The Bad Boy Wants Me(35)

‘This is the only suite with its own private terrace,’ the bellboy tells us as he opens the door to the terrace. I step out and the view over the grounds takes my breath away. I stand outside admiring the lush greenery while Cash tips the bellboy and closes the door. He comes back out to stand behind me.

‘Do you like it?’

I turn around to face him. He has taken off his leather jacket and the magnetism of the man hits me like a brick wall.

‘What’s not to like? It’s unquestionably beautiful.’

‘Apparently it is very popular with honeymooners and people celebrating special occasions like us,’ he says.

‘Is this a special occasion?’

‘Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be?’ he asks softly, advancing on me. I know I keep saying it, but he really is very hunky. ‘Unless you’ve got some deep dark secret you’re hiding from me?’ he finishes.

I feel the color draining from my face. ‘Why would you say a thing like that?’ I ask. My voice is high pitched and panicked.

‘I don’t know. You tell me,’ he says quietly.

I take a nervous backward step. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Like a boyfriend maybe?’

The relief that pours into my body is indescribable. Oh, thank god. I’m not going to be horribly exposed miles away from anywhere, after all. Elated, I bat the air with my right hand as if I am swatting away a fly, or he has just expressed the most insane idea I’ve ever heard. ‘Me? Boyfriend? I mean, Pffff.’

He looks at me curiously and I realize that it is possible my reaction might have been a bit over the top.

I take a deep breath. ‘What I meant to convey is that it’s not special because we’re just foolin’ around. Right?’

‘Yeah, we’re just foolin’,’ he says as he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He carries me off to the bedroom and throws me still squealing and protesting onto an enormous bed.

‘Sex in the afternoon in a hotel room? It’s a bit decadent even for you, isn’t it?’ I laugh.

He grabs my right foot, pulls my black sandal off, and throws it behind him. ‘It’s backbreaking work, but someone has to do it,’ he says, grabbing my other foot.

I unbutton my jeans. ‘Don’t put your back out on my account,’ I say as I wriggle out of them.

‘My cock would never forgive me if I didn’t step up to the job,’ he replies, grabbing the hems of my jeans and tugging them clear off my legs before he chucks them somewhere behind him.

I grasp the edges of my top and, lifting slightly off the bed, I pull it over my head. ‘You talk as if your cock has a mind of its own.’

‘Rule number one. All cocks have a mind of their own. Any man tells you otherwise, he’s a lying, son-of-bitch fuckboy,’ he says, popping my bra open, and flinging it south.

I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties. ‘What’s a fuckboy?’

‘Fuckboy: typically, a man who refers to his conquests as his body count, expects sex after buying you a cheap meal, messages you, or worse turns up at your place during booty call hours—’

‘Excuse me,’ I interrupt, completely nude. ‘Didn’t you turn up in my bed during booty call hours?’

He kicks off his shoes, his eyes twinkling. ‘That doesn’t count. I dug my seduction trap well before twelve when official booty call hours begins.’

‘I’m sure hell will freeze over before anyone mistakes you for a fuckboy,’ I say sarcastically.

As a response he pulls his black T-shirt over his head and it’s like a magic trick. Just like that he is a whole lot hotter. Molten hot. Suddenly I don’t want to talk anymore and he’s won the discussion. Shocking how just the sight of this man can have my whole body in an uproar like this. Until I met him, I can count on my hands the amount of times I’ve had sex. Now I can’t get enough.

I feel lust spreading in my veins like an electric current. Arousal courses through my body. Between my legs I start leaking. I stare at the tattoos, the muscles, the utter deliciousness of Cash Hunter as he takes his belt off and yanks his jeans down his muscular thighs. His boxer shorts are terribly tented.

I crawl to the edge of the bed. Extending one hand out I hook one finger into his boxers. Holding his eyes, I slowly pull at the material. He comes with a wolfish growl. When he is close enough I sit on my haunches and drag the black and white striped material down his muscular thighs. When it reaches his knees it becomes slack and falls of its own accord to pool around his feet.

He is buck naked.

I cup his heavy sack, as soft as the finest kidskin with one hand. His testicles are two perfect ovals. With my other hand, I grasp the base of his erect cock. It is only inches away from my mouth and it looks monstrously big and angry. Green/blue veins dance over the pale sienna surface. He stares down at me with an intense, sensual look in those beautiful green eyes. I move my head forward and wrap my lips around the satiny soft skin.