Caspian (Carolina Reapers 8)

Only one night? God, that had been enough.

“That makes me sad,” he said, and I scrunched my brow at him in confusion. His eyes trailed the length of my body, and heat flared over my skin for an entirely different reason. “That means you haven’t been treated right in the past. Haven’t been worshiped enough. Haven’t been the sole focus of someone who only has one thing on his mind.”

“And that is?” I asked, my words coming out rough.

“Getting you off in every way possible,” he said, stepping into the room. I retreated a step, allowing him to fully come inside the room, and he shut the door behind him.

Then he flicked the lock.

My thighs clenched from that move alone.

“Every way possible?” I said, my voice a whisper as he stalked toward me. “Elaborate.”

He smirked, the grin half charm, half sin. “Getting you off isn’t just about an orgasm,” he explained, and I tilted my head.

“It isn’t?” My back hit the wall, and he caged me in with those arms.

“Nope,” he said, dropping one arm to trail a single finger along the line of my jaw then dipping over my collar bone. I shivered, my body arching into the touch on instinct. “It’s about learning what makes you react, makes you moan, makes you ache.” He dropped that finger over my chest, between my cleavage. “It’s about uncovering what you want most here,” he said, tracing a light circle over the center of my chest before dragging his hand lower. He easily shifted my dress aside, teasing me with a featherlight touch over my panties. “And here,” he said, his words rougher now.

I gasped, my hips moving, seeking more of his touch, but he pulled back, returning to caging me against the wall.

“I can only explain so much,” he said. “It’d really be better if I showed you.”

I might’ve whimpered, but he made no motion to move.

“Do you want me to show you, Ryleigh? Show you what it’s like to be wanted like that?” he asked, leaning in closer to brush his lips over mine. “Do you want more of that, like the other night?”

Something intense and needy built inside me so much it was hard to breathe around it. And maybe it was the way he’d crept under my skin the last week, or maybe it was just him, but I shook my head. “No,” I said, and he drew back an inch, going statue still before me. “I don’t want more of that, Caz,” I said, breathless as I reached up to cup his cheeks. “I just want more of you.”

A breath rushed from his lips, and he shuddered before me, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds as he pressed his forehead against mine. And that simple surrender, that simple show of silent thanks broke something in me. Because I wondered how many women he’d been with had only been with him because of what he could do for them—sexually, monetarily—and not because they wanted him.

The man behind the celebrity, behind the cocky attitude and the endless bank account. How many of them were turned on by his sense of humor or melted at the way he bent over backward for his family? How many found him irresistible because of his heart and not because of his Greek god-like body?

“Say that again,” he said, hovering his mouth over mine, those eyes of his locked on mine and demanding.

“I want you—”

“No,” he said, flicking his tongue over my lips. “My name. You called me Caz. It does things to me.”

A warm shiver danced down the center of me. “I want you, Caz,” I said, letting the term of endearment roll off my tongue with every ounce of desire I had in my body.

It snapped something in him, because one minute I was caged between him and the wall, and the next he was spinning me around, his fingers on the zipper of my dress.

“If I don’t get this off of you right now,” he said, dragging the zipper down. “I’ll mess it up and I highly doubt you want to go to the wedding in just your bra and panties.”

I laughed, my palms flat against the wall as I carefully stepped out of the dress. “I don’t think London would appreciate that.”

“Oh, but I would,” he said, spinning me back around to face him. He stepped back, his eyes devouring every inch of my skin. “On second thought, no,” he said, carefully laying my dress over a chair across the room. “I wouldn’t want anyone else seeing you like this.” He stalked back to me, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

He crushed his mouth on mine before I could respond.

I opened for him, tilting my head back when he tugged at my hair so he could claim my mouth at a deeper angel. I reached for him, jerking open his belt and dropping his dress pants in a frenzied rush. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his pants across the room. There was nothing slow about what was building between us. No, this was pure, unrestrained need.