Sinful Rewards 1 by Cynthia Sax Page A

one-night stand?” He repeats the motion again and again.
    I should say no, shove him off me, leave with my pride and ambitions intact. Instead, I wrap my legs around Nicolas’s waist, dig my heels into his clenched ass, and demand, “More.”
    Nicolas ruts into me faster, harder, smacking my ass against the leather seat, my skin heating at all points of impact. I’m my mother’s daughter. This is why I walk away from temptation, why I don’t prowl the clubs with Cyndi or encourage men like Hawke. I want to be fucked this way, wildly, savagely, like an animal, our bodies colliding, our encounter witnessed by strangers, my naked body on display.
    The men at the window chant to our rhythm, urging us onward. I dig my fingernails into Nicolas’s tanned shoulders, holding on to him, wishing a decent man, a staying man, could love a bad woman such as myself. It’s a futile fantasy. This is all I’ll ever have, one fast and furious encounter in the back of a limousine.
    For now this is enough. Nicolas thrusts into me, using my body for his pleasure, wanting nothing more. A sheen of moisture covers him, slicking his skin. His chest flattens my breasts. His muscles flex under my palms. He’s a brute and, in this moment, mine.
    I pant and he grunts, the sounds of sex filling the vehicle. The men’s chanting grows louder, Nicolas’s tempo increases, and my legs, thighs, everything, quivers, my pussy closing around his shaft.
    â€œNicolas, please.” I rake his back with my fingernails. “I need . . . I need . . .” I dangle over the edge of desire.
    He drives into me, swivels his hips, grinding against my clit, and I scream, reaching out for him. I grasp air. Nicolas isn’t there. The space between my legs is empty. He’s not inside me, not on top of me. I fall down, down, down into the spinning vortex.
    I JERK AWAKE , confused, disoriented. The room is semidark, illuminated only by the light from the bathroom, and silent except for my ragged breaths. I’m drenched with perspiration, my body shaking, the sense of being abandoned, being rejected adding to my unease.
    I stare up at the ceiling. Nicolas can never know about my fascination with being watched, or he will reject me. He barely tolerated my cussing, and no man wants a pervert for a wife. Especially not a high-profile billionaire. I glance toward the window. The curtains remain closed. All I have to do is act normal, avoid temptation, and I’ll be safe.
    Avoiding temptation includes avoiding a certain tattooed, leather-clad, motorcycle-riding former marine. Hawke is off-limits from now on. He can strut around his balcony naked all he wants. I won’t look at him or talk to him or let him touch me, with my lipstick container or anything else.
    Certainly not with his impressive junk. I rub my thighs together, my arousal lingering from my dream and from memories of this morning’s obscene display.
    My feelings are wrong and I refuse to touch myself, to give myself that satisfaction, punishing my body for its betrayal. Nicolas fits all of my criteria for a man. I’ve decided upon him. He deserves my loyalty, every ounce of my desire.
    My lust gradually eases. I look at the digital clock on the nightstand. It’s one fifteen, not yet time for work, and I should fall back asleep, a dreamless sleep. I breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. My heartbeat slows. I picture clear sky, vast expanses of the palest blue, and my thoughts fade into oblivion.

Chapter Six
    â€œW HERE ARE YOU , Bee?” a voice sings, the words slurred. I groan and roll over, placing a pillow over my head. “You can’t hide from me.” Laughter pierces my makeshift earplug. “Hey, that rhymes. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it.”
    My bedroom’s wooden door slams against the metal doorstop. Flesh smacks drywall once, twice, three times. I sit upright and glare at the