Kiss the Sky

[ 39 ] ROSE CALLOWAY

“I can’t believe I did that,” I say with wide, petrified eyes, my chest rising and falling so heavily that it feels like I’m one small step from hyperventilation. We climb back into Connor’s limo after a dinner that literally lasted ten minutes. We didn’t even order food yet. “I stooped to the level of a child.”

Connor smiles, the first real smile all night. He grabs a bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket as the limo bumps along the road.

“There is nothing to celebrate!” I shout and slap his arm as he leans back next to me.

“I’m celebrating the fact that the dinner is over seventy minutes earlier than I expected.” His grin overtakes his whole face.

I gape. “Your girlfriend just threw wine on your mother’s silk blouse!”

He tries to hold in a laugh. He’s unsuccessful.

“It’s not funny,” I deadpan. “It probably costs a fortune. Can you tell her I’ll have it dry cleaned or replaced, whatever she wants.”

I haven’t been this embarrassed since the sixth grade at the Smithsonian science museum. I had started my period, and to make the event even more memorable, a stupid boy pointed and told me that my Uranus was bleeding.

This might be worse though. I was the immature one in this scenario.

“I’ll talk to her,” he says calmly. I expel a breath of relief. “I’ll let her know that I fully supported your decision to act like a child, and if you didn’t do it, I would have.”

I attack his bicep with my purse, whipping the black sequined clutch at him. “You’re not helping, Richard!”

He grabs my purse and tosses it aside before I have anything to say about it. And then he passes me the uncorked bottle of champagne. “Drink,” he orders.

I gladly take a swig, trying to sweep away the humiliating memories that I’ve created. The first two minutes had been cordial enough. She asked about Calloway Couture, and I told her that a couple department stores were interested in stocking my clothes. And then she brusquely swerved the conversation to my relationship with Connor.

She said, “While I admire your ambition, it’s going to ruin my son.”

“Excuse me?” I retorted, my spine arched and prepared for attack.

“He needs someone better than you by his side,” she elaborated. Her dyed red hair suddenly looked animatedly devilish. I understood that she was trying to protect her son, and she happened to be a very blunt woman.

Well, so was I.

I said, “And what makes you the best judge of your son? He spent his childhood in boarding school.”

“And you’d be a better judge? You’re just a silly little girl,” she retorted, cupping her white wine.

That line did it.

The silly part—saying I’m stupid. And the little girl. I’ve been called so much worse, but by her, it was like a punch-gut blow. And I blew back. I stood up on impulse and splashed my red wine all over her cream blouse.

Her eyes went big like saucers as she sprung from her chair in alarm.

I froze.

Connor set a comforting hand on my shoulder, silently telling me it was okay.

And Katarina pursed her lips, but she didn’t curse me to hell or make a bigger scene. After collecting herself, she calmly set down a napkin and pushed in her chair.

She neared us on her way out, stopping for the last word. “You think you have time for each other now, but when you both get older, you’ll see.” She looked me up and down. “You two continue this path, and you’ll realize that something has to give. And your ambitions will always trump each other. And you, Rose, will be the one sending off your little son to boarding school. Years will pass like minutes, and it will be too late before you realize you’ve missed everything.”

With this, she passed me and Connor to reach the door.

That woman was so full of regrets, and her words suddenly seemed less like insults and more like warnings. My cheeks burned. They still do. I feel so stupid. Like the little girl that she called me.

“She hates me,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose after I chug the champagne.

He steals the bottle from my hands. “She hates herself more,” he replies. “She’s been really nostalgic lately. You just caught her at a bad time.”

“If I gave up my profession for you, would she like me more?” I ask him.

“Yes,” he says. “But I would like you less. You can’t please both me and my mother. You can only make one of us happy.”

I narrow my eyes. I don’t like this fact. I want to squash it immediately.

But he leans close, his hand beside my thigh on the leather seat, and I smell the sweet champagne on his breath. His sultry gaze rakes my body. “Don’t ever quit Calloway Couture for me. Your drive turns me on.” He kisses me roughly, his lips hard against mine. His hand rises up the length of my bare leg, slipping beneath the hem of my black dress and plummeting between my thighs.

I let out a gasp. We’re in his limo, I remind myself.

And then his other hand falls to my neck, unfastening the thin chain.

I clutch the diamond pendant protectively. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to play with you.” He meets my eyes, and his lips curve in that arrogant smile. Instead of wanting to slap him for it, I only want Connor to take control of me.

He pockets my necklace and reveals another familiar piece of jewelry.

“You had the collar in your pocket the whole time?” I ask.

“Yes.” He reaches around my neck and snaps it on carefully, making sure not to pinch my skin.

“Even during dinner?” I say, aghast. His mother was there! …briefly.

He squeezes my chin between his fingers. “It’s a necklace, not a vibrator.”

“It’s a collar, Richard,” I rebut.

“And it looks beautiful on you.”

I go quiet more at the way he’s staring at me than his words. His deep blue eyes consume my features like he wants to fuck all of them. An ache fills me, and as it builds, he places a strong hand on my back and forces my stomach to the leather seat.

I sit up on my forearms and my knees. His movements are so fast and domineering. In a matter of seconds, he hikes up my dress, rips off my panties, and kneels behind me, his pants at his thighs, his boxer-briefs down. His cock hard and exposed.

Fuck…me.

Before he pushes in, he rubs my ass and dips his fingers towards the spot between my legs. “What do you say?” Connor asks.

I smile into the leather. “Please, sir?” I nearly laugh at the words.

He smacks my ass so hard that tears crease the corners of my eyes.

“Don’t call me sir, smartass,” he reminds me sternly, no humor to his voice. I turn to see his face, to check if his eyes say the same. But he grabs me by the collar and forces my face straight.

Fine.

Be that way, Richard.

“What do you say?” he asks again, more huskily this time. He lets out a low groan as he edges closer to me. And he drops his hold on the collar so he can massage my breast, lowering my dress so I’m free for his touch.

When he pinches my nipple, I gasp again.

“Rose…”

I swallow. “Please…fuck me,” I beg. I check to see if the privacy screen is still up in the limo. Yes. Thank God. Gilligan, his driver, has no view of this. But I wonder if he can hear my voice pitch high while my mouth opens in a giant O.

Connor is doing a number on my breast with one hand while his fingers rub my clit with the other. And then his fingers dive into me, filling me so much, and the short plunges try to catapult me into the door.

He scoots me back so I stay a safe distance away from it. And he grips one of my shoulders to fix me to this place.

His motions are decisive, hard and unrelenting.

“Connor!” I cry. He fucks me with his hand so fast that it’s not long before my eyes flutter, and I feel myself clench around him. The high is there—in sight. At the top of the hill. Just a few more—

He stops.

Pulls his brilliant fingers out. Every part of me, mind and body, pleads and aches for him.

I think I hate him now.

“I know you’re glaring and I can’t even see your eyes,” Connor tells me. “Would you call that intuition or magic?”

Well, Connor doesn’t believe in magic. If Hogwarts actually existed I’m sure they’d send an owl to shit on his head.

“I’m sorry,” I say rather than answering the question. I try to relax my face.

And then his long, hard cock barrels into me. Holy…

My arms weaken beneath me and I moan into the seat, biting the leather at one point. Fuck…fuck…

My thoughts have been fucked into submission—only curse words passing through.

Fuck…me…

He holds onto the crease of my hips and ass as he slams into me from behind. Thank God, not in the ass. I am nowhere near ready for that.

His breathing is more controlled than my ragged gasps. But he lets out deep, satisfied groans that vibrate my core. Each thrust against my body jellifies my limbs until I am being supported only by his hold around my waist.

Fuck…ahh…fuck, fuck, fuck… “Connor!”

And then the driver turns sharply, and my whole body jerks forward with the car, my head slamming into the door handle. Hard. My vision darkens to black for a split second before dots flicker in my eyes.

“Dammit,” I barely hear Connor curse.

I’m disoriented from the climax and the cranial impact.

I gather my senses when I’m in his arms, on his lap, his boxer-briefs and pants back up on his waist.

“Rose, Rose.” He snaps in my eyes. “Look at me. Rose!” His head spins to the privacy screen. “Gilligan, we’re going to the hospital!”

What?

“No,” I say softly, finding his gaze and trying to meet it clearly. I blink a few times. “I’m…okay. Just let me…” I touch my head, a knot swelling. I wince. Lovely.

Connor inspects the spot with concern tightening his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes. He rubs my arm and holds me tenderly like he’s trying to mend his favorite toy that he dropped on the ground. The possession feels good. Because it means he’s not going to leave anytime soon, and that he won’t ever hurt me. On purpose, that is.

“It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

He grimaces at that word. “I’m not a child who wet the bed. This is serious.”

“Adults have accidents.”

“You were unconscious for a few seconds, Rose.” He carefully slips my dress back over my shoulders, covering my breasts. The tender affection is a side of him that I dearly love. “I should have held you tighter.” He lets the pain pass through his features. Maybe he doesn’t care if I see his emotions anymore. “Gilligan,” he calls again. “The hospital.”

The driver’s voice sounds through the limo’s speakers. “Already on the way, Mr. Cobalt.”

“I’m okay,” I say again, “just dizzy.”

“I still want to get you looked at.” He places two fingers on my neck, checking my pulse. He studies my features with a focused gaze.

“What are you doing, Richard?” I ask softly. I blink a couple more times to keep his face in my line of vision.

“Making sure you’re fine.”

“You’re my doctor now?” I ask. “How inappropriate. You’re sleeping with your patient.”

He smiles only when he’s satisfied by the tempo of my breathing and all the other parts of me that he was examining.

I know what’s in his heart.

And if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t care so deeply. I just wait (rather impatiently) for the day when he can admit it to himself. If it never comes, then at least I’m smarter than him, able to see something he’s blind to. I’ll take that win if it’s all he’ll give me.

I rest my head on his chest while the limo speeds down the road. Connor strokes my hair, keeping a trained eye on any bad signs in my movements.

“I feel safe with you,” I tell him, “even if you let me bowl into four car doors.”

“There won’t be a second, third or fourth,” he whispers, his lips beside my ear. His hot breath tickles my skin. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Promises from Connor Cobalt are like oaths spilled in blood.

Translation: I will die for you.

I smile widely.

I will die for you.

That will never get old.