Page 24 of Rumor Has It

“I am your guest.”

Isaiah has me place a hand on his shoulder for balance. He lifts my skirt and removes my heeled boots. His palm is warm and the reverent kisses he places from my knee to my shin make me feel worshiped. He goes for the top of the dress next. Pulling the zipper down the rest of the way and letting it puddle at my toes. I kick it away. He guides one strap of my bra off at a time and flicks the clasp at my back, sending the weight of my breasts tumbling into his hands. I’m naked before him. His thumbs tantalize my nipples into taut peaks.

I reach for his belt buckle. His clothes are scattered on my floor before it registers that I should have taken as much time undressing him.

Whatever Santa is bringing down the chimney this year, he can’t top this.

Isaiah’s erection juts toward me. The tip nudges my stomach, painting a trace of pre-cum on my belly.

And then he’s kissing me again and we’re both free to glide our hands over one another’s bodies, unencumbered.

I stroke his long, hot member as he bites and sucks on my neck and chest. I whimper when his fingers seek my clit. As if it’s the most natural thing to do, I let him slide them inside of me again, and we’re both panting, searching for a release that won’t come for any other reason than our mutual stubbornness. We want to fuck. One of us has to be the first to suggest it. And neither of us is.

I cheer for the winning team when his soaked hand gives up. He forcefully tackles the comforter and sheets, tearing them down toward the foot of the bed.

I’d made it. Hospital corners and all. With Isaiah in the mansion, I’ve been awful at following my vacation rules.

He pushes me back to the mattress. I shimmy up toward the pillows, stretching catlike.

“Shit, I don’t have any—” he bites sourly right as I anticipate him hovering over me.

“There are condoms inside my nightstand.”

“I’m not sure if I should kiss or spank you.”

“Let’s start with the kissing. You never know where that’ll lead.” I wink, drawing a hand up my thigh and resting it on my bottom. “I can take care of that,” I say as he tears the foil packet with his teeth. The wrapper lands on my book.

“Not if you want me to take care of you, you won’t be.”

My belly tightens at the implication. The thought of having sex with me can’t be too much for Isaiah to handle. I’m not a provocative starlet with come-hither eyes and a career trajectory to match.

It increases the level of danger when I feel his tip nudge my entrance. Isaiah pushes into me inch by inch, easing my inner walls into the stretch. He pulls out before plunging back in and setting a slow rhythm. All the while, Isaiah captures my attention by looking me in the eye and watching to see if I like what he’s doing.

How can I not? How can the care he’s taking with my pleasure be anything except magnificent? My foolish heart tries to make sense of a connection that I’m surely misunderstanding.

“You feel incredible, Cass,” sounds a lot like “You are incredible.”

Those are the words I utter back. They are likely ridiculous and naïve and he’s heard them from a million adoring fans. But everything about my day has been improbable and unexpected. I mean what I’m saying and I hope in a week the same emotion holds true.

He kisses me while sliding an arm underneath my knee, repositioning my leg and thrusting harder. His lips trace my neck as if they’re mapping each dip and swell. I lose myself in each sensation. His tongue on my skin. His chest brushing against mine. The friction of his cock sliding in and out of my wet heat.

My core flutters. “I’m so close.”

The admission becomes a challenge for Isaiah to make me come. He pistons his hips harder and my lower half seizes, unable to meet his thrusts any longer. I claw my nails into his back as my pussy tightens. I can’t push any air into or out of my lungs. Isaiah rears back. His face contorts and I feel him swell. He grunts, his completion following mine.

His head rests on my breasts as we catch our breaths. I stroke his back, with an overwhelming need to be gentle when I feel the tiny arc indentations I left there.

He pushes up on his elbows, cradling my face and tucking my hair behind my ear. “Do you have any clue how pretty you are, Cass?”

I pinch my fingers together by my face.

“Modest, huh?”

“I grew up with outsiders telling me Gracyn is beautiful. They aren’t wrong. I figure if my sister is, pretty has to be somewhere in my genes.”

“You know what I like in your genes?”

“What?”

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