Pretty Perfect Toy - Angel Payne Page 0,81
this, Mishella—but not without your help.”
*
Cassian
“Hi, honey. I’m home.”
Ella hops up from the chaise nestled in the curve of turret one, arms wide for me, face even more open. There are many awesome facets about falling in love with a girl from a society nearly sealed off from the world—one of them definitely being her ignorance of every inane modern cliché.
“Hi, honey.” After giggling when using the word in return, she pops on tiptoes to kiss me. “So you are.”
“And so you are. Wow.” I sweep her with a head-to-toe stare while the tips of our fingers remain clasped. “Heels…makeup…hair? Does that dress have…that tutu shit underneath it?”
She laughs again, suffusing my senses with the music I’ve craved all day. After the disaster of a morning at the TV set with Chantal, then meetings with the legal and PR teams on next steps for handling it all, I took advantage of being at the office to actually work at the office. Lunch was eaten in, followed by ordering Rob to hold calls from everyone except Ella—who was the only person who didn’t call. Nearly seven hours later, she’s the only perfect medicine for my soul…the beauty for my beast.
“The ‘tutu shit’ is called a crinoline.” She grins pertly, swaying like a bell to make the flowered frock move. “It makes the dress pretty.”
“It makes the dress fluffy.” I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a more meaningful kiss. “You make the dress pretty.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Court.”
“Most welcome, sorceress.”
Her tickled smile turns my chest to six kinds of mush. Dear fuck, if the woman ever completely comprehends what she does to me…
Especially in moments like this, when her fingers tug at the ends of my hair, coaxing me down to her for more kisses…
Gladly, my beauty.
There’s tongue involved this time, and I groan from the sizzling satisfaction of it. Goddamn, she tastes amazing…fruity tea, tangy toothpaste, desire-filled woman…how have I gone seven fucking hours without this? The answer doesn’t matter, because I waste no time making up for the loss, pulling on her, sucking on her, feasting on her, until we have to breathe through our noses and she clings to me harder just to stay standing. Yeah. Just the way I like it…
Only with a growled effort do I finally force myself to stop—but not before I try to poke through the tutu shit with the fresh bulge in my crotch. “Shit,” I finally grumble. “We’d better stop before I can’t or won’t.”
Her eyes drag open, entrancing me with their aqua lust. “And the problem with that would be…?”
I chuckle. “That clearly, you want to go out?”
Her head tilts. “Why would I want to do that? Prim made shrimp scampi.” She smiles, seductive and coy, as I follow the twirls of a curl newly tumbled into her cleavage. “And…I might have helped your maimanne make some lemon bars too.”
I moan all over again. “That’s almost as delicious a thought…as this…” Let my finger trail lower, sliding under the edge of her bra…
“Mmmm. I thought so.”
She moves in closer, pushing herself beneath my hand. I fight my way back to rational thought, despite the perfect pucker of her areola and the erotic heat of her nipple. “But you’re all dressed up…” Something doesn’t make sense. As gorgeous as she is in designer finery, her preferred look behind closed doors is the way in which I most prefer her: messy bun, loose tank top, leggings or shorts requiring no underwear to get in my way… “Why isn’t it Batgirl PJs time?”
I bought her the lounging set two weekends ago at a flea market. She’s been nearly inseparable with it since—only now, the mention of it makes little creases across her forehead. “Just not in a Gotham heroes mood tonight.”
There’s something off about that assertion, too—something I should dig deeper into—but dammit if the woman doesn’t peel every coherent thought from my mind with the flick of her tongue, sliding over my Adam’s apple, as she loosens my tie. Before I can stop her, the silk strip is gone and tossed to the floor, replaced by bolts of raw heat emanating from the spot where she nips, bites, and teases at my skin…
“Ohhhh kay…” I conclude it with a hiss, as she dips fingers beneath my shirt…and rubs a thumb across my nipple. “What are you in…the mood…for?”
“My own hero.” She lets the breath of it curl up the column of my neck—as she pinches harder at my