DARK PARADISE - A Political Romantic Suspense (6 page)

Camille

The next morning, I jot the
address in my journal and leave a note for
Araminta
on the kitchen island. I should be home before she’ll get a chance to see it,
but this is just a precaution. I wish she were here to hear all about how I
ruined last night by freaking out about Trey. She’s the only one who knows
about the stalking and the threats after we ended things.
Araminta
would understand.

But she’s off doing God knows
what with God knows who, as usual.

A quick peek out the window
tells me Oliver is waiting below, parked in John’s Town Car in front of my
building. I do a quick check in the mirror before stepping into my heels,
grabbing my phone and a little black clutch, and heading down.

“Hello, Oliver,” I say when I
see him. He holds the rear passenger door for me, his eyes covered in
sunglasses despite the fact that the sun went down at least fifteen minutes
ago. He’s dressed in his usual black, and he doesn’t smile. He only nods.
Sometimes I wonder if he’s Secret Service, but I’ve known men in this city to
hire guards who look the part because they love to look important.

The car pulls away a minute
later, and I pay close attention to each turn we make. Twenty minutes pass
before he parks his car in front of a brown brick building in the Capitol Hill
neighborhood. A simple sign with modern, sans-serif font tells me the building
is called The Hightower.

Oliver turns to face me.
“There’s a blindfold in the back seat pocket. Take it upstairs with you.”

“Keys?” I ask.

He reaches over the seat and
drops a black fob into my hand. “Fifth floor. Apartment seven. You’ll need to
scan this at the entry to get inside. If the doorman asks who you’re there to
see, tell him you’re visiting Henry. He’ll know what that means, and no, his
name is not Henry.”

I figured as much.

“Thank you.” I climb out and
straighten the hem of my dress, my heart beating so hard it pulses in my ears.

There’s a reason I’ve always
opted to meet men in hotels. They’re neutral, public, and the rooms are always
registered in their names.

I do exactly as Oliver
instructed, and within five minutes I’m standing before apartment seven on
floor five. I swipe the fob and the door unlocks. When John referred to this
place as a corporate apartment, I expected bland furnishings and neutral décor.

But this place is fit for a
king. It’s modern minimalist meets pampered royalty. Curves and edges. Shimmer
and shine. I’ve shacked up in lavish places before but nothing quite this grand.

I’m drawn straight ahead,
letting the door slam shut behind me as my gaze is glued to a view of the
glowing DC skyline at sunset. I press my fingertips lightly against the glass,
getting as close as I can to a sight that makes me think this city couldn’t
possibly be as toxic as I once thought. Standing here, it’s hard to believe
something so splendid could chew you up and spit you out like you’re nothing
and keep you coming back for more.

And maybe that’s the problem.
We’re all a bunch of nobodies, so desperate to be somebody that we’re willing
to do whatever it takes, even if it means hurting or getting hurt as many times
as necessary.

The blindfold in my pocket
falls to the wood floor, almost as if to remind me this magnificent sight will
be going away any second. I tug it over the top of my head, unwilling to tear
myself away from this window just yet.

Five minutes pass, then another
five, then another.

I can’t imagine that John would
be the kind of man to stand me up. If only I had his number I could call him.

It surprises me that this apartment
isn’t already prepared for my arrival. I expected the place to be pitch dark.
Most of the time, the hotel room is so dark I can’t see my hand before my face,
which makes it difficult to find the blindfold.

The shrill ring of my phone
echoes off the high ceiling of the expansive room, jumpstarting my heart. I
take a second to catch my breath before glancing at the caller ID. The blocked
number tells me it’s him.

“I’m stuck in traffic,” he says
when I answer. “I’ll be there soon.”

“It’s fine, John,” I say.

“Why don’t you put on the
blindfold and wait for me in the last room down the hall? Make yourself
comfortable.” He sighs into the phone, a sign, perhaps, that he’s had a long
day. “I’ll be there soon.”

“All right.”

“And Camille?”

“Yes?”

“No peeking.”

***

I tiptoe down the hall, spotting
my reflection in the glossy, black wood floors. The last door at the end of the
hall is half-open. I swing it all the way open before stepping into the room,
as if some kind of boogeyman might be waiting behind it.

Nothing.

My heart sprints. They say fear
is an aphrodisiac, and if that’s true, I’m going to be primed and ready before
John sets foot in here.

The knot in my stomach urges me
to look around and conduct a sweep to ensure I’m really alone. Three other
doors are shut tight along the north wall. Inhaling, I step to the first one
and twist the knob.

Laundry.

My knotted belly relaxes a
notch as I step to the next door.

A bedroom. Unoccupied.

My gaze feasts on the ornate
furnishings and floor to ceiling windows before moving on to the third door.

A bathroom. Marble with gold
fixtures.

The place appears to be empty.
I’d check under beds and in closets if I didn’t think John would be here any
minute.

Feeling slightly better, I head
back to the suite at the end of the hall and make myself comfortable—starting
with the bed. The monstrosity that anchors the room is so tall that I have to
use steps to climb into it, and my body sinks into the plush mattress like it’s
some sort of memory foam cloud. With my back against a mountain of pillows in the
center of a four-poster bed, I wait.

I could wait here forever in
this little slice of paradise.

The door down the hall opens
and shuts a second later, and I pull the blindfold over my eyes before combing
my hair into place. A soft creak trails from the bedroom door, followed by
gentle footsteps on the carpet.

“Camille,” he says. The
familiar texture of his sexy voice washes away my fear, and my lips pull at the
sides. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“It’s fine,” I say, patting the
bed next to me. I listen as he shuffles around, and I hear the drag and pull of
the blinds and curtains as he prepares the room. “Some things are worth the
wait.”

“I’d have to agree with you.”

The bed shifts with his weight
and the space around me grows warm. I’m sensitized to every scent and every
sound, and my nerves hum with anticipation.

“How was your day, John?” I
ask.

His answer arrives in the form
of a kiss. Greedy. Wicked. Heat flushes my body as I kiss him back, our lips
gliding and our tongues tracing. John’s mouth abandons mine in favor of my
neck, kissing down farther, harder, until he reaches my shoulders.

His five o’clock shadow
bristles against my bare skin like the sandpaper tongue of a cat, only it’s
strangely erotic. John’s fingers trail up the back of my neck until they’re
tangled in my hair. Digging into my scalp, he takes a handful of curled strands
and pulls my head back, angled away from his hungry mouth.

The combination of his soft
lips burning into my flesh and the drag of his coarse stubble send pinpricks up
and down my arms and a weakness to my knees. He makes me come alive. He makes
me forget I’m just a high-class whore who fucks men for money.

Each tug of my hair sends a
rush of pain to my scalp, followed by a gush of euphoria. I’m on sensory
overload, my body running on overdrive. John pulls my head back, my mouth
falling open with a solitary sigh, and he kisses me just behind the ear. The
touch of his fingers on the small of my back sends tingles radiating from every
inch of my tortured body.

My thighs squeeze, bringing
awareness to the soft swell of my clit. I can’t breathe.

John pulls his hand from my
hair and climbs over me, his hands tugging and pulling and freeing me of every
strip of clothing covering my body. Intuitively, I reach for him, my fingers
trailing down his rippled abs until I find the waist of his pants. I unbutton
and unzip him like my life depends upon it, and when I feel his rock hard
erection, I press him back into the mattress and bring my lips to his cock. Gliding
my tongue across the tip, I place the first two inches into my mouth, followed
slowly by the rest. He sighs with each leisurely inch.

My peaked nipples graze his
thighs each time I move. They ache for his touch. His hips circle and thrust,
gently fucking my mouth as I swallow his length over and over.

“Camille,” he breathes, his
voice tense. I feel him sit up, his hands skimming my back until he cups them
around my waist and pulls me toward him.

I flip around, straddling his
face with my thighs and bring his cock to my lips once more. The wet flick of
his tongue between my
slit
brings me to life again.
His fingers dig hard into the flesh of my ass, spreading my cheeks as he laps
my arousal.

My hips buck as the tiniest
threat of an orgasm jolts through my center. I’m not ready to come yet.

I concentrate on unsexy things.

The Metro. The Lincoln
Memorial. The Potomac River.

His hot tongue circles my clit,
sucking hard and almost sending me over the edge until I arch my lower back to
relieve the pressure. My cheeks warm, and I’m grateful for the dark. I’m a
professional. I should have complete control over my body, including my climax.

I climb off of him and twist my
body around, gripping his cock in my hand and pumping him.

No more oral.

I can’t take another minute of
his wickedly talented tongue caressing my hypersensitive sex. He’s
too
good.

“Fuck me, John.” I offer a
breathless plea. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

If my lines sound rehearsed,
it’s because they are. I’ve said them a hundred times. I’ve said them so many
times they’ve lost their luster. But I’ve never meant them. Never. Until now.

My hands guide me back to the
head of the bed, and my back glides against a silky pillow. For the first time,
I don’t think about whether or not my hair is framing my face at the right
angle or if my current position creates an unflattering perspective on my
thighs. I’m not thinking about whether or not my lips are pouting enough or if
my breathy gasps are over the top or just right.

I’m only thinking about the
deep, dark void and the impending fill.

My thighs widen, and the sound
of paper tearing puts a hitch in my breath. A second later his pulsing head
drags along my slit, up and down, again and again, in a merciless tease.

When I least expect it, he
plunges into me with one fell thrust. An agonistic flash becomes sweet euphoria
and my thighs fall limp. His hands grip my ass, pulling me onto his throbbing
cock with every buck of his hips. He pumps harder, faster than ever before, the
friction below causing a powerful ache as I dance along the edge. Any minute
now, I’ll be pushed over, and I won’t even try to stop it.

This man, this god of a man,
can fuck me as long as he wants. All night tonight. All day tomorrow. I won’t
complain. I won’t grow tired of it. A man who can own my body with a kiss on the
back of a neck and his fingers in my hair can use me as much as he needs.

My thighs clench against his
sides, quaking when the muscles tire out. I can’t fight it any longer. The
pressure and ache build up to create a perfect storm, and we’re in the eye of
it.

His lips graze mine before
crushing them, and each heavy thrust sinks us deeper into the mattress. I’m
pinned. Owned. And loving every second of it. I rock against his thrusts,
coaxing myself a little closer because I’m so ready. My fingers dig into his
muscled arms, hooking into the indentations of his triceps.

I feel him rise above me, his
hands trailing mine and taking them. He pins them above my head, almost to
signal that he’s completely in control, and within seconds his hips slam into
mine, driving him deeper than ever before.

“You feel so good inside me . .
.” My head falls to the side of the pillow as I repeat the words I’ve become so
immune to in recent years, only this time I mean them.

He pumps harder, and I swear I
feel him grow. In that moment, I let go. He groans, and I suck in a breath. Our
climaxes synchronize like we’re tuned to the same frequency.

I didn’t know sex could feel
this way.

And I never expected the
hottest sex of my life to be with a man whose face I’ve never seen.

I’m trembling beneath him, my
body quaking as I come down from this earth-shattering height. He lingers
inside me a little longer. The rise and fall of his chest mirrors mine until he
rolls off of me and moves from the bed.