Love Unbound

by Cassandra Dee

  “I did remember. But that’s not why I picked it.”

  As I take another spoonful, I shoot him a quizzical look. A tiny drip of chocolate trickles down my chin. But before I can wipe it off, Kyle leans forward, those blue eyes magnetic.

  “I picked it,” he rumbles, “because chocolate is an aphrodisiac.” He reaches over, swirls the chocolate from my skin with the tip of his finger, then slides his candied digit into my mouth.

  Lost in the sudden erotic charge of the moment, I tenderly suck the flavor from his finger, the taste a tantalizing blend of the delectable dessert and the musky tang of man. I can feel the lightest wetness creep between my legs as he withdraws his finger, glistening and hard.

  “So,” Kyle growls, his body hard and imposing. “Are you ready, sweetheart? I pre-paid so we’re ready to go anytime.”

  And a thrill rushes in my stomach, insides going loose and wet. Because yes, this is what I want. I’ve seen the billionaire for who he really is now – a man with wants, fears, and needs just like any other. And it’s safe to say that I’m falling in love with my savior.

  *

  The powerful car hums along the road, tires spinning as my mind goes a thousand miles a second. How did it feel for him when I sucked on his finger? Did it turn him on? Can he smell how damp my panties got from having him in my mouth like that?

  And shamefully, my body flushes. Because I want Kyle to like it. I want him to be just as turned on as me.

  But it’s hard to tell, that massive male form hard and imposing on the other side of the car. And for the first time, our drive does not lead us down the familiar side streets to my front door. Tonight, we cruise all the way to the coast, to Marina del Rey, where Kyle takes my hand and guides me to a private slip where a sleek silver motorboat is docked. He tucks my wrap around my shoulders, fires up the throttle, and guides us through wine-dark waves to a 220-foot yacht anchored about a nautical mile off shore.

  “What?” is my breathless gasp. “Where are we?”

  Kyle slips his arm around my shoulder as he steers with one hand. “So I hope you understand why I wanted to wait,” is that masculine growl, “before I gave you a night like tonight. A lot of women just bail if they don’t get on board the CMI One by date number two.”

  It’s mind-boggling to me because none of these things matter and I tell him.

  “Kyle,” are my slow words. “You know that I can’t put into words what you’ve done for me and my dad. And this,” I say gesturing to the boat and car, “These are just objects. It’s not the real you. I would have liked you anyways.”

  The man stops suddenly, pinning me with that blue gaze, gleaming even in the darkness of night. And then he’s on me, our lips sealed in a kiss that makes my heart pound. Because this is the man who helped my ill father, and this is the man that I’m giving myself to.

  But then he pulls back and takes my hand, leading me on-board. His massive chest is rising and falling quickly, like he can’t catch his breath. Did I do that? Does the alpha feel everything that I’m feeling? And as the stern lamps of the crew’s boat vanish into the light fog, he takes my hand again, leading me down a plush staircase to the captain’s quarters.

  The room we enter together is as elegant as the most lavish hotel suite I’ve ever stayed in, with sleek azure blue carpeting, a California king-sized bed with black silk sheets. Much to my astonishment, there’s a roaring wood-burning fireplace, burning so hot that immediately, my skin warms.

  I’ve slipped off my shoes before Kyle even says a word. He closes the door behind us with a whispering click, then eases across the floor to me, as smoothly as if he’s moving on soles made of pure velvet.

  “Sarah. Do you remember the night we met?”

  “Of course I do. How could I forget the strangest, most wonderful night of my life?”

  “Then I’m sure you remember what I told you that night. About how if all I wanted was to sleep with someone, I could do that any night of the week, with no problem. Well, I could, and I can. And in the past, I have. And I have to tell you. Spending your nights, sharing your bed, with women who are only there for the money…you have no idea how old that gets after a while.”

  His arms encircle my waist, hands clenching the small of my back with just the slightest touch of possessive hunger. I slide my fingers up his rippling arm muscles, thinking to myself how sure I am the money wasn’t the only reason those other women wanted him. But tonight, they don’t have him, do they? Tonight, Kyle Channing is mine, and only mine.

  “But these last two months, seeing who you are, what you’re made of, how you give and give to your father,” he says roughly. “I needed you. I need you.”

  “Kyle,” I say, taking his face in my hands. “I know in your line of work, you’re used to the hard sell. But believe me. I am sold.”

  Without another breath, our mouths are together, tongues twining over and around one another. He tastes like musk and heat. My fingers plunge up through his tousled ebony hair, the better to pull his mouth to mine.

  His hands skim down my back, taking my rear in his insistent grip. He kneads my cheeks as he uses his hands to draw me tighter to him. My dress and his pants are both sheer enough to practically feel the blood thrumming through the veins of his fully engorged member.

  His tongue slides over my cheek, and his teeth bite down on my right earlobe. He sucks it between his lips, tongue flicking the heart-shaped silver stud before he rasps in my ear, “You have no idea how bad I’ve been wanting this.”

  Before I can sigh out a reply, he slides his tongue down my cleavage and drops to a squat, hiking my dress over my hips. He’s greeted by a purple satin thong, the patch between my legs soaked through almost to black. He runs his tongue over the tangy moistness, then tugs it aside, revealing my slick mound and a clit swollen crimson with anticipation.

  His tongue darts between my legs like he’s lapping water from a life-giving stream. My knees almost buckle, and I kick my heels off one at a time, the better to plant my feet so he can really work his face in there. This time, I don’t have to bite my fist. This time, it’s just Kyle and me, with no one to hear our ecstasy but each other. My grunts are full, guttural, punctuated by thick intakes of increasingly sex-musky air. I tug the front of my dress down off my shoulders, rubbing my right breast, twisting the nipple between my fingers. He sees this and slides one hand off my buttocks to grind his own fingers into the left breast, tweaking the nipple with his thumb in time to his licks. He’s got a rhythm going: a quick downstroke on which he shoves the point of his tongue between my undulating lips, a sharp upstroke, making sure to flick the clit hard on the way, then a snaky swirl to finish the round. I gasp, arching my back, giving it all to this man.

  As he clamps his mouth around my right vaginal lip, humming with a charged vibration that turns my groans into full-on panting, he shoves two fingers deep inside me with his right hand, up to the top knuckle, almost making me come immediately. With a strength that catches me by surprise, he lifts me with one hand as he stands. He wraps my legs around his head, burying his nose in my mound as he carries me to the bed.

  As soon as we tumble onto the mattress, I flip him onto his back and shimmy down till I’m eye-level with his belt. I deftly unbutton his fly, and the penis that unfurls is a thing of illicit beauty. The skin is darker than his body’s, almost purple from the blood coursing through the sinewy veins. He’s cut, a pearl of pre-come awaiting me on the tip.

  Kyle laughs at my newfound erotic confidence, but it quickly morphs into an almost giddy intake of air as I work him deep into my mouth. The salty pre-come hits the back of my tonsils, and I slip my own fingers inside me to keep the juice flowing. Saliva oozes freely from between my lips, eddying down the creases of his sack as my head pumps up and down like a piston. He puts his hand on the back of my neck, bracing me as he counters with hip thrusts, just hard enough that the shaft goes about a full inch down my throat, the wetness of the back of my tongue teasing out more pr
e-come to savor.

  I never move my mouth from him as he swings me into a pivot for a session of 69. Kyle eases his tongue up and down my crack, gently tugging my cheeks apart to slide inside. I suck and lick his massive member, groaning with feverish delight as he plays me like a maestro with his tongue, two fingers, and his thumb.

  When I feel his testicles contract, like he’s getting ready to ejaculate, I clench the base of the shaft hard, the better to keep him from finishing too soon, and turn, never pulling my eyes from his as I ease every millimeter of rock-steady flesh into my sopping wet opening. Now it’s my turn to hypnotize you, I think, as I ride him with fierce, committed abandon, controlling my pace to bring him to the brink of explosion, then slowing my hips, kissing his neck, chest, and nipples while he rests inside me, slick with my fluids, aching for more.

  “Jesus,” he sighs as I reach back to massage his sack, never slowing my perpetual-motion pace. “I know you’re hot, but I never thought it was going to be like this.”

  “Neither did I,” I groan. “Guess us curvy girls got it going on when we want to, huh?”

  “You are not just curvy, Sarah,” Kyle pants. “You’re exquisite.” With that, he rears up, suckling my right nipple as he roughly massages the breast surrounding it. He returns the favor on the left side, tugging the nipple with his teeth hard enough to make me yelp. He pulls me up by my waist, a tendril of our mingled sex fluids trailing off his member as it emerges, and flips me over, spreading me wide on all fours. He kneels behind me, slapping my vagina with his sex-slicked organ, cupping my right breast with his hand as he teases my clit with the come-glazed tip of his shaft. “How bad do you want me, baby?”

  “I don’t want you bad,” I purr. “I want you good, Kyle. I want you so, so good…”

  His teeth again lock down on my earlobe as he gently eases his full rod back inside me. He doesn’t stop until I can feel the rough skin of his sack flush against my pelvis. I wince as he gives it one last nudge home, then sink my teeth into the sheets as he moves in and out, his unwavering hardness stretching me to accommodate his full girth. Soon, he’s drawing out everything but the head, then slamming it deep, his sack slapping my lips with a thick, tantalizing thwack.

  “It’s so goddamn good, baby,” he says through gritted teeth, drawing out for a second that feels like forever, then blasting back into me like I was sculpted to fit his length. He pulls out again and, as my legs spasm like an earthquake’s going through them, I squirt a full spray of fluids, drenching his still-throbbing cock and running down his legs.

  I’ve barely caught my breath before Kyle says “Round two?” With a grin, he clamps his hands down on my buttocks, eases himself back inside me, and works my body hard for the next hour. I’ve never had more than one orgasm during sex before, but I’ve never been with an erotic Olympian like Kyle before. I squirt twice more before, with a shuddering groan, he finally empties a gushing stream of himself into me. He releases his vise-like grip on my behind and slumps onto the mattress next to me, torso heaving up and down as his breathing slowly decelerates to normal.

  “Well,” Kyle says, finally able to speak through the haze of bliss enveloping us both, “That was worth every second of the wait.”

  I answer him with a kiss. I can taste my own fluids, still on his lips and chin.

  “It’s sweet,” I whisper through my joy.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “Must have been the chocolate.”

  *

  Kyle and I are tangled in the sheets and one another when I’m awakened by the sound of vibrating from across the room. Our commingled sweat has made us stick together just slightly. I don’t mind. If I could climb inside this man, inside the way I feel right now, and live there for the rest of my life, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

  Then, the vibrating again. I shoot my head around the room before I realize it’s coming from my bag, on the sofa near the coffee table across the room. I must have gotten a text. Probably Dad checking in. I didn’t know I’d be spending the night with Kyle, so he might have gotten worried when he didn’t hear the familiar knock of me letting him know I was home.

  Then, without warning, a wave of worry crashes over me. Dad’s from a generation of men who never wanted to be seen as a burden to anyone. When I had to start cooking his meals, changing his sheets, eventually emptying his bedpans, he always resented the idea of being someone else’s responsibility. And I remember, clear as day, what he said when I told him I’d added him to my phone plan, and presented him with his first iPhone:

  “Don’t worry, Sarahbelle. I won’t always be bugging you to bring home juice or magazines or something. Unless it’s something really wrong, you won’t hear a peep out of me on this thing.”

  Unless it’s something REALLY wrong.

  I leap out of bed. Kyle groans, shifts on the mattress, as I dash across the floor to my bag. “Mmm, baby,” he says, reaching over my now-empty side of the bed. “You said you didn’t have anything to do this morning. I was hoping we could get in round three before breakfast.”

  All I can think, as I fumble my phone from my bag, is please no please no the one night I stay away from home PLEASE GOD NO…

  There’s one missed phone call. Sure enough, it’s from Dad. I play the voicemail.

  For a moment, I think I’m getting some kind of static. Then I realize it’s the sound of wheezing. Then, through the labored breathing, the words:

  “Sarahbelle. I don’t know where you are, but I, I’m not…I’m not doing too good…”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kyle must break some kind of land speed record as we hurtle through the crosstown traffic to my place. Along the way, he has an EMT team dispatched from Cedars to my house, and somehow, through my piteous whimpering, I tell them where I hide the spare key so they can let themselves in. When the paramedics call us back, telling us they’ve found Dad outside the bathroom, face down in a puddle of diarrhea and blood-streaked vomit, Kyle coolly rattles off the names of the hospital’s head oncology nurse, the admin nurse on the surgery floor, even the hospital administrator whose name was on the treatment invoice he received in the mail. Then, as he swings the car away from the typical driving-Sarah-home route and towards Cedars-Sinai, I instruct the EMTs on where to find the packed overnight bag I keep in Dad’s closet for situations like these.

  “Make sure there are some street clothes in there,” Kyle growls. “For when it’s time for him to come home.”

  His words make my stomach turn because I didn’t pack anything like that. Because I always assumed, when Dad finally went to the hospital, that it was going to be for the last time.

  But my man is moving in a blur. As soon as he’s satisfied Dad will be at Cedars before we arrive, he punches up another number on his dash-mounted iPhone. I immediately recognize the name. Jim Selkirk is the bone specialist scheduled to operate on my father. But that’s not supposed to be for another month still, which Kyle swore was as early as humanly possible.

  A voice on the other end of the line stifles a laugh at something someone said wherever he is, before he says, “Hello?”

  “Jim. Kyle Channing.”

  “Cranny! Hey, we missed you at the symphony ball last week. We were all hoping to meet this mystery woman you keep -”

  “Jim, I really don’t have time. The woman you were just talking about. You know her dad? The one you’re seeing on the 24th?”

  “How could I forget? It’s not the craziest pre-surgery story I’ve ever heard, but it’s close.”

  “Well, he’s taken a turn for the worse. Like, bad. EMTs are taking him in right now. Jim, we gotta jump the line on this. You have to see him today.”

  I find myself fighting back last night’s dinner as Dr. Selkirk heaves a sigh. “Kyle, you know there are protocols in place. If we start playing favorites with patients, the AMA’s gonna be on us so fast you -”

  “This isn’t about playing favorites, Jim. It’s about prioritizing an emergency. Ralph Endicott has got to be seen
today. He’s gotta get that surgery today, Jim. I’m not kidding.”

  “Look, man, I know you got a thing for the daughter. But I’m here with my kids, we’re heading down to the Laguna house for a long weekend. If it’s as bad as you’re saying, I’m sure they’ll call me, but -”

  “I’m in love with her! Do you hear me? I do not just have a ‘thing’ for this woman. I’m in love with her!

  My jaw drops. Neither Kyle or I have exchanged any type of promises or vows. And yet, now he’s declaring himself? On a car phone no less? But he’s not hiding it from my ears either. Even with the panic and terror jolting through every fiber of my being like electricity at this moment, the thrill of hearing this man say he loves me, and knowing I love him too, cuts through the fear like a beam of light.

  But at that moment, Kyle’s every atom is fixated on Jim Selkirk. “Now I know you love your kids, and your Laguna house, and your goddamn symphony ball. But I swear, if I don’t get to Cedars and find you scrubbing up, I will go to the AMA and tell them you turned away a dying man ‘cause you wanted to go to the fucking beach!”

  Kyle clicks off the call, closing his eyes as he struggles to pull himself together. He opens them again when he feels my fingers curling around his free hand.

  “You okay?” he asks me, giving my hand a squeeze of his own.

  “Yes,” I murmur. “I’ll be okay.”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, not really sure how I feel about what I just heard.

  “You know, that’s not…really how I wanted to tell you I -” he stammers. For once, the big man is at a loss for words.

  “I know,” I reassure him. “But I’ll take it.”

  And at that moment, there are two things that are certain.

  One, the doctor will be prepped and ready for surgery before we arrive at the oncology waiting area.