Lo uncovers the coin.

Tails.

This is why I hate gambling.

I usually lose.

[ 30 ]

ROSE CALLOWAY

“This week went by so fast,” I say, watching the snow fall outside, the dark sky illuminated by the ski resort’s bright lights in the distance.

We fly back home soon. Back to rabid paparazzi. American television. And my mother. Even though Ben, Brett, and Savannah have followed us around, it’s been nice to have a house that isn’t rigged twenty-four-seven with cameras.

Connor sidles up behind me, and his hands slip around my waist. I sink back into his chest, the action so much more natural now. It’s hard to believe that months ago I was scared of this intimacy. Now all I think about are ways to be closer.

He pulls my hair off my shoulder and kisses the sensitive skin of my neck, marking a line up to my ear. My nerves prick with each feather-light touch. “This week may have gone by fast, but tonight will feel so…” His warm breath tickles me. “…unbearably…” He brushes the straps of my nightgown, and they fall off my shoulders. “…slow.”

The air nips my skin, and he runs a hand from my thigh, along the curve of my hip and settling his palm on my breast. He tugs the silky fabric to expose them. A breath hitches in the back of my throat as he kneads my breast with one hand, standing behind me while I stare at the snowfall. His muscular body overtakes my frame, no space between us, and I eagerly wait for his skin to meet mine, for his shirt to be gone, his pants to disappear. Please, yes…

He massages my breast with force and want, rippling a new feeling through my core. I ache for him. All of him. His thumb flicks my hardened nipple back and forth, shivers cascading down my spine.

And then he spins me around, his eyes grazing my breasts and the way the nightgown bunches at my waist. “Step out of it,” he tells me.

I wiggle the nightgown to my ankles, my head starting to readjust, to make sense of what’s going to happen. “Are we…” I trail off, lost to the way his eyes bore into each crevice and curve of my body as I stand bare, only in a pair of black cotton panties.

When he finally meets my gaze, he says, “I’m going to fuck you.”

Not we’re going to make love. Not we’re having sex. Just, “I’m going to fuck you.”

A demand that drops my mouth and soaks my panties. Right there. That’s it. I’m done for. He can take me any way he wants.

I cast out any nerves that try to attack me because I’m still a virgin. Despite being with him for over a year and gaining confidence, this is still new. I imagine most girls are anxious their first time.

Connor grabs me around the waist before I descend further into my head. He hoists me over his shoulder, and I let out a gasp. He pats my ass while my head dangles upside down, all the blood rushing to my brain.

“Stop thinking,” he orders, throwing my body onto the soft mattress. My breath and thoughts leave me at once.

Holy… I watch him slowly unloop the leather belt from his pants. My heart races as he leans over and takes my wrist in his hand, wrapping the leather around it and a rung in the wooden headboard. When he secures the buckle, he bends to his suitcase and finds another belt.

For my other wrist.

“My first time is going to be tied up?” I ask, fear suddenly bursting in my belly. So much for not thinking.

“Yes,” he says after he has my left wrist tethered to another rung much farther apart. He strokes my hair, and our eyes lock. “I’m going to take you deep…” His eyes fall to my lips, and my chest collapses. “…hard…” Oh, fuck… The spot between my legs clenches, beginning to pulse for something large, something powerful. “…rough…” He bites my lip, and I moan.

Just come inside me already.

He smiles with my bottom lip caught between his teeth. He lets go and says, “Patience.”

He has plenty more than I do.

My whole body flushes in hot, agonizing want.

He straddles my waist and meticulously rolls my panties down my hip bones, past my curved bottom, down my thighs and slender legs, right off my feet. I am completely naked now. His to play with. His to take care of and consume.

But then he crawls off the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“No more questions, Rose.”

I glower. “I’m about to lose my virginity. I can ask whatever the hell I want.”

He steps closer, his shirt unbuttoned, and he covers my mouth with his large hand. He bends down so his lips skim my cheek, his breath warming my skin. “You may compliment my cock, you may beg, and you may politely ask for more. I don’t want to hear anything else, and if I do, I’ll stuff your mouth with your panties so you can’t speak.” His fingers dig a little deeper in my cheeks. “But believe me, I don’t want that. I want to hear all your noises. I want to hear you come.”

Translation: Shut the fuck up. And holy hell it turns me on. My body is like a taut rubber band ready to be snapped.

Before he removes his palm, he reminds me why I don’t need to ask questions. “Vous êtes en sécurité avec moi.” You’re safe with me.

He kisses my forehead and draws back, retreating to the closet and leaving me naked and tied to the bed. I have to trust that he locked the door—that no one will dash into the bedroom while we have sex. Wouldn’t that just be my luck?

When he returns, he carries a towel, and I stay quiet even though my stomach overturns with anticipation and nerves. He approaches me again and lifts my waist, spreading the towel underneath my bottom. And then he sheds his shirt off his shoulders, revealing defined, rigid muscles across his abs.

He turns his back to me before I can stare too long, and he disappears below the bedframe, rummaging in his suitcase again. I only have a view of his wavy brown hair.

“I have something for you,” he tells me, standing with a slender black box. I’ve seen enough jewelry boxes to know it’s a necklace.

Hopefully diamonds.

They’re my favorite.

My eyes sparkle and my anxiety dissipates as he climbs onto the mattress, sitting near my waist. I jerk my wrist, wanting to not only touch the box but his body, from his shoulders to his waist, to the hem of his pants. The restraints fix me to this one spot, but I cross my ankles, waiting for him.

He lingers, his palm rubbing the soft black velvety box, teasing me. How much I’d give for that hand to be caressing me.

“Is this where I’m supposed to beg?” I ask, not able to soften my eyes that narrow in a glare.

His lips lift, and his eyes flood with arousal. “That’s a wonderful idea,” he says. “Beg for this box.”

I glare harder. “I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Like hell. I’m not about to beg for a box. I stare harder at the case and imagine the jewelry. It’s taunting me. I bet the necklace is gorgeous, something I would love. My resolve begins to weaken. It’s not like I’m pleading for his cock…although, I think…I think I’m almost there too. The object of my desire is jewelry…diamonds. I would beg for diamonds.

But begging sounds weak. Internally, I can plead for his cock. Outwardly, how the fuck am I going to grovel?

“Please, can I have that box?” I ask, softening my usual coarse words. I didn’t do so awful, right?

He doesn’t move. “Didn’t you say something about graduating with honors?” he asks in amusement. Yes, I often remind him of this fact in arguments. It’s not really a winning point considering he graduated with the same accolades.

“Highest honors,” I refute anyway, my eyes swimming with challenge. I like arguing with him far too much. I have a feeling it’s going to get me into trouble tonight.

“Highest honors.” His lips twitch. “Well then, if you’re so smart you should know how to beg properly.”