He grins. ‘I have no idea. I ordered the deluxe picnic basket from my local delicatessen.’
‘That’ll do,’ I say with a grin.
‘What time will you be bringing Tori back?’
I laser my aunt with an I’m not twelve look.
‘Just kidding,’ she says with a laugh.
Both Cash and I pretend to laugh with her.
‘Right, we should be off,’ Cash says.
‘I’ll call you later,’ I tell my aunt.
‘Please do,’ she says with emphasis, as she walks us to the front door. She remains at the doorway and watches as we walk down the drive. There is at least half-a-foot between us.
I smile up at him. ‘So how did you find me?’
‘Do you remember answering a little question called next-of-kin on your employee form?’
I nod. ‘I thought that information was personal and confidential.’
‘I slipped into that category last night when I was eating you out. Now might be a good idea to wave at your aunt, Buttercream.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ I say as I turn around to wave jauntily at my aunt.
My aunt waves back.
When I turn around Cash too is waving at my aunt.
He opens the car door and I slip into the black interior. Inside it is all sleek lines and so super masculine, I feel a bit like Naomi Watts when she was carried in King Kong’s oversized, leathery palm.
‘Fancy,’ I say.
‘It’s always nice when a girl is impressed by your … equipment,’ he says with a predatory grin.
‘Do you know I sometimes fantasize about slapping you?’
He laughs and guns the engine. The roar is incredibly Alpha. I get why these kinds of cars are standard issue for successful men the world over. It’s a good ole my-roar-is-louder-than-yours chest beating competition.
Chapter Eighteen
Tori
‘Where’s your security?’ I shout over the noise of the engine.
‘Let’s just say they’re still somewhere on the M25 driving in a standard issue Range Rover SUV and hoping I get to where I’m going to in one piece so they don’t have to look for a new employer tomorrow,’ he says flashing me a wide grin.
‘Why would you do something so selfish and juvenile?’
‘You wouldn’t understand, but sometimes I feel like I’m living in a bubble. I can’t go anywhere like a normal person. When I am in the States I can’t even fucking walk to my car, I have to run surrounded by beefcakes in suits. Today I wanted to just be any guy to take a girl on a date.’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Pennyhill Park,’ he says.
‘Very posh,’ I say.
Minutes later we turn into an impressive set of black and gold gates. The grounds are beautiful with mature trees and hundreds of rabbits running around. The winding road takes us to a stupendous mansion house. Cash cuts the engine.
‘Wow! This is amazing,’ I exclaim.
‘Isn’t it just?’ he says as he hits a button. The door slides upwards and I get out and look around me in awe.
‘I thought we were having a picnic.’
‘We are. In our hotel room.’
He holds out his car keys to a liveried valet and tells him about the picnic basket that needs to be brought in. Then he holds his arm out to me. With a small smile I take it. I feel as if I am in a dream. How is it possible that this is happening to me? A small voice jeers. ‘Better enjoy it, Buttercream. It’s all based on a pack of lies and it’s going to come crashing down on your head very soon.’
‘What?’ Cash asks as we stand in the grand stone portico.
‘I didn’t say anything,’ I say.
‘Yes, you did. You said no.’
‘Oh. I didn’t mean to. Just overwhelmed by the beauty of this place, I guess,’ I lie quickly.
As we walk into the grand reception with its massive stone fireplace, I have the first inkling of what life is like for celebrities. The wide smiles, the excessive politeness, the starry eyes, the cannot do too much for you attitude. We are shown to the Heywood Suite, which is lavishly furnished in opulent fabrics.
‘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.
He groans and shoves his hands into my hair and pulls me against him, forcing my jaw open, forcing me to take his thick cock head deeper.