by Holly Hart
Carson drops over me, supporting himself on his elbows, as his mouth explores mine, then wanders over to my earlobe and the hollow that forms where it meets my neck. From there he moves down to my throat, then my breasts again.
My belly quivers as I realize what’s happening. I’ve imagined this for years, wondering how it would feel.
I’m going to find out, and with that knowledge my chest begins to rise and fall like the pistons of a steam engine.
Carson’s lips are on my belly, then the orange fuzz of my groin. He kisses me there lightly, like a butterfly landing.
I breathe deeply as he reaches his destination. His lips close around the hood of my clit and his tongue greets my lips with a long, slow glide. The tremors begin and suddenly I understand why he had to wrap his fingers in my hair. I do the same with his.
My hips begin to respond on their own. Raising to meet the pressure of his lips and tongue, pressing against him and the softness there. After about a century of this, Carson’s tongue changes suddenly, become hard and insistent.
I gasp as my hips buck as the probing tip of his tongue presses against my clit. I can’t hold on anymore, I have to let go.
Just when I think I might lose my mind, his tongue becomes as hard as any other of his muscles and presses against me with an intensity I couldn’t have imagined even ten seconds ago. The world melts into a riot of colors and feelings as my body heaves and shakes with pleasure.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Five
41. CASSANDRA
I never understood how this could feel. You can’t imagine something like this until you experience it. Even my pocket rocket pales in comparison.
Carson kindly lets me recover my vision for a few moments as he rummages through his pants pockets. Finally he emerges with a foil square in his fingers.
He comes back to the bed and I reach out and grab the condom.
“I want to do it,” I say, trying to look like a dirty vamp.
It must work, because his cock bobs up and down in appreciation.
“Okay,” he says, eyes wide.
I’ve never done this before, obviously, but as Carson pointed out, I’m a very capable person. A quick study, you could say. I tear along the dotted line and remove the disk, leaving the package on the night table.
Carson kneels in front of me as I drop to all fours on the bed. I grasp his cock by the base and pull him closer. He obliges by shuffling a couple of inches on his knees.
The tip of his cock is gleaming as I unroll the condom over it. Once it’s past the edge of the head, the edge of no return, I grab hold with my thumb and forefinger and unspool it down to the base. It’s so thin – almost like you can’t even see it.
That’s the limit of my bravery, though. My belly fills with butterflies as Carson positions himself above me and between my open thighs. He props himself with one hand and guides the tip of his shaft into my opening with the other.
The sensation of fullness comes over me as he slides slowly into my canal. His eyes are on mine as he moves, watching for my response.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “I’ve never wanted anything so bad.”
God, he’s reduced me to begging. I always swore I’d never do it if I was ever captured. But with Carson? It’s irresistible.
“Me either,” he sighs as he eases himself the rest of the way in. It hurts, oh God, it hurts. But it’s as though Carson knows exactly what I’m experiencing. He knows when to stop, when to drop his mouth to mine, when to absorb as much of my pain as he can.
And when I’m done with pain. When what I want – what I need – is pleasure.
I grip his neck in my arms as he begins to move, slowly, gently. I’m so wet that his girth isn’t a problem. We move in sync with each other, matching each stroke.
“It’s so good,” I moan.
With each movement it gets easier, until Carson is thrusting all the way in each time.
He pushes himself up and leans his weight back until he’s on his knees, his butt on his calves. I let him do what he wants – I trust him to know what’s going to please me.
He reaches down and curves his sculpted arms under my thighs and lifts them until they’re pointing straight at the ceiling, propped against those cannonball shoulders. I feel him ease in even deeper than before.
Now the tip of his cock starts to press against the inside of my pelvic wall and a sensation like a bruise of pleasure overtakes me. That’s the only way I can describe it. It doesn’t sound sexy, but it is. Believe me, it is.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, eyes wide.
He leans forward slightly and we lock gazes once again, staring at each other’s souls as each thrust lands home. Finally I can’t take anymore, and I throw my head back in abandon. My hands grip the fabric of the plush headboard on the wall behind me and I hang on for dear life.
“I can’t hold on any more,” Carson grunts.
My head spins as he picks up speed, pistoning in and out so fast it feels like my body is a machine over which I have no control. A pool of pleasure starts to build its way up from my core like oil into a well.
I feel my abs contract with every stroke, out of my control, almost like I’m doing sit-ups, until I finally abandon all control and just let my body be assaulted by Carson’s powerful thrusts.
“Cassie,” he groans. “Oh baby, It’s so good. You’re so freaking good.”
“Carson,” I pant. “I’ve waited so long. So long.”
And it’s true. Not that it has been so long, though it has. But that I’ve waited. Because it’s only just now that I’m realizing I’ve been waiting for Carson this whole time. I didn’t realize what I was holding out for.
As the spasms take over, I grip his triceps with everything I’ve got. We shudder together once, twice, three times. I lie there gulping in air, trying to stop my eyes from rolling.
Suddenly, Carson wraps his arms around my thighs and grips them together as he drives home one final thrust. I feel like the universe is exploding inside me and around me. We’re as close as two humans can be in a moment, any moment.
We both let loose with guttural growls from deep inside us. Carson’s head drops backwards like an animal howling to the moon, but he stays silent.
God, I hope the rooms in the Regent are soundproofed.
When it’s over, he drops low and covers my body with his. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso, feeling his girth inside me. Our breath mingles into a chorus of gasps as we try to catch our breath.
I burrow my face into Carson’s neck and nibble on the flesh there. I don’t know why; it’s just instinct taking over.
We lie like that for what seems like an eternity as our runaway heart rates slow to normal. Carson caresses me gently, rhythmically, all over. The tingle it elicits makes me feel warm all over. Safe.
Suddenly, from nowhere, the tears start to flow freely, staining my cheeks. I’ve never felt so naked in front of another human being.
“I’m so happy it was you,” I sob into his ear.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me gently everywhere: my eyes, my cheeks, my lips, my chin, my forehead. When he pulls back, I can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes, too.
“I’ve never believed in God,” he whispers. “But I think I may have just found a compelling argument.”
I stroke his cheek, unable to stop touching him, even for a moment.
Finally, he rolls onto his back and we both shift our bodies around so that we’re lying on the pillows. I put my head in the crook of Carson’s shoulder and lay my arm across the vast expanse of his naked chest. Our sweat mingles and dries in the recycled air of the room.
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Six
42. INTERLUDE
A woman with long, satiny blonde curls glances down at the tiny flashing red light in the top right corner of her smart phone’s screen.
“Don’t move,” she snarls at the man hanging from the metal rack. He’s covered from head to to
e in black leather, except for a small zippered opening where his mouth is. The room is painted entirely in black.
“Yes, mistress,” he moans.
“Did I give you permission to talk?” the woman snaps as she sets down a leather cat-o-nine-tails and swipes a scarlet-tipped finger across the screen.
“C-c-call me sen-sen-senator maggot,” he breathes. “Please.”
“No,” she says coldly.
The information on the screen bothers her. She steps away from the dungeon into an alcove and types in a phone number from memory.
“Yes?” says a voice on the other end.
“One of the keys has been used.”
Silence for a long moment.
“As we feared?”
“Room 317, yes. The transponder in the ring confirms it.”
“This is… unfortunate.”
“I’ll begin the process of rectifying the situation.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Of course.”
She thumbs the phone’s end-call button and types in another number. This time the call is greeted only with a click.
“You were right,” she says. “You know what to do.”
Silence. Then a click to indicate the call has been disconnected.
She ends the call and picks up the leather whip.
“Wh-who were you talking to?” the man in the leather outfit asks. “Please tell me.”
“Your mother,” she spits, whipping the backs of his legs with the steel tips of the cat-o-nine-tails. He howls in response.
“She said you should go fuck yourself.”
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Seven
43. CARSON
“When I realized you were the quarry, I thought I was dreaming,” I say.
Cassie sighs and strokes a finger down my chest.
“I know the feeling,” she says. “When I realized that was a key in your hand and not a weapon, I literally thought the world had turned upside down.”
“It kind of did turn upside down,” I chuckle. “For me, anyway.”
She grimaces.
“I’m so sorry about that.”
“Sorry? You were like Scarlett Johansson in The Avengers! Except you’re a real redhead.”
The awkwardness in her smile makes my heart melt. I pull her closer and nuzzle her hair. It’s a forest fire I could lose myself in for good.
“Think about this for a second,” I whisper. “Two geeky kids, so lame that the only people who would hang out with them were each other. Building scale models of nuclear reactors and talking about Renaissance artists.”
“I think I remember them.”
“Now go back in time and tell them that, in a dozen years, one’s going to be a billionaire playboy and the other will be a secret agent.”
Cassie is quiet for a moment.
“That’s crazy,” she says.
“Right?!” I hoot.
She rolls to her side so she can face me.
“I’d rather tell them not to lose hope, because they’re going to be together again someday.”
My heart stops. This girl is so damn perfect.
“Always have to one-up me, don’t you?” I say.
She smiles. I pull her close and lay a long, slow kiss on her mouth. Our tongues explore each other, less urgent now, more familiar.
After our lips part, we look into each other’s faces for awhile, like we’re taking inventory. Okay, those lips are mine, those eyes, check, that freckle, that other freckle. Yup, all mine.
Cassie turns her head to look up at the ceiling.
“Holy shit, this is a beautiful room!”
I don’t remember ever going from post-orgasmic afterglow to full-on horse laughing in such a short period of time, but that’s Cassie for you.
When we finally manage to rein in our hysterics, she looks at me and shakes her head.
“That killed the mood a bit,” she says sheepishly. “But I mean, wow! This is incredible. This whole night has been incredible.”
She looks at me. “You’re incredible.”
I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly and deeply again. Now that the initial frenzy is over, we can just be for a little while.
Until Round Two, of course.
Cassie is right about the room. It’s done in a tasteful ivory palette, with hand-carved paneling across the walls and deep tray ceilings with moldings that probably cost in the neighborhood of a thousand dollars a foot.
The high ceilings and vertical mirrors give the illusion of a grand space, and the pastel toile curtains are held aside with antique silver tiebacks. The furniture is of the same Prohibition-era vintage as the bar, with curved drawers, damask fabric, claw feet and sublime cherry wood inlay.
“The Regent is probably the most exclusive hotel on the Eastern Seaboard,” I say. “You’ll never find it on Expedia. I had to hear about it from wealthy acquaintances. There are no prices listed anywhere, just like Piccolo. I think they might actually have the same owner.
“It’s the ultimate no-tell hotel. I’m sure the Chase’s organizers want to maintain the illusion that it’s a discreet, classy affair.”
“The Chase,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
“You first.”
She props herself on one elbow, giving me an excellent view of her bare breasts. I give each of them an appreciative kiss.
“I’ll give you just thirty minutes to stop that,” she says.
“I’m good. Let’s talk.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Not for too long,” she says.
I point to the tent between my legs under the sheet.
“Definitely not for too long,” I say.
She grins.
“Well,” she sighs. “You’re right. I’m a secret agent. Was a secret agent.”
“I’m guessing that’s not the job description they stuck in the HR file.”
“There is no technical job description for what I did. I’m not an analyst or special agent; I was strictly off the books.”
So much makes sense now about Cassie’s behavior lately. Then again, this opens up a whole new line of questions for her. I decide to just let her talk. She needs to talk.
We’ve got all the time in the world now.
“You’ve probably guessed by now that this had something to do with prom night,” she says.
“Sort of,” I say. “Your dad – was he in the agency when we were kids?”
She looks me square in the eye.
“You need to understand this is privileged information.”
Wow. Like I said, a whole different Cassie.
“Of course,” I say.
“Dad was seconded into the agency after 9/11. He’d been in Army Intelligence until then, but his specialized knowledge of Afghanistan put him in high demand after the attacks.
“The day we disappeared – do you remember what had been in the news that week?”
A psychologist once told me the human brain is like a computer; mine just has a lot more RAM than most, so I can access things inside it quickly and easily. So I tend to remember things really well.
“There was a Senate hearing into some black ops dealings to do with the war,” I say.
She nods.
“My dad was identified by one of the witnesses as being involved. Within a day, there was chatter on NSA intercepts about threats against his life.”
“Holy shit…”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “He came bursting through the door in the middle of the afternoon and the next thing I knew, we were on an Army transport to Honduras.”
“And I was standing on your porch, wondering where the hell you were.”
She takes my head in her hands and pulls me close, touching her nose to mine.
“I am so sorry,” she husks. “For years I wanted to get in touch with you, but – ”
“Shhh.” I kiss her eyelids. “You’re here now. That�
��s what matters.”
A moment later her hand is under the sheet and around my appreciative cock.
“We’re both here now,” she whispers. “So what should we do about it?”
“I’ve got a few ideas.”
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Eight
44. CASSANDRA
I think it’s morning, but I’m not sure. Being sure would require me to open the curtains to peek outside. Or get up and look at my phone on the dresser.
Both of those things require me getting out of this cloud of a bed, and that just ain’t happening.
Carson stirs beside me and lets out a deep sigh. His chest has been gently rising and falling in a slow rhythm since I’ve been awake, which hasn’t been long.
Or maybe it has. Time lost all meaning when we stepped into the elevator last night.
He turns toward me and opens his eyes.
“Thank God,” he says, a hint of red embarrassment in his cheeks. “I was scared to fall asleep. I honestly thought I’d wake up and realize last night never happened.”
“Oh, it happened,” I say. “Three times. I’m surprised you didn’t collapse into a coma after that last one.”
“It was an important night. I wanted to make sure it was worth waiting for.”
I climb on top of him and weave my fingers into his.
“Imagine you’re waiting to taste lobster for the first time, because everyone you know always talks about how great lobster is,” I say. “And then, the first time you try it, it’s the meal we had at Piccolo last night.”
His eyes widen.
“Wow,” he says.
“And then multiply that by a billion.”
He chuckles.
“There’s only one problem,” I say.
“Problem? What problem?”
“You set the bar ridiculously high. If you don’t live up to last night every single time from now on, well...”
He slides his hands under my rear and gives me a friendly squeeze.
“Do you know who you’re talking to?” he asks with mock gravity. “Carson Drake eats challenges for breakfast.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “And then Matthias whips him for it in the gym later on. That song’s been on repeat for a while now, babe.”