by C. C. Gibbs
“I may have mentioned to the personal shopper that you have blue eyes and you had a blue flowered bikini that I liked.” Unbuckling his belt, he stripped it free and dropped it to the floor. “You standing in the doorway of my stateroom that first day is one of my all-time favorite memories.”
“I remember you were wearing khaki shorts, nothing else, and looking good enough to eat even with Sylvie glaring in the background.”
“Who?” He turned from shoving his wallet in his coat pocket.
“God, I love you.”
“Same.” He smiled. “But I might love you a little more. I’m bigger though, so it’s allowed.”
“Speaking of big.” She raised her hand slightly and pointed.
“He really likes you, what can I say?” Moving to the edge of the bed, he held out his hands. “Sit up, pussycat. I’m going to undress you very, very slowly, because it’s been almost two weeks and I’ve been dreaming about this.” He didn’t say that thinking about her had been his salvation when he was crammed in that small metal box in Thailand. Nor would he ever.
But he kissed her gently after he pulled her up into a seated position. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “more than you could ever know.”
“You were gone too long,” she murmured, her heart in her eyes.
Standing upright, he nodded. “Won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Could I have that in writing?”
There was an unmistakable gravity in her soft query. “I’ll have it tattooed on my arm if you want,” he said. “Always together. I mean it.”
“Good.” She was mollified by his blunt absolutism, cheered as well. He saw the world as his to command; there was safety in that. “The tattoo isn’t necessary, but thank you.” She smiled. “I’m really glad I’m going to school in Geneva.”
“Not as glad as me, pussycat,” Rafe said, tugging her T-shirt free of her skirt. “There are no words.” Then his eyes flared wide as he pulled her silk T-shirt over her head. “A bra. That’s new.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My mom. She doesn’t like to see my nipples showing or my boobs bouncing. She says it’s unladylike.”
Rafe grinned. “Unladylike?”
“I don’t suppose that word’s familiar to you.”
He looked amused. “Is there a correct answer? Give me a hint.”
“Fuck you.” But his lazy smile was firing up all her hot and heavy party zones.
“No problem there,” he drawled, as though he hadn’t noticed her catch her breath. “Come on, stand up first. I’ve never had the pleasure. I’ll bet your panties match.”
“Christ, are you a voyeur?”
“I am with you.” He lifted her bodily from the bed, unbuckled her belt, and stripped off her skirt in two seconds flat, then stood back and whistled softly. “Very nice. Is that lace blue or black or what?”
“Blueberry.”
His brows rose. “Sweet. We should get you strawberry, cherry, blackberry, chokecherry, whatever.” His voice drifted lower. “You have the nicest tits, pussycat, seriously, best ever.” He sucked in a breath, andshifted his stance as his erection surged. “Sorry, it’s been a while,” he murmured, sliding his fingers down the prominent bulge straining the fabric of his slacks, pushing his dick over a little to give it more room to expand. A quick smile. “Obviously, he’s missed you.” Then he lifted his chin. “Do me a favor. Walk to the windows and back.”
Lacing her hands on the top of her head, she offered him a centerfold pose, a flicker of a smile on her lips. “Then you’ll do me a favor?” She nodded at his crotch. “I need to feel your humungous dick deep inside me.”
“Lucky him,” he murmured, smiling faintly as his cock punched up higher. “He’ll give you all the favors you want, anywhere you want, as long as you want.” He lifted his finger and twirled it. “But first—give us a little show.”
Nicole wiggled her hips in a delectable little hip grind, then blew him a kiss, turned, and walked to the windows.
“You tease, no guarantees,” he gently said. “After almost two weeks I’m on a tight leash.”
“No need for that,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “It’s been two weeks for me too.”
“Good news,” Rafe murmured, dropping down on the bed, quickly unlacing his boots, kicking them off, pulling off his socks, and jerking his T-shirt over his head. “I was thinking I might have to take it down a notch.”
Turning to face him, Nicole smiled. “That won’t be necessary.” He was all lean, hard muscle, sleekly modeled down the length of his torso, his arms resting on the bed, powerful and strong. Feeling her body open in welcome, a lush heat licking at her senses, she stirred, antsy and aglow, wondering how many women had seen him like that—naked, at ease, casually available. Impossible to resist. “Take off your slacks,” she said, a new testiness in her tone.
Living the life he had, he was pretty much immune to female pique. “Sure.” He rose to his feet, comfortable in his own skin, not a prudish bone in his body, his openness bought at a price so long ago it seemed natural. He unbuttoned, unzipped, slid his slacks and boxers off, and kicked them aside. “You need anything else?” he drawled.
A small flash of resentment narrowed Nicole’s eyes. “You’ve said that a lot?”
He could have asked her something equally snarky. She was every male fantasy come to life in her blueberry scraps of lace. “I’ll say it as often as you like,” he replied, not answering her question.
No surprise—he was evasive as usual. He raised her chin slightly. “One more thing. How you’d get that nasty scab on your arm?” His entire right forearm and a portion of his upper arm had been scraped raw. The reason, no doubt, for his long-sleeved T-shirt.
Knowing an explanation would be required, he’d already decided on a story. “Stumbled coming off the helicopter. Tired, I guess. It’s healing.”
“You don’t feel like telling me?”
He sighed. “I would if I could. It’s over.” He held out his hand. “Come on, we’re on our pre-honeymoon. I’m going to make you feel good, you’re going to make me feel good, and when we finally collapse”—he smiled—“I’ll recite some Hafiz in your ear. Deal?”
A sudden smile slid across the corners of her mouth. How romantic was that? He hadn’t even heard of Hafiz in Paris. “No one negotiates like you, Contini,” she murmured, the prickle gone from her voice at the incredible sweetness of his offer.
“And no one but you, Miss Parrish, is worth memorizing eight pages of Hafiz for.”
She giggled. “Wow, eight pages?”
“Parts of the ninth too. That’s how much I love you, pussycat.” He started to raise his hand to beckon her forward, but his heartbeat suddenly quickened at the irresistible little wobble of her barely covered tits; a spiking surge of lust ripped through his senses, and a gut-deep, chafing resentment too headstrong to deny reminded him that any man who saw her, naked or not, would feel the same. Like the man she’d kissed at the party, or maybe it had been men, plural, she’d kissed before his arrival, an unhelpful little voice pointed out.
Let it go, he told himself, dropping his hand back on the bed. So she was stupefying desirable, all soft curves, sumptuous tits, long legs, hot cunt; she was his. Except maybe when he wasn’t around. Seriously, how well did he know her?
He was frowning when he summoned her back with a flick of his finger. “This way now, nice and slow.” But a flash of temper lay beneath his quiet utterance, a tiny whiplash of sound.
She didn’t move, offended by the casual flick of his finger, by the naked reprimand in his voice. “I should say no.”
He didn’t answer for so long, she wondered if there were limits to his love, whether she’d drive him away. If even this extravagant house could be jettisoned for the sake of his resentments.
His gaze focused somewhere beyond her head, then finally slid back to her face, his voice, when he spoke, restrained. “You probably shouldn’t.”
Her brows lifted
faintly. “Equivocation? From you?”
“Courtesy.” His smile was fleeting. “Now are we going to continue this conversation or”—he beckoned again—“can we move on?”
She remained utterly still. “If you have some problem, why don’t we talk about it?”
“No thanks,” he said gruffly.
“Or I could go downstairs until you get over your sulkiness”—she smiled tightly—“rudeness, whatever.”
“No you couldn’t.”
“No? Should I call for help?” She indicated a phone on the floor where a desk might have once stood.
“The phones aren’t hooked up yet.”
“I have my phone.” She gestured at his coat on the bedpost.
“Think you can reach it?” he said very softly.
She sighed. “Look, we might as well talk about what’s on your mind or you’re never going to stop being an asshole. You’re still pissed about me kissing Maddy’s friend, aren’t you?”
“Partly.” He exhaled softly. “And all the men you might kiss in the future.”
“Do you know what Isabelle and I talked about most?”
That tone of voice in a woman made him automatically wary. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“We talked about how you might find someone else and not even come to San Francisco,” Nicole said, as if he’d not spoken. “How you viewed women as entertainment, how a man like you isn’t likely to change, how everything’s happened so fast maybe we’ll both realize we’ve made a mistake. What do you think? You’re the poster boy for unreliable; should I be pissed too?”
His hesitation was minute, then he asked, “Have you? Made a mistake?” She didn’t answer for so long, he was thinking about getting up and locking the bedroom door.
Finally, she said very softly, “No.”
His eyes drilled into hers. “Louder.”
“No,” she repeated sharply, as sullen and moody as the man watching her intently. “Satisfied now?”
He drew in a very slow, deep breath, then exhaled. “You can’t ever leave me,” he said bluntly. “I won’t let you.” He shut his eyes for a moment and when he opened them a flicker of anger still shimmered in the amber depths. “Look, I wish I were better at this, more reasonable, conciliatory. I am sorry for being such a dickhead but”—he shrugged—“I love you so much—too much I think sometimes. My jealousy borders on manic. So I can apologize but I can’t change how I feel. I’m obsessive about you in a seriously fucked-up way.” He blew out a breath, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, then said, “What the hell, I might as well say it. If someone had told me I’d feel this way about a woman, about you in particular, that I’d be married soon, not a decade or two from now, but soon, I would have asked them what they were on. So cut me a little slack when I’m struggling with the—” He stopped and spread his hands.
“Scary-as-hell future with me?” she contributed with a grin.
“You’re such a bitch,” he said with an answering grin. “But yeah, you nailed it. Jealous, crazy in love, and not a clue.”
“Same.” She gave him a considering look from under her lashes, then smiled. “We’re lucky though. Lots of people never have the crazy in love.”
“The luck I understand. As for the rest,” he said, thinking her smile alone was reason for living, “we’ll just have to work at it till we get it right. Now, please,” he added with great gentleness, “come closer and tell me what I can do for you.”
Even had she not been deep in love, his charming offer and breathtaking beauty would have been enough to overwhelm her with longing. He was smiling faintly, leaning back with a careless grace, his weight resting on his hands, his legs slightly spread, his colorful, inked dick arched high against his stomach. “That’s mine,” she said, on a small caught breath, moving toward him, pointing at her all-time favorite Hokusai reproduction tattooed on Rafe’s rampant erection. “Nothing on this planet is hotter and I want it.”
He smiled at her breathy fervor. “Consider us here for your pleasure. Any special place you’d like to begin?”
“I’ll show you,” she whispered, starting to slide her fingers under the blue lace of her panties.
“Come here,” he said quietly, sitting up and pointing at the floor between his legs.
She crossed the small distance that separated them, restive, hot-blooded, mesmerized by the tossing boats and foam-flecked blue waves undulating on Rafe’s massive, surging dick. “And I don’t want to wait.” A heated flutter slid up her spine. “You hear?”
“Just a little longer, pussycat,” he replied calmly, slipping her tiny lace panties down her thighs and letting them drop to the floor. Leaning over, he lifted one of her feet, then the other, tossed the bit of blue lace aside, then sat up and smiled. “Comfortable?”
“I’m not looking for comfort,” she said on a suffocated breath.
“Come on,” he murmured, running his hands up the outside of her thighs. “It’s always better if you don’t rush.”
“I’m not interested in patience either.”
He laughed. “You’re so fucking adorable. Seriously, you have no sense of recall.”
She glared at him. “I haven’t had as much practice.”
True that. He smiled faintly. “How about we practice together?” Taking her hips in his hands, he pulled her close, dipped his head, slid his tongue into her slick heat, gave the little nub of her clit his full attention until it was rock hard, then sat back and watched her shiver under his hands. “Actually we have all the time in the world now,” he said, issuing his fiat in a silken murmur, his jealousy never completely locked away, “because I’m never letting you go.”
“Do that again,” she whispered, immune to fiats with flame-hot bliss strumming through her body, and the focus of her world centered on the jolting rapture pulsing through her clit.
His long lashes drifted upward and Rafe gazed at her from under their dark fringe. “Let’s give this a try first.” Sliding his hand between her legs, he parted her pouty folds, slipped one finger inside her velvety, soaking-wet pussy, then a second, reaching deep into her sleek heat, gently stroking the slippery flesh, the rough little patch of her G-spot, the hard, swollen length of her clit, until she was squirming, panting, desperate, until his fingers were drenched.
“Please, please, I can’t wait.” She panted, her body on fire, her skin flushed, ravenous desire scorching her brain.
“Ready to move on?” he murmured, not really expecting an answer. Cupping one of her ass cheeks with his free hand, he hauled her close, bent low, and gave the tender skin of her inner thigh a quick nip, marking his territory. Then fractionally easing aside his two fingers sunk palm deep in her melting hot pussy, he slid his tongue way the hell up her silky wetness and caressed her seething G-spot with a little zigzag, licking-my-favorite-lollipop genius.
She whimpered as her knees went weak. Rafe caught her weight with his hand spread wide on her ass and, glancing up, checked to see whether she’d reached the point of no return. Not yet, he decided, adept at reading female arousal. With her firmly in his grasp, he returned to the molten heat beneath his tongue, measuring her throbbing clit with slow, leisurely licks, up and down, around and around, while she moaned and quivered. And when his lips finally closed over her hard clit and he gently sucked, she grabbed his head and frantically whispered, “Please, please, please.”
Leaving his fingers in place, he shook his head free and looked up. “I have a request,” he said, continuing to massage her slick tissue with casual expertise. He waited for what he considered a polite interval as she trembled under his touch, eyes shut and whimpering, then withdrew his fingers.
Her eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?” Feverish, shuddering, so damned close she could see nirvana, she grabbed his wrist and tried to jerk his hand back.
“I have a request,” he repeated, peeling her fingers off his wrist.
“Could it wait?” she snapped, planning vengeance for
this torture right after she came.
“No.”
“God, Rafe!” she wailed, squirming, impatient, overwhelming lust spiking through her senses. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to wait.”
“You never do,” he said. “Show me your breasts.”
She froze, struggling to understand, her frenzied desires at odds with his cool demand. “Jesus,” she exploded, frustration blazing in her eyes. “Here, dammit!” She swung her arms open wide. “Take a good look!”
He sucked in a breath, the word opulent always completely inadequate when it came to Nicole’s tits. The blueberry lace bra—two scant half cups held up by ribbons—was filled to overflowing with her pale mounded breasts, the ribbon straps barely supporting the sumptuous weight.
With considerable effort, Rafe tamped down the jealous fiend inside him that regarded both her and her tits as his personal property, and spoke softly. “Now I want to see your nipples.”
She shivered and blew out a shaky breath. “If I do this, do I get your dick?”
“Here’s what I need you to do,” he said, ignoring her question. Sliding one finger under the scalloped border of one lacy half-cup, he pushed up her nipple so it was visible above the lace. “This little baby is stiff,” he murmured, stroking the distended crest, taking the tip between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. “But then you’re always ready to fuck, aren’t you?”
A piercing sensation raced downward from the pressure of his fingers on her nipple, further igniting the fierce throbbing between her legs, and she whimpered in soft, breathless appeal.
“Uh-uh,” he said, running his palm over the swell of her breast. “Show me your other nipple first.” He pinched her exposed jewel-hard crest, watched it swell, watched her quiver under the rough treatment. “Do it now,” he said, a sudden harshness in his voice, “or you won’t get my dick.”
The distinct threat of withdrawal, the bitterness in his tone, jerked her out of her carnal haze as effectively as an ice-cold shower. “How much longer am I going to have to pay for that stupid kiss?” she hissed.
