by Remy Landon
“Yes, that would be thanks to me. Ingrid made me clean it out the second we got here.” She opened the door to the small dressing room and gasped as she felt Carlo's arms go around her waist. He spun her around and pulled her against him, so close that she had to arch her back to look up at him. One of his hands slid up to grasp her ponytail, holding it firmly. He bent down to kiss her, and she sighed against his mouth just before his tongue slid between her lips.
“I've been wanting to do that ever since I got here,” he murmured.
“That's ironic, because I've been wanting you to. In fact, I want you to do it again.” She was feeling bold, empowered—daring enough to pull his face down for another kiss.
He took her hands from his neck and put them behind her back. “I'm in charge, remember?”
She sensed a shift in his mood. “I'm sorry. I've just...missed you.”
Carlo was silent, his eyes drifting over her face. “What have you missed, Cassandra?” His voice and expression were somber.
What was he thinking? Tentatively, she slipped her hands out of his and touched her fingers to his lips. “I've missed your mouth. And your face.” She slid her hands down to his biceps and squeezed. “And these arms.” Feeling even braver, she moved her hand to the front of his pants, gently grasping. “And most definitely, this.”
He drew in his breath, growing large in her hand.
“Men can't hide what they feel physically, can they?”
“No,” he said huskily, his lips at her ear. “They can't.”
The faint glimmer of vulnerability she sensed within him fueled her daring. Still groping his cock, she lifted her other hand to the top of his head, stroking his rumpled hair. “But you can hide what you're thinking.” She hesitated and then spoke again, softly. “What are you hiding in here, Carlo?”
His eyes were closed as his breathing began to quicken.
Her hand moved down to his chest. She flattened her fingers over his heart. “And in here?”
Roughly, Carlo took her hands away from his body, once again bending her arms behind her back. He began to kiss her again, hungrily, and she realized that right now, he was giving her all he could.
chapter thirty ~ Carlo
Whispering, rustling...those sounds come first, hushed and soothing. Then another sound, this one grating...a long, high-pitched wail. Relentless, scraping against the sides of his skull and drowning out the rustling. He blinks. Everything is blurred, like images in a soft watercolor painting. There are tall, spindly, stick-like figures swaying high overhead, and the rustling seems to coincide with their movement. He wants to look more closely and tries to lift his head, but the weight of it makes this too difficult. Suddenly, there is brilliant, flooding light, illuminating the spindly figures which are shades of green and pale gold, and he now recognizes what they are. Cornstalks. He is lying in a cornfield.
But why? How? He contemplates these questions calmly as the wailing sound intensifies. Shifting on the ground, he feels the first stabs of searing pain, followed by mind-numbing fear. And then he begins to scream.
Carlo awoke with a start, pulling himself to a sitting position. He was gasping for breath, the bedclothes bunched and twisted beneath him as though he'd been thrashing around in his sleep, his skin clammy with sweat.
This room looked unfamiliar. Where was he? As the fog of sleep lifted, the answer came to him: hotel room...sales meeting...San Antonio.
His chest was heaving. He raked a hand through his hair, then balled his fingers into a fist and savagely punched the mattress. “Breathe,” he said aloud, harshly. “Just fucking breathe.”
It had been almost a year since he'd had the dream. He'd thought—hoped—he was past this, but then again, it was early fall—if there was going to be a recurrence, it would be at this time of year. And the way things were with Cassandra had undoubtedly messed with his psyche.
Relief that he was no longer in the throes of the dream settled into him, relaxing his tense muscles and clearing his mind. Adjusting the pillows and settling back against them, Carlo recalled the scene in the horse trailer. Cassandra had never acted so forward with him before. What had prompted it? He frowned. He'd let himself slip that day; the balance of power had shifted. For whatever reason, he had been susceptible, and she had sensed this. He should have corrected her boldness, but he'd been feeling uncharacteristically weak. It wouldn't happen again.
He could hear murmurs through the wall in the next room—Brock's room. And now, unmistakable groaning interspersed with a plaintive, feminine voice. Brock had been hitting on a voluptuous blonde at the bar—apparently successfully. Leave it to Dall to find a fuck buddy the first night in San Antonio. There would probably be a different one tomorrow.
Carlo rubbed his eyes, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand and drinking thirstily. He was feeling calmer now, and wide awake. Now, he could think.
Ending his relationship with Cassandra without meeting the ultimate goal was not an option. He would have to tie up any loose ends—get everything back on his terms, especially after how things were left at Devon. And he would start now. He couldn't sleep, anyway, not until he got some assurance that Cassandra would get back where he needed her to be.
He reached for his iPhone beside the water glass, found Cassandra in his contacts and tapped Facetime. The two of them had never communicated like this before, but he needed to see her. Watch her.
He felt a twinge of guilt at calling her in the middle of the night; he didn't like the thought of scaring her, but he had made his decision.
He waited. And then, her image...dim and shadowy. She was blinking and bewildered, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her voice husky and blurred with sleep. “Carlo? What is it?” He could hear the uncertainty seep into her words. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong...I couldn't sleep, and I wanted to talk to you.”
The video shifted jerkily from her face to a white headboard and back to her face again as she sat up in her bed. She appeared to be wearing a thin white tank top. Suddenly, the screen went dark.
“Cassandra? Are you there?”
After a few seconds, a hesitant and muffled yes.
“Why am I not seeing you?”
“Because I'm covering up the camera. I look like crap.”
“Stop. Take your hand away.”
He could hear her sigh, and then her image came back into view. Carlo watched, amused, as Cassandra tugged her free hand through her long hair, easing it down the mass of tangled strands and wincing. She looked sleepy and childlike and lovely.
“You don't have to do that, Cassandra.”
“Do what?” she mumbled.
“Fix your hair. You look beautiful just as you are.”
She yawned and covered her mouth, looking into the camera reproachfully.
“I've missed you.”
Her face softened. “You have?”
“Yes. I've been thinking a lot about you.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling shyly. “I've been thinking about you, too.”
“One of the things I've been thinking is how much I want to fuck you.”
This appeared to wake her up. Her chin lifted slightly.
“Are you wanting me to?”
Cassandra turned slightly away, biting her lip.
“Please look into the camera, Cassandra, and answer me.”
She brought her gaze back to him. Her voice was very small. “Yes.”
“I need to know if you are ready for it.”
“I am.”
“I mean ready in the sense of what I need you to do. How I need you to be.” He paused. “As I told you before, I have to have things a certain way. And right now, I want you to do something for me.”
Her eyes were large, expectant. “What do you want?”
“I want you to put the phone against something and stand in front of it. I want both of your hands to be free, and I need to be able to see more of your body.”
She took a long, shaky breath. “Carlo...”
“Show me that you're ready to do what I'm asking.”
Another deep breath, and then movement. She was getting off the bed. The image of the room tilted as she walked, and then she set the phone down.
She took a few steps away from the camera so that her body from the waist up was in view.
“Step back a bit more.”
She obeyed. Now he could see the narrow band of bare skin between her white tank top and panties.
“Have you ever had phone sex before, Cassandra?”
“No,” she whispered. Her hands were clasped in front of her. He cradled the phone in his hand, wishing they weren't fifteen hundred miles apart, wishing he could be in the same room with her right now. He looked closely at her image. He could see the hardened points of her nipples through her tank top.
“Are you nervous?”
She nodded.
“Will you do what I ask, without hesitating?”
She nodded again.
“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly. He leaned back against the headboard, sliding his free hand down his boxers to begin stroking himself. “Take off your top.”
Cassandra wriggled first one arm free, then the other, and let the tank top fall to the floor. She stood, her arms straight at her sides, and Carlo was pleasantly surprised she didn't try to cover herself. Her breasts were round, perfect. He wanted to hold them, feel her nipples in his mouth.
“Touch them,” he said, his voice raspy with desire. “Touch them like you'd want me to.”
He watched as her hands moved upward, her fingers finding her nipples. She was closing her eyes, her head tipped back slightly, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in soft waves. He watched, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps, as she stroked and tweaked her nipples.
“Take off your panties, Cassandra,” he commanded. He stopped his own stroking; he didn't want to come just yet.
She slipped them off, once again positioning herself in front of the camera phone. She stood with her arms again at her sides, legs slightly apart, eyes closed, waiting for his instructions. Christ, how he wanted to fuck her right now. She was so beautiful, petite and toned and perfectly proportioned.
There was one more thing he would ask of her, and then he would know for sure.
“Stroke yourself,” he ordered, his cock straining against his boxers, “and pretend I'm touching you.”
Wrapping one arm around her waist as if to steady herself, Cassandra widened her stance. She slid her other hand down and began to caress the folds between her legs, moaning ever so softly as she bent two fingers and pushed them inside her opening.
Carlo couldn't wait any longer. With one hand, he pushed his boxers down to his knees. He resumed his stroking, faster and faster until he was groaning, watching Cassandra's fingers slide in and out of her.
He exploded within seconds, his ecstasy matched only by knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had Cassandra exactly where he needed her to be. She was ready.
chapter thirty-one ~ Cassandra
She had always been jumpy and shuddery when she knew she'd be seeing Carlo, but this time felt different. Driving to his house in Lititz, Cassandra reached a trembling hand for the bottled water in the cup holder and drank. The bottle was almost empty. She hoped she wouldn't have to pee a small pond once she got to Carlo's, but her mouth was so effing dry—in contrast to her fingers, which felt damp as they gripped the wheel. Calm the fuck down, she berated herself. You're going to his house to have sex with him, not get beheaded.
Of course, it wasn't the actual sex that was the root of her anxiety. It was the unknown—what he expected of her. What he would ask of her. She shivered. He had come to have this incredible, inexplicable hold on her that she'd never experienced before. She found herself almost craving him to make her do things. Last week, FaceTiming with him, it felt as though she was in a dreamlike state. She had never been so uninhibited with him before, had never complied so readily with what he asked of her. Correction: with what he ordered her. It was one of the most intensely erotic experiences she'd ever had. After they'd hung up, she had climbed back in bed and given herself an orgasm—woke up early in the morning, thought of what she'd done, and brought herself to another climax in the shower.
He had become like a drug for her, and although she'd fought like hell to fight the addiction, she was hooked.
And now, tonight, they would finally...she paused in her thinking, not exactly sure what to call it. Make love? Fuck? Somewhere in between. The butterflies in her stomach had turned into herons as she remembered his phone call last night.
Wear a casual dress, he had told her. Something simple, but I want it to show off your breasts. Bare legs, black panties, black push-up bra. No jewelry, no perfume and very little makeup. You don't need it, anyway. Wear your hair up. No alcohol or any mood-altering drugs of any kind. And I want you to shave your pussy the night before.
The last instruction had caused an immediate throbbing in that area, imagining what he might do to her and recalling that night he'd gone down on her against the wall.
Do you have any questions?
No, she had replied, although her mind was peppered with them. What are you going to do to me? Will it be slow and gentle, or quick and rough? Will anything hurt? Will you get angry if there is something I can't do?
And perhaps the most pressing question of all: How will we be afterwards?
Her cell phone rang, jarring her out of her reverie. She glanced down at the passenger seat. It was Teal. Talking to her would be a good diversion. “Hey.”
Teal was indignant. “Did you forget you were supposed to call me back?”
Oh, shit. “Ughh, sorry...I've just had a lot going on lately.”
“Let me guess...Carlo.”
“Work, mostly.”
“And Carlo. Where are you, anyway?”
Cassandra grinned. “Driving to Carlo's.” She paused. Oh, what the hell...she might as well tell her. “I think tonight's the night.”
“What? You mean, you're finally going to do the nasty?”
“Yes, and what a lovely way to put it.”
“My God, Cass...you must be freaking out!”
“Basically.” The herons inside her, flapping again. Okay, so maybe Teal wouldn't be such a good diversion.
“But this is good, right? You've been wanting to for a while now.”
“Yes.”
“So how did this all come about? Did he ask you, or did you say Carlo, I really, really want to fuck you six ways to Sunday?”
“Neither. Things got kind of intense last week.” The FaceTime incident was too private to share. “I guess we decided we were both...ready.”
“I'm so happy for you, my love! This could be turning into something serious.” Her voice took on a sly tone. “And I'm thinking he's going to be totally amazing.”
I'm thinking that, too.
“Listen, I'm just heading into class. I can't wait to hear how everything goes. Call me tomorrow with all the deets, okay?”
“Okay. Love you.”
Cassandra ended the call and turned onto Carlo's road. Her heart was beating wildly as she pulled into his driveway. Her armpits felt sticky; thank God she'd brought deodorant. She applied it discreetly in the car and hoped Carlo wasn't watching from the house.
He had liked her in the purple gown she'd worn for Gianna's engagement party, so she had bought a simple, violet mini-dress, knee-length and clingy, with a scoop neck and tight bodice. Since early October nights could be cool, she'd brought a cropped gray cardigan sweater to wear over the dress. He hadn't mentioned anything about shoes, but she'd worn silver flats.
By the time she stepped onto the brick walkway, her thoughts had collected and twisted into one giant clusterfuck. She curled her fingers into fists as she approached the front door, hoping the mind scream reverberating in her skull wouldn't exit through her mouth.
All at once, it had become overwhelming: the time it had taken to get to this point, combined with how long it had been since she'd actually had sex with anyone, compounded by not knowing exactly what was in store for her. For a split second, she considered getting back in her car and driving away. But all of this changed when the door opened, and she saw him.
Carlo leaned against the door frame in a black t-shirt and faded jeans, giving her that trademark lazy grin and warming her from scalp to toes. He was clean-shaven tonight, his hair damp and disheveled as if he'd towel-dried it after a shampoo, and he appeared calm and relaxed—as if tonight was just any other night. But as she came closer and looked in his eyes, she could see something simmering there: an eagerness and intensity she hadn't seen before.
“Come in.”
She followed him into the entryway and was immediately swept into his arms. The suddenness of this moved her; it was as if he knew she needed to be held. She stood with her head pressed against his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He nuzzled her hair. “I'm glad you're here.”
“Me too.”
“Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
“Good. You're early,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Couldn't wait to get started?”
She huffed in protest, flattening her hands against his chest, but he held her tight, chiding her. “That's not allowed.”
“What isn't allowed?”
“Pushing me away.”
His voice had changed—stern, serious. She let her hands relax against him.
“Much better.” He took a step back, his eyes raking over her approvingly. “You look amazing. The dress, the hair—you did very well.”
“Thank you. I had a little guidance.” Cassandra smiled and raised her chin so she could meet his gaze. Eye contact was still challenging for her, but she knew this was one of the things he expected, and she wanted to start the evening off right.
His eyes looked more gray than blue tonight, and as she looked into their depths, something in them changed. The intense want was replaced by a flicker of raw emotion that seemed almost imploring—as if she was seeing deep into Carlo Leone's soul for the first time.