Chapter 1

~ Cassey ~

His hands trail up my naked torso, cupping each breast and rubbing my nipples until they harden under the pad of his thumb. My back arches, seeking more of him, of his touch. When his hands move back down, I whimper at the loss of contact until I feel his hot, wet tongue start to tease and suck each breast in turn. A flame coils in my belly, causing an ache that only he can soothe. I try to move my hands so that I can run them through his glorious, rich brown locks but they’re restrained. I pull a little harder and feel cool metal biting into my skin. Handcuffs. My disappointment at being unable to touch him is soon wiped away when he moves his head farther down, licking my sensitive flesh. I feel his tongue dip into my navel and I squirm, eager for him to keep going. He chuckles and the sound of his deep voice travels to where I’m starving for him.

“My gorgeous, greedy, little Peach,” he breathes. His hands stop at my hips and he uses his knee to nudge my thighs apart, exposing me to him completely. “Look at me,” he commands. “I want you to watch me use my tongue to make you come.” I shiver. “Cassey,” he growls. My eyes snap open and I look into his clear blue eyes, a storm of lust and hunger swirling viciously in their depths. He licks his lips and a moan slips from between my slightly parted lips. “Oh please,” I beg, unable to help myself. He’s driving me wild and I’m being consumed by my own ravenous need. I want him to own me, consume me and give me what I crave. Him.

His lips kiss my inner thigh on one side and then he kisses the other, his dangerous blue eyes never leaving mine. “Please what, baby?” he teases. He wants me to tell him what I want, but only because it turns him on to hear me say the words ‘Fuck Me’. The wicked grin on his face makes me feel like a helpless rabbit about to be devoured by a wolf. A big bad wolf. He leans down and I hear him inhale. “Hmmm,” he mumbles. “Sweet as a Georgia peach.” I watch as he lifts my legs and wraps them around his neck. My heart is already racing but by some miracle it increases in speed. “Tell me what you want, Cassey,” he growls again. He is so bossy. And it’s such a fucking turn on. “I want -” I lick my dry lips and force the words out from my very dry mouth. “I want you to fuck me, Kyler.” He grins widely. My big bad wolf. His eyes stay glued to mine as his head dips and I hold my breath in anticipation. His tongue dives between my slick folds and the heat and moisture assaults my clit. My hips buck and I feel him smile against me. He likes teasing me, pushing me until the edge is within reach and then pulling me back. His tongue slides between my sensitive lips until it reaches the little hub of nerves he’s searching for. The familiar pressure builds and when I think I’m ready to crash, his mouth pulls back. I struggle to catch my breath, panting loudly until his mouth covers mine. I taste myself on him, which only serves to increase my arousal. “Please,” I breathe into his mouth. “I don’t think I can-” my words are cut off when he slowly slips one finger into me and then another, beginning the slow, torturous process of teasing my clit all over again. My hips start moving and fall into rhythm with his fingers while I ride his hand. “Yes,” I breathe harshly. “Oh my God, yes.” I ignore the pain in my wrists and focus only on the building pressure between my legs. He starts curling his fingers upward, massaging my upper walls each time his fingers retreat, and applying more pressure as they surge back in.

I can’t help but think that he’s a musician and I am the instrument. The wave of ecstasy is close and I feel myself tighten around his fingers until…until… an alarm goes off.

My eyes fly open and I sit up straight in bed. I hit the clock next to my bed to shut off the alarm that abruptly ended my very happy dream before I got happy. I wipe the small droplets of sweat from my forehead and slump against my headboard. Did I just have a wet dream? Yes. I just had a wet dream. Under normal circumstances I would feel embarrassed, ashamed even, but given that I haven’t had sex in over a year, it’s perfectly normal for me to feel frustrated. Thanks to my alarm’s impeccable timing, I’m even more frustrated after being unable to finish. The image of deep, blue eyes and dark, rich brown hair comes to mind and I blush, even though I’m alone in my room. He can only be a figment of my imagination, a delirious fantasy, because I’ve never dated a man that looks anything like him. Something about those eyes…

A soft knock on my bedroom door makes me jump and I clasp my damp tank top. “Who is it?” I choke out. It can only be one person but I’m so lost in my imaginary Adonis’ blue eyes that all sense momentarily disappeared.

“What do you mean ‘who is it’?” my roommate and best friend Quinn asks as she steps into my room.

I sigh. “Sorry, Quinny. I was a little confused.” She comes to stand next to my bed and I take in her light pink nighties and her matching pink slippers. Quinn Avery is a stunning woman. Her blonde hair is cut into a sleek bob that accentuates her high cheek bones, rosy cheeks and hazel colored eyes. We’re both the same height, standing at five feet six inches, but where her hair his blonde and short, mine is light brown and hangs to the middle of my back, and where her eyes are hazel, mine are green.

“You better get ready,” she quips, surveying my sweaty appearance. “You have a meeting at eight.” I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and

pick up the old-fashioned alarm clock that ruined my morning. “Shit,” I mutter.

I have less than forty-five minutes to get ready and make a stop at Starbucks on my way to work. I dash past Quinn, who chuckles behind me, and take the quickest shower of my life. If it wasn’t for her, I would never do anything or get anywhere on time. You’d think that by the age of twenty-two my time management would be perfect. Sadly, it’s not. I riffle through my small closet until I find my gray pencil skirt and my white button down blouse with bell sleeves. I’m busy fastening the strap of my black wedges when Quinn walks into my room. She’s wearing her favorite cream colored dress pants with a red button down shirt and matching red stiletto heels.

“I’m almost ready,” I say. I grab my on-the-go make-up bag and throw it into my oversized Gucci knock off purse.

“Are we stopping at Starbucks?” Quinn asks while she puts her diamond stud earrings in. She always dresses to impress and that goes for her flashy accessories too. Unlike me, Quinn comes from a very wealthy family who are very well known here in Chicago. She doesn’t need a job but chooses to work because it’s what she loves doing.

I roll my eyes. “I never miss my morning cup of java,” I quip. “You know that, Quinny.”

Making sure that I have everything, I grab my purse and my laptop bag and walk out in the hallway and into the kitchen. I love our little apartment. It’s our slice of heaven. The floors are all hardwood and the furniture is a combination of dark chocolate and caramel in color, with red scatter cushions to add some depth. The short hallway leads to two bedrooms and a bathroom.

Luckily Quinn has an en suite bathroom of her own so we don’t have to share. Our kitchen has steel appliances, courtesy of Quinn’s parents, and marble counters with wood cupboards that match the floors. My favorite feature is the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the corner of what should be our dining room. Instead of dining room furniture, we got a chaise lounge set and now use it as a reading nook. Quinn comes strolling down the hallway like it’s a runway and slips her too big sunglasses on top of her head. In the two years that we’ve been living together, I’ve learned many things about Quinn, one of them being no matter how well she dresses she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks. She smiles at me and I return it as we slip out of our apartment and into the elevator that takes us five floors down to the lobby. We greet Charles, an older gentleman, who mans the front desk, and step into the bustle of a Monday morning. The city is so different compared to where I grew up. There isn’t even a comparison between it and the tiny town I ran away from or the two bedroom trailer I shared with my good-for-nothing parents. I push my thoughts about them and that life out of my mind as we near the Starbucks on the corner.