Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  Fortunately, the lift was already there and we stepped in, the doors dinging shut behind us. Even the elevator was magnificent, paneled wood and gleaming gold, the chime melodic and soft. I turned to Tristan.

  “Your wife?” I asked under my breath. “Isn’t that going a little far?”

  But Tristan looked completely relaxed.

  “I can’t dictate what they think,” he shrugged. “People are people,” he said unhelpfully. I just shook my head, exasperated. And when the doors to the Grand Stag suite swung open, I gasped again because no expense had been spared. The place was beyond my wildest dreams, outfitted with luxury flat-screen TVs, an indoor fountain behind a glass pane, a wine bar and all sorts of niceties. My gaze swung to two doors on the side and Tristan chuckled as he followed my gaze.

  “You have your own bedroom,” he rumbled, looking at me mirthfully. “No need to fear the big bad bear.” And I wasn’t sure if he was referring to himself or the bear skin rug I’d seen in the lobby.

  “I wasn’t worried,” I said awkwardly even as I tried to pretend that I was totally at ease, completely in control. “I know what I’m doing.”

  But Tristan’s hand grabbed my wrist then, locking it into a hard vise. I yelped at more surprise than anything, startled, whirling to look at him. Despite the iron grasp, his expression was calmly neutral, eyes giving nothing away.

  “I’m glad then, baby girl, because no door is going to keep me away,” he said before pulling me into him for a kiss. And I gasped at first, trying to pull away. “The bellhop,” I stuttered, “he’s coming with our luggage.”

  “So what?” rasped the big man into my mouth. “They already think you’re my wife,” and with that, his lips took mine, showing no mercy, no pity for the weak. He stormed my lips, running his tongue against the seam of my mouth, tracing, questing, demanding that I open for him. And I sighed, leaning into him, suddenly hungry, suddenly ravenous for the alpha, desperate with all the pent-up feelings I’d been holding back for the last couple days.

  I needed him, literally throwing myself at my guardian, hurtling into his strong arms as we stumbled, his back crashing against the wall as we kissed, our hands desperate, wrenching his shirt off, his hands pulling my turtleneck up, already squeezing and pulling at my breasts, tweaking a nipple as I let out a surprised pant.

  “You love it don’t you Daisy?” he ground out into my mouth, tongue thrusting forcefully deep into my throat, bending me over backwards so far that I thought my spine would crack.

  And I couldn’t answer with words, I could only show how much I needed, how much I wanted this. I sucked on his tongue, pulling him into me, devouring him as ravenously as he devoured me, pushing my hips into his, crashing against him, all the while my hands scrabbled at his shirt, tearing at it, buttons flying on the floor.

  But it was the fucking bellhop again, it was always the help around the Algonquin that interrupted us. A weak, “Sir? Madame?” sounded in the periphery of my consciousness and Tristan ripped his mouth away to glare at the teenage boy, his hand still on my breast, his fingers moving, massaging, even as he pinned the adolescent with a stare.

  “Get the fuck out.”

  And the bellhop shook, quivering like a rabbit.

  “Management just wants me to let you know these are your free breakfast vouchers,” he said, placing two tickets onto the bar counter before scurrying away. “Thank you sir, have a good night!” his voice echoed in the hallway, the door slamming shut behind him.

  Tristan looked pissed, nonplussed and angry at once, his clothes disheveled, black hair mussed, blue eyes spitting fire. But I could only laugh, giggling against his throat, still pressed against the big frame, letting my tongue reach out and touch that hot skin.

  “Tristan,” I said softly, “let it go. Besides, I’m hungry, maybe now’s a good time to grab a snack.”

  And the big man was still then, his arms still like iron bars around my body, hard-on pressed tantalizingly against my hip before he shifted backwards, eyes still hot. But slowly a grin crept over his face and he ran a hand through his hair, making the black strands stand up, rakishly attractive. My breath caught. I’d never seen this side of Tristan before, relaxed, even slightly scruffy.

  “A snack huh?” he growled, shooting me a grin even as his hands trailed down my back, finishing with a firm spank on my behind. “Let’s see what there is for you, Ms. Smith.”

  And I squealed, rubbing my rump. The slap was going to leave a mark but the burn felt so good, especially as his big hand massaged the spot next, taking out the sting, caressing, making me moan and pant slightly as he chuckled low in his chest. With a final firm whack on my rump, he strode out the door.

  “Snack,” his voice called behind him, never even turning to look at me. “You wanted it.”

  And I caught my breath, a hopeless mix of turned-on, scandalized, confused, and aroused, my nerves tingling, excitement heady in the air. What was going on? Everything was happening so fast and I realized fleetingly that Tristan had turned the tables on me. And yet I only wanted more.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tristan

  The dining room was deserted, we’d arrived at the Algonquin late enough such that dinner service was over. But thoughtfully the staff had laid out a sideboard, a cornucopia of ham, nuts, bread, all sorts of snacks for weary travelers. I snagged a roll before seating myself at a bench, the wood well-worn, a glazed honey pine. Despite the rustic look, this simple bench had probably cost thousands of dollars from some hoity-toity artisanal shop.

  But the girl followed me into the room, curvy body swaying, stopping to hover over the spread. Daisy looked, biting her lip tentatively before grabbing a plate and piling it high with fruits, nuts, veggies, topping it all off with dessert and a drink.

  “Hungry huh?” I asked, biting into the roll. It was soft and moist, probably baked from scratch in the kitchens here.

  But Daisy didn’t answer because she was taking a mouthful of pie, savoring the fleshy peach tartness, licking her lips to get the crumble that clung to the edge of her cheek.

  “Mmm-hmm, this is fantastic,” she finally managed, eyes closed. “God, I’m going to die, this is so good, where are we going to find this in Jersey? I can’t live if I don’t get this again.”

  And I laughed then.

  “Baby girl, I’ve never seen a woman eat like you,” I rumbled. “You’re practically fucking that food with your eyes and your mouth, it’s like honey to a wild bear.”

  The brunette just ignored me.

  “You would too if you tasted some of this pie,” she grunted again low in her throat, eyes closed. “Here try some,” she said and before I could pull back, she’d scooped up some of the glazed peach filling with her fingers and was pushing it into my mouth, the slightly savory, slightly sweet mixture overwhelming my senses. I started, unmoving for a second. When was the last time a woman had put something into my mouth? When was the last time any person had put something in my mouth, much less with their fingers, running her fingers sensuously over my teeth, brushing over my chin? And out of surprise more than anything, I swallowed, tongue brushing against her fingertips, massaging her knuckles as I tasted the filling, the spicy cinnamon scent blended with undertones of sweet, succulent peach.

  And Daisy just smiled at me.

  “Good isn’t it?” she asked, giggling slightly. “Here, you need a napkin,” she said, handing me a cloth.

  I swallowed heavily again, trying to get my composure back, trying to get my body under control. Why was it that anything that this woman did took me by surprise, getting under my skin, making me unravel in the most unexpected of ways? I was the one who was twenty years older, I should have been totally in charge, making her jump, but instead Daisy had a special knack for knocking me out of the saddle, leaving me breathing hard, wondering about myself while wanting more.

  “Little girl, you’re playing with fire,” I warned, my eyes dark, my expression ravenous again.

  Bu
t the brunette just laughed it off.

  “I can handle fire, Tristan,” she said mirthfully. “Fire, no problem, so long as it’s after I eat all this,” she said indicating her plate.

  And I just shook my head because the brunette was nibbling once more, moaning over a cranberry sauce that had just the right amount of tang, of tartness, starting up a litany of ecstatic sighs and gasps. And I had to laugh, had to join in with a woman with this much zest for life.

  “You gonna be able to handle me later?” I rumbled, eyeing the plate that was practically groaning from the weight of the food.

  And Daisy’s eyes snapped open because it was the first allusion to the fact that I planned on being in her tonight. Games were fine and dandy at the right times, but this trip was destined for the bedroom, and it was going to be tonight. I wanted her delectable body on fire for me, and I was going to do a lot more than just taste. It was going to be a freaking circus sideshow if I had my way, I wanted her bent over, ready, moaning, for half the night, no the whole night.

  “Mr. Marks,” she cooed wickedly. “Don’t you worry because I can handle all of it,” she hinted and immediately lust overtook my frame, making me shake in my shoes, skin vibrating at her closeness, her heat, her delectably ripe form. Did Daisy know what she was saying? All of my cock? All of the ten inches that was already hard, pulsing, ready to take her on the dining table right this instant? I stared at her, the brown curls, the sweet mouth, the sexy blend of woman and girl. She was everything … and I wanted it all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Daisy

  Girl, you are going to get burned so hard, the voice told me. No way are you coming out of this alive, are you crazy? He’s Tristan Marks, it’s like playing with fire, there’s no rescue crew to pull you out when the going gets tough. Are you ready for that? But I just shook my head. The truth was that I was already in way, way over my head. I’ve been playing with fire ever since I started talking with Tristan and unfortunately it was like an addiction, I was a pyromaniac who couldn’t take my eyes away from the flame despite the fact that it burned my fingertips, pricking painfully at nerve endings.

  But it hurts so good, I argued back. Tristan makes me hurt so good and I want to find out what there is, what could happen, what might happen.

  You’re fucking going to get it, replied the voice in my head nastily. You think he’s going to hold back? You think there’s going to be mercy? You’re going to be bent over and spanked so hard, pounded so hard that furniture’s gonna break, you’re going to break.

  But it only made my heart leap faster, pulse jumping in my throat, making me quiver and shake. Because what my internal voice was saying was absolutely true. I was in way over my head, what with masquerading as Tristan’s wife and teasing him with the food. But that’s the thing. I only wanted more. I wanted to talk more about his background, to learn more about the big man. The conversation had flowed after the pie incident, light, easy, like we really were a couple and we’d laughed together, our senses of humor in tune with each other even as we ate each other up with our eyes. But the little warning voice was right. Despite his outward relaxation, the general air of indulgence, the big man had had enough. He’d said it out loud, he’d said it with his body, with his gaze, his warning to me rough and direct.

  Get ready, Daisy, he’d growled with his eyes, his words, his throat. Get ready, because I’m coming.

  But it only made me want it more, shivers running down my spine, my body heating in anticipation with how much I wanted him, how much I wanted to figure it out with him, get to know him, explore the unknown with Tristan as my guide. I was heady with desire, lost in a maze, tangled despite the fact that I knew I was going to be hurt, that somehow this was going to end up badly with me the probable loser.

  Because the thing is that I’ve interacted with older men before and it hasn’t exactly been the best feeling. Older guys generally are more mature, wise and experienced, they’ve been to the rodeo before. Some women are attracted to it, they love being guided by the older dude but I usually just found it scary. Sure, it was all fun and games at first, the gentle older professor showing you around, making sure you understood the niceties of biology, of English, of whatever, but in a flash, the curtain could be pulled back and I’d realize I was out of my depth. Most times, he wanted something and I wasn’t ready to deliver.

  Was that going to happen with Tristan? He was absolutely the older man, worldly, experienced, a thousand times more powerful than any man I’d encountered in the past. He was the CEO of an influential news conglomerate, had worked his way up from cub reporter to the head of the pack, likely ruling it with an iron fist. Sure he was playing with me now, letting me feed him peach pie, letting me ask my little questions, but I had no doubt that when the unmasking came, I was going to be off-kilter and unbalanced, if not straight up afraid. I was going to be way out of my depth and it might be too late, I might be entangled and ensnared in something that I couldn’t handle.

  But flirtation is a devilish addiction. I was addicted to the games we played, teasing the big man, making conversation with him, sassing him with our banter, our connection so electric that sparks flew. And so I thrust the thoughts out of my head, instead stepping into the shower to get myself clean and prepared. Because Tristan was coming tonight.

  We had our separate bedrooms in the suite but that was no barrier. He was coming for me, he was going to taste me, take me, take my virginity, and I was going to love it. I was going to eat it up, savor it, wallow in it, throw myself into the womanly induction. Hell, I was going to meet him step for step as best I could, hurl myself into the tiger’s lair, fight as best as I could, love as best as I could, beg him if that’s what it took.

  And I couldn’t wait. Despite the warning bells clanging, I shushed the voices, changing into my usual sleep outfit of a translucent tank and little bootie shorts. I wish I had a negligee or some filmy lingerie, but nope, I was a bootie shorts and tank type of girl. But he liked me the way I was, right?

  So I pulled on my usual knee socks and crept into bed, twisting on the sheets a little, trying to get comfortable. Tristan would be here soon enough and I willed myself to stay up, the adrenalin pumping, my anticipation on high. But the long drive had gotten to me, the tryptophan in the food drugging my system and against my best efforts my eyelids began to get heavy. Stay up! Stay up and wait for him! I scolded myself. But the voice only grew fainter as sleep overtook me, a drowsy, sinfully delicious sleep as I drifted lazily, my mind going white, then grey, then black.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tristan

  What the fuck is wrong with you? The voice in my head raged. You are such a fucking manipulative, deceitful user, you want to fuck your own ward. Of all the women in the world, it has to be your ward, the girl you’re supposed to protect from guys like you.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, shaking my head, big shoulders bent over, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down.

  Because when the receptionist had assumed that Daisy was my wife, I’d been as startled as the little girl. Sure, I’m fit and healthy for my age, in great shape from hitting the gym five days a week and Daisy looked mature upon our arrival, in a sexy but demure turtleneck and skirt, long boots up to her knees. So maybe it was natural that people had thought we were a couple off the bat.

  But the jolt I’d felt when the receptionist referred to Daisy as my wife was what caught me off guard. Because it hadn’t been disgust or horror or any sort of heebie-jeebies. Instead, my pulse jumped with the pride of ownership, of arousal, of the world assuming that we were together, that this little brunette, this curvaceous package belonged to me. And it’d been so long since I’d been attached to any human being whatsoever that to hear the little girl referred to as mine made me growl and snarl. Yes. Mine.

  I wanted her. I wanted her bad, yeah real bad, and my fucking conscience of all things was tying me up in knots. What the fuck was wrong with me? I’d flirted so hard during our little midnigh
t snack, watched her laugh, giggle, pushed my tongue down her throat as soon as I could, and now I was growing a conscience? Since when did this happen to Tristan Marks?

  But part of me acknowledged that I wanted to do things right. That yeah, I wanted to fuck the little brunette until she screamed my name repeatedly, until her little cunt was used and pounded so hard that she couldn’t walk straight. But part of me also wanted to treasure her, to stroke those beautiful curves, hear her sassy moans while gazing at me with a combination of lust and love, panting my name.

  And that’s what made me draw back. What the fuck was wrong with me? Lust? Hell yeah, that was nothing new to me, I’m a man with needs, I indulge when it’s appropriate and it when it’s not so appropriate, taking what I want when I want. But what the fuck was this love thing? What the fuck?

  I just shook my head, torn. I wanted Daisy so badly, her little form beckoning to me, those curves ripe, luscious, the way they jiggled and shivered when I even looked at her, my shaft perpetually half-hard in her presence, her mere laugh making me go iron hard. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t seduce her, I couldn’t.

  I stood motionless in my room, clad only in loose pajama bottoms, body rock hard as I stared at the floor. Fuck. I paced, restless as a lion in its den, counting a few steps forward, a few steps back, swiveling as my thoughts pounded, making my forehead bulge. I literally forced myself to sit for a moment to try and relax, but it was pointless. Immediately I jumped up again, nerves too strung out to be still and started pacing once more, long strides eating up the room.