Masked Page 40

  His carved face, still concentrated so fully on mine, broke into a smile as he slowly glided his cock into me. Every clench of his jaw and press of his lips told me how thoroughly he enjoyed every inch of our union. I closed my eyes for a long moment, doing the same.

  When he was seated fully, he began grinding his pelvis into mine, directly rubbing my labia and clit, winding my arousal to excruciating tension, before withdrawing and doing it all over again. The mastery of my body and the ink-dark adoration in his eyes became my anchor and my freedom, melding our souls as one.

  Over and over, out and back in, he plunged and teased and thrust until my channel dripped with need, my orgasm achingly close to the surface. Killian clenched his jaw so tight I watched his thundering pulse through its steely skin. It was a small consolation to see how the strain taxed him too.

  “Please, Killian,” I finally sobbed. “I can’t take any more. Please…make me come again.”

  Unbelievable. I’d never begged a man for release in my life. I had no idea how it had happened this time, but Killian Stone held the keys to my body’s kingdom. Insanity would be my new best friend if he didn’t release me soon.

  “I, too, want you to explode, little fairy.” He stroked into me again with solid purpose. “But remember our rule, baby.”

  “Wh-What? R-Rule?” I could barely breathe, let alone recall rules. What the hell was he talking about?

  “My name on your lips, Claire. Mine.” A bead of sweat dripped off his forehead and onto my lips. Without thinking, I skirted my tongue out to lick it off. A dark growl escaped from his chest.

  “Yes,” I returned. “Oh Killian, yes.” I was seriously about to lose my mind. “Killian. Killian. Killian. Oh, hell!”

  As soon as I spilled the words, he braced his elbows on either side of my head and slammed into a high-octane pace with his cock. His eyes were brilliant onyx, his skin burnished with sweat. He pumped into me like a madman, fucking me deep and hard and rough. I slicked my hands down his back and gripped his straining ass, certain I’d never been more thoroughly consumed by pleasure in my life.

  When I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. He reached between our bodies, stroking his magical, long fingers over my abused clitoris. With that action, he finally unhinged the locks. My release burst over me in a white-hot ball of sensation, though a thousand colors sparkled behind my closed lids. My head jerked back into the pillow as I screamed Killian’s name over and over, just as he’d commanded me.

  But the word was more than just obeisance to him. It was praise and plea and adoration, erupting from the deepest reaches of my heart. I didn’t bother to question why—as if I were capable of advanced thought right now anyway.

  Only one thought dominated my mind. One word. His name. I could’ve shouted it a hundred more times. And, God, how I tried—not caring if the entire damn airport heard me.

  Chapter 11

  Killian

  I was a fucking god.

  I grinned like an idiot at the thought, confident I might as well have just scaled Mount Olympus. Budget goals? Profit targets? Personal aspirations? What the hell were those, compared to the triumph of bringing the ecstasy to this woman’s face? Of feeling the walls of her body convulse around me as she splintered in passion? Of hearing the sob in her voice as she chanted my name like a lusty prayer?

  Oh, yeah. I was the man. I sucked droplets right off my little fairy’s skin, savoring her salty perspiration as I locked my mouth to her neck once more. The new positioning angled my cock deeper inside her, enabling me to feel every new drop of her arousal around my length, every squeeze of her flesh against my own.

  My smirk faded. My lungs got stingy with my breath as my heart pumped more blood to the juncture between my thighs. She gripped my ass, worsening my torment from abstinence yet making it a hundred times better. Every cell in my balls roared with the entreaty for a green light on my orgasm.

  I clenched my fists and held back. Drove into her harder. Deeper. Slanting myself back a little so my shaft slid along the front wall of her tunnel, until—

  “Holy shit!”

  She screamed like that.

  I dragged myself in and out at exactly the right angle. Claire’s hands plummeted to the pillows. I grabbed them and meshed our fingers, watching the new arousal take over her face. Her mouth dropped in a wordless scream. Her nipples jutted at me, pink and tight and perfect. She wrapped her legs around my waist, clenching me hard. Her sex started shuddering in beautiful waves of fulfillment.

  I stared down at her, aware of nothing else but her breaths, her cries, her sighs. Rain pounded the roof above us. I didn’t care. On a nearby runway, a jet touched down. I didn’t care. Here, now, there was nothing but her glistening beauty, her golden passion, her body’s perfect union with mine.

  “Claire,” I whispered. Now I was the one praying. “Sweet Claire.”

  “Killian. Oh, Killian…”

  I pulled in a quivering breath and let it out on one word to her. “Now?”

  “Yes,” she gasped. “I need you. Come inside me. Now.”

  I climaxed with my gaze twined to hers, a tight groan escaping with the release that rushed up my flesh and burst deep within her core. At the same time, her pussy clamped me with rigid force, coinciding with the new ferocity on her face. Witnessing her completion a third time spiraled mine even higher, making me wonder if the come would ever stop. In so many ways, I wished it wouldn’t. I thrust again and again, shuddering as waves of release poured from me.

  Even as the heat subsided, I couldn’t let go of the moment. I bent my head and kissed her with long, lingering plunges, exultant when she returned every pass with equal fervor. Even after I pulled out and tossed the condom, I didn’t let her go. As we lay on our sides, I explored every curve and crevice of her body that I could. My search yielded a heart-shaped freckle on her left shoulder. A tiny childhood scar below her right knee. Even a couple of ticklish spots behind her elbows.

  She watched my every move as if I fascinated her as much as she did me. The idea was preposterous, but I reveled in her attention—until her face noticeably tightened. A frown automatically claimed mine in return. I threaded my fingers across her forehead, into her hair. “You still okay?”

  She gave a bashful shrug and dipped her head a little before scooting closer, burrowing against my chest. “Hell yes. Definitely. As in…definitely to the power of wow.” She waited a couple of seconds before adding, “Go ahead. Start preening, Mr. Stone. You have my clearance. Those were officially the three best orgasms of my life, okay?”

  I laughed, though the reaction felt forced. “Just…the orgasms?”

  I sounded like a goddamn girl. She was right. My chest should’ve been puffed like a rooster who’d claimed the golden hen, but there I was, fishing for performance clarification. Needing to know I wasn’t alone in feeling like the axis of my world had just been tipped.

  “No,” she chided, “not just the orgasm.” She raised her head in order to scoot her hands beneath her chin. She grew silent again, making me study the darker lights in her eyes and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just…”

  With my hand still in her hair, I pressed, “Just what?”

  She gave a tentative smile. “Trying to memorize everything,” she murmured. “That’s all.”

  I hitched an elbow beneath my head, trying to appear casual—feeling everything but that. “You make that sound like it’s the last day of camp.”

  She giggled. “What?”

  I didn’t return the mirth. “Sad,” I explained. “You sound sad but resigned to it.”

  She lifted her head a little, to get a better angle for our mingled gazes. The glints in her eyes darkened even more. “I guess I am.”

  Thunderheads stretched across my mind. And the squeeze of anger in my heart? Better it went ignored. Much better. I finally muttered, “Why?”

  “You know why.” Her tone landed somewhere between reproving and terse. My tension r
ose in proportion, getting thicker as the crew began fueling the plane and loading the galley.

  “Maybe you’d better humor a guy during his last few minutes on American soil.”

  “Don’t get morose.” She sighed against my chest, fidgeting a finger against my right pectoral. As she neared my nipple, I had to fight the craving for her all over again. And the realization that her assertion was right. I was being morose. And resentful. And frustrated that though we’d finally ridden the Colossus roller coaster to its giddy, amazing end, I loathed the thought of climbing off. “Okay, I’m not saying that it wasn’t good or that it wasn’t an amazing experience—”

  “An amazing fuck, you mean.”

  She jerked away, face twisting and shoulders stiffening. I glared back, steeping in self-righteousness that bordered on asshole, but I couldn’t stop myself—couldn’t hold back the angry sarcasm from seeping in. But if she wanted cavalier here, then damn it, she’d get it.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Have I misspoken, Miss Montgomery? Forgive me. You can’t blame me for jumping to the conclusion. You’ve been pretty damn clear about what would be possible between the two of us, so—”

  “And you’ve been pretty damn clear that possible was acceptable.” She pushed from the bed, swinging her legs out and tempting me all over again with their silken curves. I reached for her hip, but she yanked away, heaving to her feet. “You told me you weren’t the prince, Killian. You never promised me a glass slipper or doves in my window, and I was fine with that.” After stepping back into her pajamas, she sat at the foot of the bed with a softer expression. “You also talked about secrets,” she murmured. “Mine and yours. You told me they’d be safe.”

  I readjusted the sheets with a sharp jerk. She didn’t need to know what the sight of her bare chest still did to me. “What’s your point?”

  She curled her fingers around my calf while lifting her gaze to my face. “Will our secrets be safe if we continue this?”

  My frown deepened. The answer to her question was plainer than the arrow of arousal that her touch shot up my leg. The contact was a continuation of our connection, its filaments more tenacious with every minute we spent together. The woman had me spellbound. Humbled. Opened. I looked inside and saw parts of my soul that I’d considered vaulted so long ago. With her, they were unshackled.

  Which made me her complete captive.

  I almost let out a laugh. God, what a tangle. My brother’s recklessness had brought Claire into my life, but my own could be the fatal tug at the whole house of cards. And the most hilarious catch of it all? I wasn’t sure I cared.

  No. I had to care. The woman, damn her brilliant soul, saw to the essence of that. Insisted on it. Was stronger than I in accepting it, evidenced even now by her determined movements as she buttoned her top back up. I watched her with heated reluctance. Flannel pajamas would forever have a new meaning for me.

  When she was finished, I finally rose, used the facilities, and shoved back into my dress pants. I found a clean black T-shirt in one of the dresser drawers. It was over twelve hours to Beijing, so the dress shirt and tie could wait until later.

  As I expected, the crew was busy preparing the interior of the plane for our departure. When I emerged from the bedroom with Claire, a sly smirk spread between the two flight attendants. I responded with a don’t-go-there glare, already guessing the intent of their grins. To my relief, they toned down the snark and plastered on affable smiles instead.

  Claire shifted and rubbed at one of her forearms. Though she slanted her head back toward me, her gaze never reached mine. If it had, she would’ve witnessed my visual warnings.

  “On that note”—I pressed a hand into the small of Claire’s back—“I’m walking you out.”

  She squirmed a little more. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Stone.”

  Mr. Stone?

  “The hell it won’t.” I didn’t try to temper my growl.

  The rain had stopped, but the wind had kicked up, whipping her coat tightly around her as I grabbed her hand during our walk to the town car. Alfred stood waiting next to the vehicle, as impervious to the cold as a Buckingham Palace guard. He opened the back door as we approached, and Claire moved toward it with an urgent energy.

  I jerked her back forcefully. Not so fast, little fairy.

  My chest tightened in all the good ways when she moved back into my embrace without resistance. I pulled her face up, inundated with protective fervor when my hands encountered her chilled cheeks. Without thought, I locked my lips to hers—needing to taste her one more time. Needing another long drink of her warm, sweet essence. Longer. Longer…

  Our bodies quivered against each other when we finally pulled apart, our breaths thick clouds in the night air. Behind me, Vaughn ignited the plane. “Fuck,” I gritted.

  “It’s okay.” Claire lifted a brave smile. The corners of her mouth quivered. “Go.”

  “I’ll call.” I hammered my intent into both syllables. My longing. My need for hope.

  Her smile descended. “Don’t,” she rasped.

  So much for hope.

  But she was right about that too. Didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. And I wasn’t. But wrapping myself back up in my wrath gave me the strength to let her step free. Then, the determination to turn and stomp back to the plane. As I climbed the steps, my soul dove in the opposite direction—deep and low—back into the shell of Killian Jamison Stone, a stranger I’d never hated more than in this moment.

  Chapter 12

  Claire

  “Mmm?” Nothing answered my sleepy mumble. I opened one eye and tried to see the clock on my phone, only to realize I’d spoken into the wrong end. “Uhhh…he-hello?”

  My other eye popped open, pried by shock. It was one in the morning.

  “Hey, fairy queen.”

  Heart, meet throat.

  Okay, not a total shocker—except that Killian had used that nickname. The precious words that now tumbled all my nerves into my stomach and tripled the pace of my pulse. In ten seconds flat. In the middle of the night. When I wasn’t prepared. Or clothed.

  I bolted up bed and started fumbling with my hair, as if he could see me. “Is something wrong? Why are you calling now? Are you all right? Damn it, did Trey—”

  “He’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you, babe.”

  His voice dipped into husky registers that gave me the impression he’d just woken up. Even after a week and from nearly seven thousand miles away, the sound gave me wonderful chills. I scraped the hair off my face, firmed my chin, and snapped, “Please don’t call me things like that. We’ve been down this road. So…Trey’s fine. You’re fine. Why are you calling? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I know. I’ve tried to keep my calls to business hours for you, but…this isn’t business.” His thick exhalation filled the line. “I had a small break, and—”

  When he fell into silence, I huffed again. “And what?”

  “I miss you.”

  My heart didn’t make it to my throat this time. It stayed in my chest to entertain my rib cage with a dozen backflips. “Oh.”

  There was a discernible rustle from his end. When he spoke again, a more intimate murmur took over his tone. “I miss you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I keep wondering what you’re doing. Who you’re doing it with. What you’re wearing.”

  He edged toward humor, making me smile and settle against the pillows. Through the crack in my room’s drapes, the lights of the city beamed, but the glow was meaningless and cold. The only warmth in my world came from a tiny hole in the device in my hand. The awkwardness of our parting at Midway, though only a week ago, seemed a distant memory. The man was so damn hard to stay mad at. Yes, I missed him too. But letting him in on that tidbit? Not a good idea.

  “So.” His voice was even lower this time. Rougher. “What are you wearing?”

  I groaned and then laughed. He stuck with determined silence. “Pajamas, Killian,” I fin
ally stated. “I was sleeping, remember?”

  He cleared his throat. “Your flannel ones?”

  Hell. The seduction in his voice was unmistakable. And irresistible. But I wouldn’t let him get the upper hand this time. “This pair is satin, actually.” I underlined the announcement with flippancy. “Black satin with white piping around the edges. Boring, boring, boring.”

  “Nothing about you is boring, Claire Montgomery.”

  Upper hand, Claire. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m wearing thick white knee socks under them. How’s that for glamorous?”

  He snorted. “Socks? Why?”

  “Because it’s damn cold here tonight, and—”

  “And what?”

  And you’re not here to turn on that heater you call your body. “I’m a wimpy California girl. There. You got me to say it. Satisfied?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Satisfied would mean being there with you, stripping off those socks along with the shit that’s covering them up.” I listened to the rugged sough of his breath, picking out a tinge of melancholy in his tone. My empathy for him was the key to my undoing. Within seconds, my mind punched the Rewind tab, taking me to memories that I’d worked so hard to block.

  “You do…strip me…quite well,” I whispered.

  “You inspire me to greatness.” His voice was a whisper too. “Fuck. Claire—”

  “We should say goodbye.” I nodded to reinforce myself. Like that would be effective. “Aren’t you on your way to something? A meeting? An appointment? A tea ceremony?”

  “Not for hours. I’m in my suite, all alone. Claire—”

  “Yes, Mr. Stone?” I offered it smoothly this time. Urgently. It was easy, given the sinful demand in his tone. Even so, my voice was odd in my ears. I sounded breathless. Needy. I was going to hate myself in the morning for caving like this. I didn’t care.