by Kira Blakely
Then again, I was one to talk. I hadn’t opened up to anyone about anything in years. “I can’t afford for this to fail because I’m the only source of income for my entire family,” I said—it came out like word vomit. “I’m the primary breadwinner. If I don’t make it work, Jemma-Kate won’t be able to go to school. Mom won’t have a place to stay. She’ll have to sell the house.”
“Let me help you,” Cain said, the words rumbling in his chest.
I shook my head. “You’ve done enough. I don’t want a handout. I just want the chance to make the shop work as it should’ve for the past couple years.”
Cain dragged me to his chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ll help you, Margot. I fucking swear I won’t fuck this up for you. You won’t let me give you the money, then so help me god, I’ll help you earn it. Even if it means putting off base jumping off the top of the shop for a couple months, or throat-punching that neck-beard Simmons until after the first season of the show has been filmed.”
I squeaked out a laugh.
“Anything for you,” he said, with such intensity I shook against him.
I melted against him.
“I don’t even need it when I’m with you,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The adrenaline. The rush. The scares. The fucking craziness. All the excitement and pleasure and—all of it is right here in my arms, right now.” He tightened his grip and planted a kiss on my forehead.
“I scare you?” I asked.
He slid his hands down my back and gripped both my ass cheeks, pressed my abdomen against his and ground his erection into me. “Can’t you tell? I’m fucking terrified.”
I moaned against his lips.
Don’t fall for him. Don’t feel for him. Don’t let it happen. You’ll regret it. He’s just told you he’ll never change.
“Shower,” he said, and he spanked me once, turned, then walked toward the bathroom.
I stared after him, my insides twisting and turning.
He waited for me in the doorway that led into the opulent bathroom beyond, all white tiles and marble countertops. “Come with me, Margot.”
Chapter 13
Margot
I followed him into the bathroom.
He waited by the door and shut it behind me with a curt snap. The noise vibrated through me.
This was a conscious decision.
I caught my reflection in the mirror and stared. I was pink in the cheeks, the lip gloss I’d had on earlier missing, my lips pale. Mascara had smudged beneath my right eye, and I reached up to wipe it.
Cain moved in behind me and caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said.
“Why?” I asked, electrified by his touch all over again. It wasn’t fair he could do this to me. It wasn’t fair he was the first man, and probably the last, who’d ever make me orgasm. How was I supposed to feel about that?
“You’re perfect as you are. Makeup, no makeup, naked or clothed. Margot, you’re the epitome of everything a woman should be. Don’t fuck with it,” he said, and placed my hand on the counter. He took the other and did the same with it. They were on either side of the sink.
Cain looked at me in the mirror, over my shoulder.
He was so much taller than me it would’ve been threatening on any other person, but not him. He was Cain. He was a friend and now… something more.
No!
“You’re trouble for me,” he whispered. “And I am for you too. Fuck it, forgive me for wanting this.” Cain closed his eyes and pressed his nose to my crown, then inhaled.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Not yet,” he growled. He tucked his fingers beneath the straps of my dress and drew them to either side, slowly, eyes open now. He watched me, my face, my chest.
My breaths came fast. They hitched in my throat. “Cain,” I whispered.
“Talk to me,” he replied, in that deep throaty tone that sent spirals of desire from my head to my fucking toes. “Tell me what you want, Margot.”
“You,” I said.
“I know that.” He tugged the straps down, roughly, and there was a rip of fabric.
My naked breasts sprang free, nipples puckering in the cool air. I gasped.
“Look at you.” Cain ran his fingers over my chest, cupped my breasts in his warm palms and rubbed them, slowly. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re exactly what I need. You know what you are, Margot?”
“What?” I managed.
“You’re chaos,” he whispered. “You’re my chaos.”
I couldn’t respond with his hands covering my breasts, kneading them, pinching my nipples. Every movement took me closer to the edge of all my regrets. Surely, sex shouldn’t be like this?
Or maybe this was what it should’ve been like all along.
Cain suckled on the hollow of my neck and my eyelids fluttered. He dragged my dress down over my hips and tugged it free, and I whimpered. Another kiss on my shoulder brought a gasp.
For every one of his actions, I met him with a reaction that wasn’t equal—it was more. I couldn’t help reacting this way.
“It’s not normal,” I said.
He turned me in his arms and pinned me against the sink, ran his hands down my body, and stopped short of my pussy. “What isn’t?”
“Feeling this way during—you know. It’s not. It can’t be.”
“It’s only the beginning.” Cain stepped back and stripped off his jeans, revealing that magnificent dick, the head glistening with his fluids, a vein tracking down his side. Massive, as he’d mentioned, and god, perfectly proportioned.
No man should be allowed to have a dick like that. It was too good-looking.
“My eyes are up here,” Cain said.
I swatted his arm, and he let out a chuckle taut with need.
Cain turned and opened the glass door of the walk-in shower then turned on the water. He extended his hand toward me, and I took it. Stepped into that shower and right into his arms.
“Let’s get wet,” he said.
“Too late for the ‘let’s’ part.”
This time, he growled and caught my bottom lip between his teeth. The kiss tore through me, strangled all the doubts I’d tried cultivating in the dark corners of my mind.
His tongue massaged mine, destroyed my resistance. He tasted sweet, salty—the perfect combination of both.
Cain broke the kiss and grabbed a bottle of liquid soap from the wall, then squeezed some into his palms and lathered up. He smoothed the foam over my breasts and down my stomach, turned me around and did the same for my back and ass cheeks.
I shuddered under his palms, calloused and sudsy.
“I want to do it to you,” I said.
“You can do whatever you like to me, Margot,” he replied. “Whatever the hell you like.”
I turned in his arms and cupped my palms together. “Soap.”
He squirted some, and we both laughed at the obscene noise the bottle made. I lathered up, then ran my hands over his defined pecs and his nipples to his abs. I traced the V and moved lower to his cock. He was still painfully hard for me. Still ready.
I washed him, rinsing off the soap in my hands, then reached for his balls and cupped them, played gently.
“Jesus, girl, you trying to make me come already?” he asked, and jerked in my hands.
“I want to suck you,” I said.
“You do,” he replied, not a question at all. “Not here. You’ll hurt your knees.”
“I don’t care.” I tried kneeling, but he caught me under my elbows and tugged me to his chest again.
“I said no.” His tone brooked no argument. Another thrill ran through me.
There was something about that, about his dominance in here, that made me feel even smaller in his arms. I tilted my chin back and studied him.
He tightened his grip on my elbows, his fingers biting into my flesh, anchoring me to the here and now. To this moment with him.
This was a dream. It was a f
antasy. And I’d live it out again, worry about the repercussions tomorrow, because the truth was, each time we did this, it became harder and harder for me to turn back.
“How do you want me?” I asked.
Chapter 14
Cain
I cut the water and wrenched the shower door open again, pulled Margot to me, so her wet ass cheeks rubbed against my dick, then walked her out to the sink.
Fuck, this was dangerous. Every second with her was closer to the second it would break and we’d both burn, but I didn’t give a shit anymore. This woman was… she was exactly what I needed.
Margot placed her hands on either side of the sink, the skin on her arms peppered with goose bumps. Steam billowed from the shower, but an extractor fan clicked on and swept it out. The mirror in front of us was misted up but started clearing.
We were shapes now, two pale blurs.
I nipped her neck, drew the flesh into my mouth and sucked. “You’re so fucking tasty,” I grunted. “Anyone ever tell you that before?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, body humming like a string I’d plucked, tuned to my fucking frequency.
Goddamn, the longer I drew out this torture, the better I felt. It was as if denying myself the impulse of claiming her, of spreading her pussy lips and plunging in, deep and hard, heightened my pleasure.
“Cain,” Margot said, in something approaching impatience. “Cain, I need it.”
“What do you need?” I asked and bit her shoulder, right on the joint.
She groaned and threw her head back, rolled her hips and rubbed my dick against one half of that peach, the other, and then right in between, against one tight hole and then the other. “I need your dick. I need to come. I need you inside me.”
“Where?”
The mirror had cleared a little, the outer edges faster than the center, but I could make out the expression. The hesitation.
“Say it,” I growled and smoothed my hands over her shoulders, down her arms. I dropped my touch to her thighs, and ran one finger between her pussy lips, wet it, then slipped it to her clit. “Where do you want me?”
Margot gasped and shuddered. Her tits bounced, her nipples tightened up, pink nubs still spotted with water from the shower. “Cain—”
I tapped her clit, circled it, dipped my finger back to that slick, quivering hole, and collected more of her juices, then ran them back over her lips again.
“Speak,” I said and drove her closer to the edge. I didn’t press my fingers inside, not yet. Not until she begged for it.
“I want you everywhere,” she managed, shaking now, her eyes rolling back in her skull. “Please, Cain.”
“Be careful what you beg for.” I pressed my palm to her back and forced her forward. She opened up for me then, presented those pink pussy lips, and her tight, little asshole too.
I held the base of my dick and ran it under her mound, up to her entrance, combining our juices, watching her reaction in the mirror.
Her gaze was fixed on mine, and she sucked on her bottom lip, waiting, hair cascading to one side of that heart-shaped face, waves of gold. She was like Brigitte Bardot, except she wasn’t. She was sexier, more elusive.
Margot bounced up and down, pressed her ass back and my head entered her.
“Fuck,” I said, then slapped her ass. “Don’t move.
She sucked in a gasp and clenched tight around me. “I want it.”
“You’ll get it when I give it to you. You can’t control everything, Margot.” I thrust into her then, to the hilt, and growled.
Margot’s eyelids fluttered.
“Keep looking at me,” I said, then pressed one palm to the small of her back and leaned in. I placed the tip of my index finger against her plush cushion lips and tapped once. “Suck it.”
“What?” She asked.
“Suck it, baby.”
She drew my fingertip into that silken mouth and wet it, circled her tongue, and dragged it from my knuckle to the tip, studying my reaction.
My cock grew larger, if that was possible, and she whined.
“Fuck, you’re naughty,” I said. “You’re so fucking bad. My bad girl.”
She nodded, and the acceptance of that label made me throb. She whimpered again.
My dick filled her completely, stretched her, even, and the more she sucked, the worse it got. Nah, the better it got. Christ, she was mine, inside and out, and I’d explore every part of her tonight, again and again.
And then you’ll ruin her. I shoved the thought aside and moved my cock inside her, exploring the wetness and the warmth, the depths of her tightness. Deep, slow thrusts that brought little noises from her.
Margot sucked on my finger and maintained eye contact in the mirror, blazing that desire right at me.
“You ever had anything in your ass, Margot?”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t quit sucking.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, and grinned at her. “Do you want it?”
She nodded, still with vulnerability spilling from her. Christ, this strong woman, this tigress, turned to a kitten in my hands. It didn’t get better than this.
I dragged my finger from between her lips with a pop, then brought it to that tight little asshole, just waiting for me. I fucked her slowly, stretching her pussy out, reaching around with my free hand to play with her nub.
Margot stamped her foot and clawed at the marble top.
“Look at me,” I said. “Stay focused on me, gorgeous.”
She did as she was told, and I rewarded her by circling her asshole, then pressing my finger inside it. She closed around it and gasped. “Oh fuck!”
“Good?”
“Yes,” she hissed, and arched backward, taking more for herself.
“That’s it, take it all. It’s all yours.”
“It’s too good.” Margot’s tits bounced with every thrust. “It’s too good, it’s too good, it’s too good. I’m going to come.”
“Come for me,” I growled and pounded into her.
I lost control. Kept my finger in her asshole, the other on her clit, my dick in that dripping wet pussy, and lost it. Threw my head back and let out a feral roar. Margot met with a cry of her own.
“Coming.” She vibrated on the spot, orgasm streaking through her, fucking changing her from the inside-out. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her jaw dropped, and she trembled, clenched, keened. She became mine for the second time.
I shifted my hands to her hips and pinned her in place, worked myself inside her, my dick thicker now. The tingling started, my breath came out in gusts, and I spilled inside her.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Fill me. Please, fill me, Cain, I need it.”
I gave her exactly what she wanted.
When it was over, I held myself inside her, fingers still digging into her flesh.
Margot lifted her head and shot me a bright smile. “I think I need another shower,” she said.
I laughed and pulled out of her, grunted at how sensitive I was, then lifted her at the waist and held her to my chest. I kissed her temple and admired her in the mirror, the soft smoothness of her skin, the planes of her stomach and those curvy hips.
Our sex had marked her—red streaks or splotches from the friction or my touch.
Even when they faded she’d never forget me. I’d marked her soul.
And she’s marked yours.
Chapter 15
Margot
I wrapped the bathrobe around my torso and tied it off with the fluffy belt, then padded through to the bedroom suite and took a seat on the end of the bed. Cain was on the phone, standing there in nothing but a towel, water droplets snaking down his tan, broad back.
“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.” He hung up and walked round the bed, sat down beside me.
Our arms touched.
It was comfortable and warm, the opposite of how I’d ever felt with him before.
No more Mr. Wild Side. Or was he simply hiding beneath the surface
, waiting to pounce?
I couldn’t associate the word “pounce” with Cain without getting wet. Ha, what did that say about me?
“I ordered waffles,” he said, and took my hand. “I seem to recall someone’s addiction to them. Waffles and chocolate syrup, right? With nuts sprinkled over the top.”
My heart squeezed. “You remembered that?” I looked up at him. I’d mentioned it to him once, years ago when he’d turned up on our doorstep for breakfast before a long day at the tattoo shop for him and school for me.
Cain had dropped out of school. Cain had lost everything before he’d regained it again.
“Of course,” he said and shrugged like it was nothing. He took my hand and stroked his thumb over my knuckles.
God, why did he have to be this tender? Why couldn’t he be the gruff, irresponsible Cain who skydived and put everyone else at risk? Something had changed, and it scared me even more than losing the business scared me.
I couldn’t afford to fall for this man after everything I’d been through with Steven. I couldn’t afford to love again and let it distract me from what really mattered, but sitting here with him, with the view of Tokyo out the window, the lights and buildings, the downtown beauty, and my hand in his, it was so damn hard not to want him as more than just a friend or a fuck.
“Let’s talk,” he said, “before the waffles arrive and you douse yourself in syrup.”
“I’m not that addicted.”
“Pfft, please, the last time I saw you eat waffles, you came out looking like a two-year-old who’d stolen half a chocolate cake.” Another memory—my mom had showed him our photo album and a picture of me smeared in brown stickiness years ago.
The fear in my heart doubled. It threatened to prick holes in my façade, stab me from the inside, right through the chest.
“Besides, I’d like to watch you douse yourself in syrup,” he continued, “if only because I’ll clean it off you with my tongue afterward.”
Oh god. From fear to arousal, it was a heady mix.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, and swallowed nothing—my mouth had gone completely dry.
“I need you to understand that this isn’t going to progress,” he announced.