” God, I hate I have to pry this information from her. I’ve been pretty damn open to this point, and she seems reluctant to share anything about her past or her family.

  “No. I went to UCLA.”

  I can’t help but trace my fingers along her thigh. So fucking inviting. Cassidy makes it hard for me to focus on an actual conversation. The fact she’s starting to open up is the only thing stopping me from taking her again. “Now it’s my turn to not know what that is.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk…and here I thought you were an international man of the world. It’s in California.”

  “That’s a ways from Wyoming. See? I know my geography. I should get a reward of some kind.” I roll my hips forward, earning me a mild pinch to the side.

  “Stop it… I’m trying to share here,” she says, exasperated.

  “Ah, we’re having a moment. Got it.” I wave my hand at her. “Please do carry on. Why California?”

  “I wanted to branch out.” She glances over to her workspace, her lips pressed together.

  “Did you not enjoy it?”

  “My education? Yes, it’s where I fell in love with design.”

  “What about the rest? Were you a party animal? A freshman with newfound freedom and naughty ideas?” I can only imagine a young Cassidy flirting with senior boys. The thought makes my chest hurt with jealousy.

  She shakes her head, her blond hair hiding her face from me. I brush it back and trace the soft contour of her cheek. “What aren’t you telling me? Did something bad happen?” I grit my teeth. If someone hurt her, I will hunt them down to the ends of the earth and make their life miserable.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.” She lets out a long breath. “Let’s just say when you talked about scandals? I know what that feels like.”

  “That’s what a boyfriend is for, I understand. To be someone to talk to. Among other things.”

  “You know, for someone who claims to never have had an actual girlfriend before, you seem to know a lot about it.” She’s changing the subject, but I let her. For now.

  “It’s all the damn rom-coms Syd forced me to watch.” She laughs, the sound lighting me up. “Even with all of those, you should know I’m fairly certain I’ll do more than a few things to cock this up. But I do hear makeup sex is worth it.”

  “Is that what you hear?”

  I glance over her shoulder to her large drawing table. It looks like she spends a lot of time here. It’s chic and a little quirky—just like its owner. Endless pastel and blush rolls of fabric and lace all set into neat cubbyholes in the wall, dotted with the odd spark of color. There must be dozens of rolls of fabric.

  Rows of crystals hanging off a rack near the window catch the early morning light through a break in the shades, throwing distorted rainbows on the dove gray walls. There’s a whole shelf in the corner of her studio that seems to be devoted to feathers. And off to the side, three sewing machines, all with gowns on forms beside them in varying stages of completion. She’s got different colors of tulips in mismatched vases throughout her workspace. I wonder where she gets her inspiration. Above it all her tempting lavender scent floats in the air. It’s s
imultaneously soothing and calm, intoxicating and just a little wild.

  I motion to her workspace. “Tell me more about this. Why you love it so much.”

  She smiles, settling against me. “I interned with Alexander McQueen.”

  Leaning back against the pillow, I grin up at her. “Alexander McQueen? Color me impressed, Fly-girl.”

  “Don’t get too excited. It wasn’t glamorous at all. Except for the one backstage show during fashion week, I was essentially a gopher who was barked orders at for a year in London. It’s a wonder I tolerate your accent at all.”

  “You love my accent.”

  She ignores me, continuing on. “Did you know there’s no less than 185 ways to have cappuccino?”

  “Is that all?” I grin.

  “I never could get it right. It was either too hot, too cold, too much sweetener, not the right design in the foam.” She shakes her head against my chest.

  My hand stills against the back of her neck. “You designed the foam?”

  “No. But I got blamed for it anyway.”

  I tighten my arm around her. “They sound like bastards. I’ll have to toss all the McQueen in my closet into the bin.”

  “Why am I not surprised you have McQueen couture in your closet. But don’t trash anything. If nothing else, it’s beautifully designed and impeccably made. Take away all the insane conflict and stress and, at the core, the label is all about tailoring. It’s the attention to detail, the art of perfecting a silhouette I wanted to learn.” I smile listening to her. It’s obvious she loves what she does.

  “Did you design anything for them?”

  She lets out a wry laugh. “God no. They’d never let a lowly intern actually design something or have an opinion. The most I got to do was a buttonhole at two in the morning, and that was during fashion week because one of the tailors dropped out.”

  “I bet you rocked the hell out of that buttonhole.”

  I feel her smile against my chest. “Damn right I did.”

  “Best buttonhole ever.”

  “My hands shook the entire time, even though I’d probably done hundreds of them on my own by that point. There were eleven people hovering over me. It was torture, but I loved it.”

  “It sounds like you did.”

  “It also made my mind up about the kind of place I wanted. The big fashion houses? They’re a machine. While the big names are partying on a yacht in Ibiza, the rest of the robots are working until their fingers bleed. And the show? It was just insane chaos backstage.” She props her chin on my chest. “I bet it compares to backstage at a concert.”

  “And you didn’t like that?” I ask, holding her gaze.

  “No. I wanted a personal experience. I wanted to design and create everything myself. I want to know the stories about how a couple met, or why the bride wants to incorporate an heirloom in her dress. Interning at McQueen did influence my style, though. It’s a lot of traditional blended with modern.” She leans back, glancing over to one of the gowns. I follow her gaze. “That’s charmeuse silk; some of the most expensive you can buy, but the shredded organza corset is what makes the statement. It makes it personal, more special.” She shakes her head. “I’m just rambling now.”

  I tap the end of her nose. “Yeah, you are, but I know how it feels. To love something so much it consumes you.”

  She’s quiet as she considers my words. “Is that how playing in the band is for you?”

  “It is. I could play for days straight and never get tired of it.”

  She traces her fingers along my forearm, studying the ink closely. “As your girlfriend, I’d just like to tell you how much I appreciate these.”

  My lips twitch in amusement. “The tattoos?”

  “Yeah, and your veins. I mean, come on. You’re not even flexing and they’re just… everywhere. It’s like arm porn.” She blows out a breath.

  “Arm porn?” I bark out a laugh.

  “What? You’ve never heard of it before.”

  “Apparently I’ve been missing out.”

  “No, you haven’t. You could give a master class in arm porn.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement. Maybe I could be your professor.” I squeeze her waist and she squirms, not doing anything to calm my cock. It’s hyper aware of every move she makes.

  “You know, there are veins elsewhere on my body as well. You should check them out. It can be your first lesson as my student.” I clear my throat. “Today, class, we will be examining the veins of the nether regions.”

  She throws her head back with a laugh. “The nether regions?”

  “Are you unfamiliar with it? Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” I guide her down my torso, and she complies, shimmying her way, her soft hair a caress over my skin as she moves. “You see? Many veins to explore.”

  I feel the warmth of her breath on my thighs as her fingers tease my length. “What happened here?”

  “Where now, love?” I glance down at her, the sight of her examining my cock too much to take. I have to swallow before answering. “Ah, I was pierced.”

  She lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Why on earth would you pierce yourself?”

  “Well, several reasons, really. I had a bet with Matty; he’s our bass player. And it just so happens that the sensation is mind-blowing.”

  “Huh. I’ve never been with a guy who’s pierced,” she says, almost in awe as she pulls her thumb over the flared head of my cock.

  “Never? Hmm. Do you want me to put it back in? It’s painful as fuck when you get it done, but it’s worth it.” She hums, glancing up at me as she pulls me into the warmth of her mouth. I drop my head back with a groan. “Tell me I get to have you all day. You don’t have to work on Syd’s dress. There’s plenty of time.”

  She releases me with a pop, her tongue teasing the crease of my thigh. “There’s not, actually.”

  “Come on. Just the day, oh and overnight. Call it another experiment.” I sound like I’m begging.

  “Where are you taking me?” My little tease strokes over my length at a long, languid pace.

  I roll my hips as her hand tightens at my base. “It’s a surprise,” I croak out.

  “Pretty sure surprises aren’t part of experiments. Or if they are, I missed that part of chemistry class.”

  “Hey now, some of the best discoveries in the world have come from a surprise.”

  She runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “Really, professor? Please do school me.”

  I’m a panting mess. Desire flares with white-hot heat. “Play-Doh, for example.”

  She lifts her gaze to mine again, all the while continuing to pump my length. “Play-Doh?”

  “Mmm. It was supposed to be wallpaper cleaner. That was an epic fail that turned into the joyful surprise that is Play-Doh.”

  She lifts her hand to mine, setting it at the back of her neck. “I’m pretty sure that’s an urban legend.”

  Gripping her hair, I guide her forward. “So am I, Fly-girl.”

  “You have to at least give me a hint on where you’re taking me.” She’s quite the negotiator while she’s denying me her mouth until I give her what she wants.

  I take a firm tug of her hair, enjoying her little groan in response. “No hints. Other than dress casual.”

  “I have to be back tomorrow by eleven.”

  I lean up as she takes her time gliding her tongue against my abs. “You know, I’m hearing blah, blah, blah, when all I want to hear is, ‘Yes, my amazing boyfriend. I can’t wait to spend the next twenty-four hours with your undivided attention.’ ”

  She nips at my hip, making my muscles tense. “I mean it. Eleven tomorrow. I have to be back here, Sean. I have a final fitting with a woman whose main goal in life seems to be getting on the top of the bridezilla list.”

  Threading my fingers through her hair, I concede. Mostly because it means she can focus on my cock, but partially because I think compromise is probably a good thing. “Fine, Cinderella. I’ll have y
ou back by eleven. I swear on the queen.”

  She gives me a satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

  “I know how you can thank me.” Grinning, I reach over to my wallet by the nightstand, scowling. “I’m out of condoms. Tell me you have some.” Good God, I didn’t realize my voice could actually sound this pathetic.

  “Afraid not, London. I don’t exactly have a lot of guys over like this.”

  I flop back to the bed. “Fuck me.”

  She laughs, her hand resting on my arm. “Sorry, no can do.”

  I lean up again, taking her face between my hands. “I’m clean. I swear to fuck I am. I’m always telling the guys to wrap it more than once if you can. I’ve never done it without one.”

  “Be that as it may, better safe than sorry,” she whispers, her hand tightening against the back of my neck.

  My cock practically cries in protest. “Isn’t every woman on the pill or some other form of birth control?”

  She shakes her head, her fingers continuing their path along my bicep. “Every woman probably tells you that. And I am on the pill, but I think we should probably wait. You know? Get tested?”

  I glance at the ceiling. “I promise when we’re back, I’ll get the works. Every single test there is.”

  She smiles, resting her forehead against mine. “Me too.”

  “In the meantime, there’s plenty we can do, Fly-girl.”

  Two hours later, I’m greeted by a casually sexy Cassidy, looking at me like I’m crazy as I stand on the sidewalk outside of her shop.

  “What’s this?” She waves her hands frantically in front of her.

  “Did you live a deprived childhood in the wilds of Wyoming? This is a bicycle. More precisely, a six-three-zero beach coaster, super soft seat, and cruiser tires.” I sweep my hand across the seat as if I’m in a telly advert.

  Her smile widens. “I know it’s a bike, but why do you have them?”

  “Where we’re going, we don’t need a car.”

  “So you rented me a pink bike?”

  “Ah, yours is the green. Mine is the pink and black one. And they’re not rented. I bought them.”

  Her mouth drops open as she adjusts her backpack. “You had time to buy bikes this morning?”