Into Her Fantasies -- A Contemporary Romance: The Cimarrons: Royals of Arcadia Island (The Cimarron Series Book 3)

by Angel Payne

  Who watched every move he made now, tongue working over her lips, as he turned off the device then secured it into a pocket of his cargo pants. Who noticed he was still wearing cargo pants instead of his high-fashion office threads, topped by a Henley in a color matching his eyes. Whose heart tripped several beats as those eyes darkened, fastening to her with deliberate intent…

  Who then stammered lamely, “Uh…hey.”

  He didn’t move. Just regarded me like a gorgeous hunk of coastal rock, letting my words soak around him before finally stating, “Hello, tupulai.”

  I gulped.

  He watched.

  Tupulai. Why did I feel like he meant it in the original form of the word and not as an endearment?

  Trouble.

  No. Ridiculous. I hadn’t done anything to earn it.

  But then he paced directly toward me. At the last minute, stepped around me.

  And as he kept going, ducking off the main path between the thick ferns, juniper, and oleander, clasped my hand tight against his.

  “Whoa.” I jerked stumbled to keep up with his wide strides. “Where the hell are we—”

  “Did you receive my texts?”

  Tight huff. “You know I did.”

  “And what did they say?”

  I tried twisting my hand free. No way was his iron grip letting that happen. “I’m not four,” I snapped.

  He barked a laugh. “Thank fuck.”

  “What the hell is your point?” I finally yanked hard enough to at least slow him. “Did you come all the way out here just to rub it in that you finally proposed to Ambyr?”

  He stopped.

  We both skidded hard.

  Until he wheeled, pinning me between his unyielding body and a tall cypress trunk.

  We were a good twenty feet deeper into the grove, invisible to anyone on the main path, and his new move made that even more true. With his arms stretched out, grabbing a pair of low-lying branches over my head, I was trapped in a Cimarron-style cage.

  “You truly thought I was with Ambyr?”

  “Well, what the hell else was I supposed to—”

  “I was not with Ambyr.”

  “Okay, okay.” I squirmed. Couldn’t help it. The reawakened bursts of energy through my body, just because he was close enough to smell, to touch, to absorb once more, were…incredible. “But do you blame me for—”

  “I was not with Ambyr.”

  “Shit. All right.”

  He pressed forward. Surrounded everything I could see, only with his startling beauty and his potent ire. “You believe me.”

  Definitely not a question.

  I breathed deep then quietly murmured, “Yes.”

  “Then say it.”

  My teeth locked. The balls he possessed, going all demigod dictator on me—

  Dammit.

  As if he already knew how my body would respond…

  Opening to every note of his command.

  Heating, sizzling, awakening, craving.

  Savoring every damn second of the fantasies he brought to life for me…

  Again.

  “I believe you.”

  He came even closer, fitting his body to mine with a sweep of graceful confidence. Heated my hair with his exhalation, compelling my head to rock back, just in time to drag my eyes open for his quiet, brash smile.

  Holy God, he was breathtaking.

  “Shiraz.” It escaped in a rasp as both my hands slid up his chest, molding over the incredible mounds of his pecs and shoulders. “You feel so…God, just let me…”

  Thunder flowed up his throat. “Not until you tell me…what did my texts say?”

  I raised my hands around his neck. Swallowed hard as he caressed his mouth to my jaw, flowing his power over the air itself…over me. Pulling me away from myself, from the anxiety over everything in the talk with Ezra, even from the awareness about where we were in relation to seven potential sources of scandalized gossip. He took it all away. He took the damn world away.

  “That—that you’d have to be gone,” I managed to whisper. “And that I knew why.” A whimper spilled out. “But I don’t know why. I thought you were with—”

  “Yes,” he snarled. “We have been over that part.” He rolled his hips, jolting me back to obeisance. “Focus on the rest, Lucina. Focus.”

  How the hell he expected full compliance, with his hips finding their way to the perfect position between mine, made him a mad dictator indeed—not that I didn’t mind a little madness sometimes.

  “I—you—oh shit, shit that feels—”

  “What else, Lucina?”

  “You—ummm—you said that we would discuss things…”

  At last, the approving hum I was waiting for—though I sensed the man didn’t plan on ceasing this torment anytime soon.

  “Very good,” he said against my neck. “That is correct. And we are officially beginning that discussion. Right now.”

  Chapter Twenty

  ‡

  Sure thing, buddy. Let’s get right on that.

  When the only thing I could think of “getting on” was the thick, long rod he ground ruthlessly against my cleft through his thick pants…

  When the only thing I could comprehend “discussing” was how fast we could make it to a bed…

  When the command on his face transformed into the lust through my body, and I wondered if we’d even need a bed…

  But his dictate hadn’t been a suave “suggestion”. He expected one answer only. The response I’d be more than happy to give, if one whopper of a challenge didn’t still stand in the way.

  “Ummm…Master?” He hadn’t demanded that one yet—but no way did his proper name feel right with a tree trunk at my back and his body surrounding me from the front.

  “Yes?”

  “What the hell are we even discussing?”

  He stilled. It helped my tension—a little. While the friction was no longer a torment, the pressure of his cock, so full and hard, still was. His stare was an equal force, wrapping around me like the midnight it resembled. When one side of his mouth kicked up by half an inch, tweaking his look with a roguish combo of Captain Hook and Indiana Jones, that midnight was suddenly burst apart—by an explosion of curiosity.

  Not all the good kind.

  “Shiraz?” Master would have to deal with that. Bulging cock or not, that smirk couldn’t be ignored. “What the hell have you been up to?”

  He tilted his head the other way—looking full of astonishment to match my own. “You really do not know? Samsyn did not keep you…filled in on the scoop?”

  If his hold wasn’t so relentless, I would have wrenched free. I let my glare say as much. “On what scoop? From Samsyn?”

  His brows arched. His jaw ticked. But while those tells communicated ire, his eyes twinkled like a giddy Vin Diesel en route to race a car off a cliff. What the hell? “Did you think I would not draw all the lines of logic, tupulai?”

  Growly huff. It was better than the shoulder punch I originally considered. “About what?”

  He rolled his eyes. Yeah, him. And yeah, it was damn sexy—except for the fact that I was still so irked, the shoulder punch still wasn’t out of the question.

  Finally, he clarified, “About the fact that I spent the night with you, carrying on like a lunatic about my brother’s heroic feats—”

  “You weren’t a lunatic.”

  “Followed by the morning you spent with him at the air strip,” he continued, slamming the mute button to my interjection. “Followed by Syn ordering me back to the rescue center, so I could ‘help him out’ on airlifting some horses stranded on the Asuman cliffs.”

  My eyes bugged. A good thing. That explained the rough-and-ready wardrobe. Another good thing. Best of all, it clarified why he looked a little wind-chapped and a lot happy. Two really good things.

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “Really?”

  His answering look was puzzling. Though his gaze still gleamed, his lips pursed. “Yes,”
he finally replied. “Really. Though I thought you would be the first to be filled in.”

  My own lips twisted. “Why?”

  “Because you were the reason it happened.”

  The man did snarky as well as he did eye rolls—though this wasn’t sexy at all. This was outright accusation, and it was beginning to tick me off. “Is that what Samsyn told you?

  “Of course not.” He frowned. “He had some story about being down on men because people needed to rotate out due to exhaustion. Said that the horses were thoroughbreds, and would have to be counted as collateral damage from the storm if a crew did not get to them.”

  I glowered harder. “He had ‘some story’, huh? And then he went and parked a bunch of expensive thoroughbreds on a cliff too? And told a bunch of men, who’d been working around the clock, to go pretend they were exhausted and asleep—all just for you? All because I talked to him?”

  His mouth contorted. He parked a hand against the tree trunk, drumming his fingers against the wood. Good. Fidget away, asshole.

  “I talked to him simply to enlighten him, Shiraz—to make him see that he had a damn good asset of an extra man sitting in front of him, but that perhaps he was missing something because that guy’s usually hidden under a three-piece suit, attending to a schedule full of important decisions.”

  The drumming stopped. His head dropped in a jerk of surprise. “Important decisions?”

  “His words, not mine.” I caressed fingertips through his heavy stubble. “Though I have to agree with them. You are important around here—even if you need to go gallivanting around on the cliffs, in the middle of the night, to prove it to yourself.”

  He pushed his face against my hand, though his eyes stayed open and ardent the whole time. “Not to prove it…to you?”

  My fingertips curled in, fighting the new arousal from his soft growl. Dear God, what he could do to me with one look and half a dozen words. “I don’t care if you rescue one horse or a hundred…if you’re the prince of a hundred thousand cats, or a hundred thousand people. None of it matters, gorgeous. The man you are, the person you are, is all that matters to me.”

  He turned his head. Pressed his lips to the center of my palm. “And you are the only person who has ever said that…whom I believe.”

  I flattened my hand against his cheek, hoping to share the magic of his kiss with him. His lids lowered, turning his stare sultry, making me think the mission had been a success. He exhaled in shaky spurts. I inhaled in matching measure. More energy sparked and arced between us, throbbing on the air itself now, giving me courage to dare a little jibe.

  “You mean others have called you the prince of cats?”

  A rough purr exuded from him. “That one was a first.”

  My own breath turned shaky. “A wildcat, maybe.” Especially with the way he started rocking against me once more. “One of those black jaguars, with all the interesting patterns across their body.” I swirled fingertips across one of his pecs, envisioning the exotic tattoo across that muscled slab. “A creature only capable of snarls and hisses, instead of phone calls to Los Angeles, talking to the other kitties’ mothers and bosses without them knowing about it.”

  He lowered his arms. Used his powerful grip to palm my thighs then hike them around his waist. Locked me to the tree again as he readjusted our bodies, notching his hardness into my valley with even more throbbing insistence. “You mean properly looking after the other kitties?” he rumbled. “Making sure their mothers and friends do not go mad with worry about their safety in a strange land, after a huge storm?”

  “And distributing untrue impressions about the cat prince’s intentions?”

  That would sure as hell sober him up.

  Or so I’d thought.

  Apparently, stupidly.

  The man looked as if he’d expected every word I flung. Might even be proud of them. As I wrestled with the storm that blasted my psyche from that observation, he finally responded.

  “Hmmm.”

  If I cared to qualify that as a “response”. Not that he looked open to giving me any more options.

  “Hmmm?” No more pectoral caresses for him. This time he got a full smack, enforced by my narrowed stare—answered by the sultry weight of his own. But noticing it didn’t seal me off from the effects of it, molten and mesmerizing in my blood…especially as he leaned even tighter over me, shoulders flexing as if he craved to crawl right into me…

  “Do you have issues with ‘hmmm’, little tupulai?”

  I managed to jog my chin up. Shot him a glare that I mostly meant. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what it means.”

  “Ah.” His lids got even heavier…as his stare descended to my lips. “Perhaps it means a great many things.”

  Shit. The way he could even speak things…

  Could reach inside me with their lush magic, touching me with more than just the sensuality of his voice. He threaded the very fibers of my body with his command, until my blood and tendons sang for him…my inhalations and exhalations sang with need for him…

  “Things like…what?”

  He let his lips hover over mine. “Like how I should be exercising my…princely rights.”

  “Oh?” I let him see my open amusement at that. “Your princely rights to what?”

  His brows pushed together. “To punish you, of course.”

  Well, that did it. The full laugh escaped now. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Because that makes sense…not one fucking bit.”

  He pushed in harder. My hips could no longer move. Secured his hands around my waist, digging into my skin—readily accepting my challenge, as if that were his purpose all along. “I should not discipline you for interceding with my brother?”

  My teeth grinded. His grip hurt, pissing me off—but one second of reengaging his gaze, and I knew that was part of the plan too.

  Well.

  Two could play this game.

  And would enjoy the hell out of it too.

  I scraped my hand from his chest to his neck, twisting my fingers into the ends of his hair—then pulling brutally. “And I shouldn’t discipline you for interceding with my mother?”

  My retort was backed by his long hiss. He tore free from my grip, his head snapping forward, bumping his nose to mine. Within a second, he snapped a hand to my scalp too, locking me in place, forcing my lips to accept the fierce, wet plunge of his mouth.

  I opened for him at once.

  It was heaven.

  I whimpered, digging my hands into his thick, silken strands again, tearing and tangling and hurting him just as he sliced new daggers of pain through me. My heartbeat sped. My senses opened. I was an addict given a taste of my own special crack, and he was my incredible, beautiful supplier.

  And I wanted more.

  Of all of it.

  Of him.

  “No,” he finally grated. “No way. You have dealt your punishment already.”

  I torqued my hold tighter. “What the hell?”

  “Seeing you, back there in the glade…even having to get through one damn minute of not touching you, kissing you…” He gritted his teeth harder. They were blinding white past the contrast of his burnished lips. “It was like being flogged. Having my flesh torn open, then being unable to do anything about it.”

  Hard gulp—to fight the new sprint of my heart. “You’re a melodramatic dork,” I managed to choke, yanking him for a new, slamming kiss. “But there’d better be more where that came from.”

  His lips kicked up, making him too resplendent to resist for another kiss—only this one lasted longer and twirled deeper, our tongues unable to get enough of each other’s, our heat and lust crushing and crashing until we fell to the ground in a pile of panting breaths and groping hands. A huge pile of downed palm fronds formed an impromptu bed, granting me my wish in a primitive kind of way. A perfect kind of way—especially if his next words were what I hoped they’d be.

  Sure enough, after re
leasing me with a sharp jerk, he locked his hard gaze to mine. Issued in a deep snarl, “You shall take your punishment in whatever way I want to give it, woman.”

  I wet my lips before rasping back, “Y-yes, Master.”

  Please, Master.

  We’d landed at a funny diagonal, letting us both get at least one hand at the bare skin of the other. During another fierce kiss, I clawed at his back as he slid a hand up and over my bra, pinching my nipple hard through my bra—though he shoved even that aside, making me moan harder as he tugged at my bare tip with his knowing fingers.

  “Oh my God.” It spilled out atop a gasp, heavy with desire and thick with surrender. His answering groan was an equal turn-on—doubled as he flattened me fully to the ground, grinding his body against the apex of mine once more. Just as violently, he reclaimed my mouth again. Invaded me with force that stole my breath, seized my heart, dominated my body…

  Made all my fantasies come true.

  In return, I scored him deeper with my nails. Opened myself to the beautiful brutality of his passion—and gave back as good as I got. I buried my other hand back in his hair, pulling tighter at the luxurious lengths, even as I snarled into his throat and bit into his lip. He hissed, pulling back, stabbing me with his stare as he ran his tongue gingerly over the nick.

  His brows knitted.

  As his cock grew.

  Before he dropped back onto me, impaling me deeper with his tongue, making me taste the metal of his blood, the heat of his passion, the force of his need. I groaned and writhed, hooking my ankles behind the perfect globes of his ass, notching the center of his body to the center of mine, knowing neither of us could last long like this—but also realizing I couldn’t let him stroll back out the beach with a massive spot at the front of his pants. Crista, still recovering in the Palais infirmary, wouldn’t be at our rescue with a change of clothes this time.

  But holy shit, how I wanted to careen into nothingness with him. My lungs pumped. My blood sizzled. My pussy throbbed in time to the frantic race of my heart. I burned. Needed. Craved. The point of no return approached fast, like a broken bridge in front of a speeding train…