“I want to come down your throat,” Rebel says roughly, his lips hot and moist against the side of my neck. I shake my head furiously. That’s not what I want. “But your pussy is gripping me like a fist. I’m going to come, pussycat. Tell me where you want it.”
“Inside,” I gasp, trembling, my head falling back against the wall as his teeth skim across my jawline.
“I’m going to fill you up,” he promises. “I’m going to pump every last drop into your sweet cunt until it’s dripping down your thighs.” I moan at the mental image he’s given me. I love when he talks dirty. “You ready for it, pussycat? Are you ready to be filled?”
My eyes squeezed shut, I nod. Frantically, my body chases its own release. The finish line is in sight, but I know, if I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my chance. It’s a flat out race. My heart is beating so hard it feels as if it might burst from my chest, and I’m breathing so fast and hard my mouth goes dry.
Fingers digging into my ass, Rebel grunts, his hips thrusting harder, his movements growing slower as he pulls me down on him, hard, and slams up into me at the same time. Burying his face in the side of my neck, his body stiffens, and I feel him unload inside me in hot bursts. A shudder racks him and he exhales a heavy breath.
Hips continuing to move lazily, Rebel strokes me from the inside until he grows flaccid and his semen leaches past him, soaking us both.
When he finally pulls free of me and sets me back on my feet, I feel dazed. It’s the best sex I’ve had in ages. Since the hotel definitely. It doesn’t even matter that I didn’t finish. This time, the connection counted for so much more.
“Shit,” Rebel curses roundly. I glance up from righting my clothes to see him rubbing furiously at his fly.
“What’s wrong? Did you catch the beans above the frank?” I say with a teasing smile.
Despite himself, the corners of his mouth turn up, taking the edge off his scowl. “There’s cum all over the front of my pants.”
I glance down, seeing the chalky white remnants of our lovemaking…and laugh. “Oh damn. There goes your ‘making a phone call’ excuse.”
“I’m glad you find this so funny. Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Scrub it off?”
“And look like I pissed my pants? No, thanks.” He tries again to scrub away the evidence with the palm of his hand. When it won’t come out, he throws his hands into the air. “Fuck.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what got you into this predicament,” I say with a smirk.
Rebel glares at me, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s annoyed, yes, but it’s more at the situation than anything.
“Look at it this way. You’re not the one sticky with cum. My thighs are literally coated in ejaculate. If I go back in there, everyone is going to smell it on me the second I walk through the door.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Rebel decides.
Deeming his suit pants a lost cause, he reaches for me, winding his arm around my waist and pulling me up against his broad chest. I can still feel his heartbeat thrumming against mine.
Weaving his fingers through my hair and cupping the back of my head, he looks me in the eyes. “Maybe it makes me a callous bastard, but I like knowing you smell like me. I want every man in that room to take one look at you and know you belong to me.”
“You’re a caveman,” I laugh. Rising up on my toes, I kiss the underside of his chin.
“If I am, then you bring it out of me.”
My laughter subsides as I stare up at this man who continues to throw me off balance. “Every time I think I have a handle on you…” I shake my head. “I can’t figure you out, Rebel. You’re such a bastard sometimes, and then…” Then there’s tonight, when he’s not.
“I’m glad I can still keep you on your toes,” Rebel says, flashing me his perfect row of teeth. “What do you say we get out of here? I’m keen to make good on those promises.”
I’m reminded of what he said in the car, about taking me home and fucking me blind. I’m suddenly eager to find out what that feels like. Who needs all five senses anyway?
“Don’t you have to say goodbye?” I ask.
“It’s the polite thing to do, but I’ll just have my assistant send a note to everyone in the morning. Right after she books an extra seat on the plane.” His eyebrows lift up, challenging me to argue.
Lucky for him, he’s caught me in a vulnerable moment. I chuckle, unable to believe I am about to say this. “Fine, whatever. Set it up.”
“I knew you’d come around. A little dick always makes you more agreeable.”
“You’re so crude,” I say as I reach for my phone. I guess this means I have to call Kota and tell him I won’t be coming in. My hand hits air and my head jerks down to inspect the bare space where my purse should be. “Damn it, I lost my purse.”
Rebel’s brows pull down. “Where did you see it last?”
I think about it. “I don’t know. The bathroom maybe. Or the table. I might have left it back at my seat.” He whisked me away after his speech so fast, I hardly had time to think beyond my raging hormones.
“Come on.” Taking my hand, he pulls me along beside him. He’s walking so fast, I have to double-time it to keep up.
“What about your pants?” I ask, breathless.
“Stay in front of me.”
“Okay.” At least he’s not sending me in alone.
As we reach the main hallway, Rebel falls back, allowing me to take the lead. The men at the door eye us suspiciously when we return. At least that’s how it feels anyway. It could just be my guilty conscience, but I swear they can smell the sex on me. Smiling tightly, I hurry into the ballroom, Rebel hot on my heels.
“Scott,” Jack Donnelly calls out as we approach the table. “You’re just in time for dessert.”
Spotting my purse on the table, I release a sigh of relief. Rebel plants himself behind me as I bend to retrieve it, his hand resting lightly on my hip.
“Sorry, Jack. We’re going to pass on dessert. Josephine isn’t feeling well, so we’re going to take off early.”
Startled by his excuse, I shoot upright and pass him a bewildered look. His expression is stiff, unyielding, and silently informs me to play along. Clearing my throat, I scramble to catch up.
Mr. Donnelly and his wife send me matching looks of concern. “What’s wrong, dear? I hope it’s not the food.”
“Oh, no,” I hastily assure them. “I think it’s just a cold or something. Nothing that won’t pass with a little rest.” I wave my hand through the air dismissively. No big deal.
“You do look a little flushed,” Mrs. Donnelly agrees. “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”
“Take care of this one, Scott,” Jack Donnelly says sternly as he heaves himself from his seat to extend his hand to Rebel. “I expect to see the two of you in Maine tomorrow. Holly has a wonderful dinner planned and a special show scheduled. The tickets have already been ordered and are non-refundable.” The warning in his voice is clear. Much like Rebel, Jack Donnelly won’t take no for an answer.
I wonder if that’s where Rebel learned it from, but then, I have a feeling that it’s more of an inherent quality.
“No worries, Jack. I wouldn’t dream of missing one of Holly’s famous dinners. We’ll be there,” Rebel says, giving Donnelly’s hand two firm pumps. “Are you ready to go?” he asks me then, already steering me away.
Craning my neck, I raise my hand in a halfhearted goodbye. “It was nice meeting you both,” I tell the Donnellys as we turn to leave.
Once we’re tucked away in the back of his car, Rebel relates the directions to my apartment to Gerardo. This time, I choose the seat beside him, curling into his side and resting my head on his shoulder.