Chapter 3
“What did they say?” Crystal asked after Lucas had spoken on the phone in fast Portuguese with the front desk agent.
“The rain blew up a cable. They’re working on it, but it’ll take a couple of hours.” There should be a candle and matches in the drawer,” he said, and she watched his large frame move, causing a dent on the mattress. He stretched his hand and grabbed contents from the nightstand drawer.
What the hell was she going to do? This was getting bad, bad. God. She was in a room with her boss, who had chosen to wear casual clothes because he usually slept naked. The thought sent a thrill of arousal through her. She imagined Lucas Grande in his birthday suit, between silken sheets much like the ones she clutched now. A tremor ran down her spine. Down, girl.
During her time working as his personal assistant, she’d been able to suppress any unwelcome fantasy that randomly popped in her head about her boss. She reminded herself her mother had had no ethics—even getting involved with one of her middle school teachers once—and that had broken her heart many times over, and Margaret was now lonely and broke. That always suppressed her desire.
Until today.
“Crystal?” he called her in that deep, sexy accent. “I only found the candle. Check on your side to see if you find any matches in the drawer.”
“Right.”
She scooted closer to the nightstand, and stretched out her arm until her hand clasped the small handle, then pulled it. She rummaged, feeling a thick book she imagined was the bible, then her fingers felt a small square box. She grabbed it. “Found it.”
Maybe they should just go to sleep and forget about the electricity. Sweat slicked her forehead, a clear message she would toss and turn without a fan or air-conditioning. Opening the doors would only allow the humid air in. Besides, she needed to know at least they had light available if she needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
She returned to her sitting position. He sat next to her. Did she scoot closer this time, in an attempt to return to her spot? Was she… in his spot? That’s why I need to see. “Here, give me the candle,” she asked.
God, she couldn’t see anything. She inched closer, and saw the outline of him holding the object, then her gaze dropped, trying to follow. She heard the thumping sound of what appeared to be the candle hitting the mattress, or did it fall on his lap? “Where is it?” he asked.
She tapped the mattress, spreading her hand, searching. She bumped into a rougher material. His jeans. She should have stopped, but it was like her hand and her brain didn’t communicate, and she found herself touching his jeans, outlining the hem.
He sucked in a breath so deep she felt rather than heard it. She tapped his lap, until she ran into something thick, long and big. “That’s not a candle,” he hissed out.
“Oh, sorry, I thought it must have fallen on your leg.”
“That’s not my leg.”
Not. His. Leg.
Every part of her from her scalp down her core sizzled with raw awareness. She clenched her legs together, in an effort to keep her clit from pulsating its way out of her body. She palmed his massive cock, feeling a hot throb seeping through his jeans. A moan escaped her lips.
“Crystal,” he said, but she didn’t reply. She remained still, in a state of deep arousal. Had he lied about not wanting her? A quick burst of feminine pride washed over her. “Why are you still touching my cock?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Crap. She should jerk away her hand and leave the bed immediately. Leave the room and if possible, summon his pilot and also flee the country. The thrumming of her heart pounding in her ears silenced even her inner voice, and her reliable common sense. She’d been somewhat immune to him because she’d never touched him. Aside from an accidental brush of limbs when they left the elevator or when she handed him a document to sign.
Now… she caressed his most intimate part. Butterflies did cartwheels in her stomach, and her nipples became agonizingly achy, hard, ready for him.
“Crystal…” he said with an edge in his voice, warning her of the messy repercussions of her actions.
“Yes,” she answered to his unspoken question, and to cement her decision, squeezed the bulge.
He pulled her close, and locked his lips on hers. For a moment, she quivered, the simple contact able to send her into a hazy overdrive. She parted her mouth, welcoming him with an abandon that surprised even herself. The moment his tongue collided with hers, she leaned into him. He kissed her with passion, and she paid in the same token. He shoved his fingers in her hair, the touch raising countless goose bumps on her arms. It was like… they were dynamite together. After their tongue meshed, their bodies plastering against each other, there was no going back.
She slid her hand down his chest, his hard muscles going even more rigid under her caress. She disengaged her lips from him for a moment, to catch her breath, and to her joy, he also huffed. When she reached his jeans, he growled. She opened his zipper and thrust her hand inside, needing to feel him more than she needed air. When she palmed his hot flesh, she moaned. She’d never touched a dick so freaking thick.
“Crystal, the right thing—”
“The right thing is to fuck me,” she said, not recognizing the need in her own voice. The palpable craving was news even to her.
“Porra,” he hissed the cussword she’d heard him use before, and kissed her harder, his mouth punishing her.
She stroked his cock, unable to stop it. She felt the underside vein under her palm, the rush of blood to the tip.
He stopped her exploration by switching positions, rolling on top of her. “I’m not coming in your hands, baby,” he said, and pulled her nightgown over her head.
