Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  He almost turned and walked out.

  But Nicole suddenly swung around and held out her hand. “Come.” She wiggled her fingers. “I think I can see Algiers from here. Tell me if it’s true.”

  He hesitated. She’d messed with his head from the first. And here in his bedroom—where he always slept alone—he was suddenly feeling unmoored.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Her brow furrowed and her voice turned soft with concern. “Of course I did,” she said with a small sigh. “I tend to bowl people over with my”—a sweet smile lit up her face—“assertiveness.” Another little sigh. “And you’re only familiar with women who say yes, yes, yes, and yes. I could probably do that—for a little while anyway. Is that what you want?”

  “I’m not sure what I want.” The fact that he answered honestly only unnerved him further. Sex and honesty were mutually exclusive in his world.

  “Please don’t tell me to leave. I really don’t want to.” She blew out a breath and began walking toward him. “I probably don’t know much more than you do about whatever is between us, but I do know that I’d like to stay—at least for a time.”

  Her smile was so artlessly seductive, he said brusquely, “Don’t smile,” and took a step back.

  She abruptly halted. “Sorry.”

  The silence was thick with indecision and bafflement.

  Rafe’s nostrils flared, then he said slowly, “I don’t like feeling this way.”

  She could have said, what you don’t like is actually feeling something, anything. But she understood his dilemma. The difference was she didn’t mind feeling something new and different. “Would it help if I left in the morning? That way we could take advantage of this crazy attraction between us—enjoy it, have some fun.” She looked up into his shuttered gaze. “Then go our separate ways tomorrow. Would that work for you? No strings attached, no untoward feelings, just us getting off a few times.”

  As the silence lengthened, she said, “Maybe some other time then,” and turned to get her shirt. She’d never begged for sex; she wasn’t about to start. Call it pride, female power, fucking hot-tempered crankiness. And whatever his problem was, she suspected it was beyond the simple remedy of a night of sex with her. Too bad. He was insanely hot.

  He watched her walk the few feet to where she’d dropped her shirt, pick it up, put it on, and then move toward the bedroom door.

  Nicole’s hand was on the latch when Rafe said, “Wait.”

  But she didn’t wait. She opened the door and walked out into the hall.

  “Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” he called out.

  In reply he heard her footsteps receding down the corridor.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what?

  By the time he made up his mind, she was already out of sight. Racing down the corridor, he saw her as he reached the top of the staircase. Swiftly descending the wide, carpeted steps in great leaps, he scooped her up in his arms just as she reached the bottom of the flight. “You can’t leave,” he said, turning swiftly and moving back up the stairs. “I don’t know why, but you can’t.”

  “Want me to tell you why?” Although seriously, she’d need a degree in psychotherapy.

  “No.”

  Typical male introspection. “Do I get a fuck at least? Hey”—she gave his chin a sharp snap with her thumb and middle finger—“look at me.”

  His amber eyes glowed like flame. “The fucking’s guaranteed, babe.”

  “I’m not your babe,” she said tartly. “I’m not anyone’s babe.”

  “You are right now,” he growled, beginning to travel down the long hallway. “For as long as I say you are. And the way I’m feeling, it’s gonna last a while.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, wiseass,” she said, pissy and hot-tempered, not in the mood to fold without considerable compensation, “I’m going to need that apology.”

  “Or?” A narrow-eyed glare.

  “Or you won’t enjoy the fucking.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Jesus, is that supposed to frighten me?” Her voice was all sass and insolence; she was intrinsically unafraid. A character trait like that of her uncle Dominic, whom she’d challenged since childhood. “You might want to think about saving your unprotected dick from my retribution instead of threatening me.”

  He suddenly smiled. “Retribution? That’s cute.” Entering the bedroom, he pushed the door shut with his shoulder.

  “Whether it’s cute is for me to know and you to find out.”

  He came to a stop in the middle of the room and looked at her with a small frown. “Christ, you’re mouthy.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So I should kick you the hell out.”

  “Go for it. You could go fuck that bitch from Rome.” At his sudden grin, she said, “What?” when she already knew the answer.

  “I don’t want to fuck her.” The warmth in his eyes had nothing to do with temper. “We both know what I want to do. So if it helps, I apologize.”

  “Accepted.”

  He lifted one brow.

  She wrinkled her nose, then smiled. “I apologize too. I’m guessing you’re going to be worth an apology or two.”

  “It depends on how you feel about continuous sex,” he said pleasantly.

  Her smile was mischievous. “Wow, you’re that good?”

  “You can let me know in the morning.”

  “So all the stories are true.”

  Unabashed by the insinuation, he said, “Fuck the stories. This is different; we’re different.” He grinned. “Mostly you’re different. I’ve never stopped anyone from walking away before. I usually would have been out the door first. But with you, I can’t even visualize the end game.”

  “That decision’s not just up to you.” That voice of female power was persistent, or perhaps just on call twenty-four/seven.

  Of course it is. “I know,” he said instead, not about to start another argument about something so ludicrous. “You decide when it ends.” Walking to the bed, he sat down with her on his lap, feeling strangely content with no expiration date on their amusements, gently kissed her cheek, and said softly, “Your schedule, okay?”

  “At the moment I don’t have long-term goals.” She ran her finger over his bottom lip, feeling all warm and fuzzy in the aftermath of their dispute or her temper tantrum or whatever it was, liking the way he felt holding her close. “Only super short-term goals having to do with an orgasm or two for me.”

  Capturing her finger, he kissed it, then folded her hand in his. “I can do that.” His whispered words touched her cheek, warm and seductive. “One or two orgasms first?” A neat and pragmatic solution, a cure for the ache inside her. “Any preferences on methodology?”

  “You inside me, first, second, then ask me again.” The desperation in her voice exposed her need. “Just so you know, I don’t like to be desperate,” she said on a suffocated breath. “So if you don’t mind one small order. Fucking hurry.”

  He laughed. “Got it.” He reached for the tie on her bikini top.

  She brushed his hands aside. “I’m just slightly past seduction. About a hundred miles. Put me down and get undressed.”

  He chuckled. “More orders, pussycat. Will they ever stop?”

  “Yeah.” She ran her hand over the bulge in his shorts. “Guess when.”

  Chapter 7

  Standing up, Rafe set Nicole on her feet beside the large four-poster bed covered in a Le Manach zebra-print fabric and nodded. “Sure you don’t need help?”

  She pointed at her itsy-bitsy, flower-print bikini. “I’ll be in bed before you.” She grinned. “Waiting.”

  Already kicking off his blue leather sneakers, he laughed. “There’s a living wet dream.” He jerked his white short-sleeved Henley over his head and was reaching for the zipper on his striped shorts when Nicole pulled the bow at the back of her neck loose with one hand, unsnapped the hook on her bikini top with the other, and let the small scrap of flowered fabric drop to
the floor.

  Rafe’s breath caught in his throat. “Nice tits,” he said softly. “You must hear that a lot.” He was looking at the Venus de Milo of breasts—flawless, sex-bomb plump, the deep rose nipples mouth-wateringly kissable.

  “Not really,” she lied. “I expect you hear a compliment or two about”—she flicked her hand toward his chest—“your ripped torso. Only a little moral restraint kept me from jumping you when I first saw you in your stateroom.” She grinned. “And your dangerous girlfriend too.”

  No way he was touching the topic of Sylvie again. “Right now, the only danger is my lack of restraint,” he said, unzipping his shorts. “This might be the fastest fuck of my life.”

  “Music to my ears, dude.” Sliding her thumbs under her bikini bottom, she wiggled once.

  “Jesus.” Rafe went still as the silky material slid down her legs. It wasn’t as though the small bit of fabric had hidden much, but what it had was seriously fuckable—the perfect little minimalist V of soft dark curls, glistening and dewy wet, was kicking his libido into the red zone, adding inches to his dick.

  Intensely susceptible to her own fierce need, Rafe’s full stop was unnerving; he’d already tried to back out twice. “In case it matters, I’m asking real politely for you to hurry, okay?” She kept her voice supercalm, like one would coaxing a lion into a cage. But with her current level of horniness, she wasn’t above resorting to plan B. “Or I might have to go it alone.”

  “No fucking way,” Rafe growled. “And I mean it real politely,” he murmured, each word thick with sarcasm. Although with her creamy ass and the tantalizing glimpse of slick pussy she gave him as she briefly kneeled on the bed before dropping onto her back, he was going to be hard pressed to stay within the boundaries of acceptable behavior, let alone politesse. Sucking in a breath, he told himself to fucking chill, and tamping down the worst of his brute impulses, he shoved down his shorts and boxers and stepped out of them.

  She gasped—a soft, explosive sound.

  Not an unfamiliar sound. He looked up.

  “So it’s not an urban legend after all,” she whispered, coming up on one elbow and holding out her hand as little tremors raced up her spine and she turned liquid inside. “That… is… wow—big.” She took a quick breath, blinked. “And gorgeous.” All her nerve endings began to sizzle and please, please, please lit up her brain. Rafe Contini was the poster boy for hung. Her wide-eyed gaze levered up, met his, and her voice went velvet soft. “Come closer.”

  “I’m way past even minimal control.” His voice was a low rasp. “So don’t touch or I might go off. I’m assuming you don’t want that.” For the first time in his life, he didn’t trust his dick to comply, and motionless, he waited for her answer.

  She smiled. “No touching—promise. I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of—Oh, Christ.” Her hand began to quiver and, abruptly dropping it on the bed, she drew in a slow, even breath. “This never happens,” she whispered, her eyes locked with his. “Never.”

  “No shit,” he said on a suffocated breath. “I’m hearing bloody violins like some goddamn silly girl.”

  The sudden silence was fraught with chafing discontent.

  Then Rafe restlessly raked his fingers through his hair. “Fuck it. We’ll deal with it.” He didn’t say that his libido was calling the shots, that he had no intention of letting her go.

  “Right.” She wasn’t about to voice her purely selfish thoughts about instant orgasms either. He wasn’t looking real reasonable right now, with a kind of suppressed fury in his eyes. And she had plans.

  “So you still want to look?” He spoke with such admirable control, he could have been asking her if she wanted one card or two in high-stakes vingt-et-un.

  Even his breathing had quieted and she forced herself to speak as dispassionately as he. “Yes, please. I’m locked down tight again.” She gave herself points for matching his cool, detached gaze. “Observe.” She held up her hand. “Steady. Now let’s see that art up close and personal.”

  “Just for a minute.” Moving the few steps to the bed, Rafe lay down beside her and, turning his head, held her gaze. “You’ll have plenty of time to see my tattoo up close and personal in the weeks ahead.” At the quick lift of her brows, he added, “Open to discussion of course.” When it wasn’t. “Right now, though, just look or I’m going to come all over your hand.” His voice was curt. “There are physical limits.”

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of missing out on your impressive hard-on.” Her gaze flicked downward to his dick at full stretch. “I can see why women adore you,” she added coolly. “I expect you don’t have much competition.”

  “And I expect you can pick and choose your bed partners,” he countered, experiencing a shocking twinge of jealousy, when he’d always had zero possessive instincts. “Forget it,” he muttered. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Same here.” Christ, what was she thinking? Coming up on her knees, she pointed at the magnificent length of his erection arched navel high against his stomach—a masterpiece of both virility and artistic talent that was making her melt inside, that spurred a small breathlessness in her voice when she spoke. “Hokusai, right?”

  With his gaze on her pussy only inches away, it took him a fraction of a second to reply. “Right.”

  An exquisitely detailed image of Hokusai’s iconic Great Wave was inked on the underside of Rafe’s rampant, upthrust dick: foam-topped waves, small figures of men in boats, a wide, beautiful, pastel sky. Then her gaze came up in fleeting surprise. “The water’s moving!”

  “Traditional tattoo work respects kinetics and muscle movement.” He flexed his lower body and his erection swelled—animating the billowing waves, pitching and tossing the boats.

  “That’s amazing.” Her overwrought whisper encompassed both the moving image and the ostentatious size of his arousal. “Did it take long?”

  His gaze widened, the discrepancy between her tremulous tone and the bland question confusing. “Is this conversation going to be lengthy?” His voice, in contrast, was edgy, because his dick was aching something fierce and politesse had never been his strong suit.

  She stiffened at his tone. “What if it is?”

  He dragged in a breath, asked himself if this cheeky bitch was worth all the trouble, and, even before the thought was fully formed, knew the answer. “It took a week to finish.” He smiled. “Is there more?”

  She liked when he smiled like that, indulging her. “When? If you don’t mind?”

  Yes, he did mind—a whole freaking lot. “I had it done when I was sixteen. You know, kid stuff, a spur-of-the-moment impulse that ended up taking longer than I thought.” A severely edited version of his youthful rebellion against his father’s oppressive monitoring of his sex life.

  “The colors are splendid: the luminous gold sky, the complex blues in the waves, the creamy foam flecked with bubbles. Subtle coloring like that has to be rare.” She smiled and tilted her head slightly. “Not to mention the rarity of a dick your size that allows scope for the entire scene.” She looked up. “That’s me asking to see it all.”

  “Just don’t touch. Seriously, I’m on a fucking hair trigger.” Prying his rock-hard erection off his stomach, he forced it upright. “The rest of the scene continues around to the front. You can see a small image of Mt. Fuji there”—he pointed—“and another boat cresting a wave.” When she leaned in to look, he grabbed her shoulders, rolled her under him, and smoothly settled between her legs. “End of art lecture, pussycat. Let’s see if we fit.”

  The head of his dick slipped past her slick folds.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Jamming her hands hard against his chest, she vehemently shook her head. “You need a condom. Those are the rules.”

  Feverish desire glowed flame hot in her eyes. He could change her mind. And largely immune to reason with the head of his dick engulfed in her soft warmth, when all he had to do was push and he’d be where he’d wanted to be since he’d first laid
eyes on her, he was indefensibly reckless. “I have a doctor on staff, I’m superclean, and I’m this close to losing it. So I’m willing to take a chance with you.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” she screamed in a voice that would shatter glass.

  His body went rigid. “Probably, yeah. Ever since I met you.” Then he rolled off her because his ears were ringing, he was seriously pissed, and losing control wasn’t an option if he ever wanted to fuck her—like, nonviolently. “You’re totally screwing up my life, you know,” he growled, turning his head and glowering at her. “Make up your fucking mind. Do you want it or don’t you?”

  “Well, for sure I don’t want you screwing up my life because you can’t use a condom!” Coming up on one elbow, she slammed her fist into his arm. “What the hell were you thinking!”

  “Fucking tone it down,” he muttered. “My hearing’s just fine. They can hear you in the main house for Christ’s sake.”

  “Ask me if I give a shit,” she snapped, rising to her knees in a surge of fury, her eyes butane blue. “Now where the hell are your condoms? I’ll get them, I’ll put one on you, we’ll both get off, then we’ll repeat the fun and games until you want to stop. No one has to take a chance with anyone. That’s how it’s done in the real world, asshole.”

  “Screw you. Maybe I don’t want to now. Maybe my libido took a hike.” He laced his hands behind his head, stretched out his large, muscled frame like the king of the jungle settling in for a nap, and insolently smiled. “Now what are you going to do?”

  She gave a little nod. “It doesn’t look like your dick got the memo.” In a flash, she ran her fingertips up his erection from base to swollen crest.

  Slapping her hand away, he sucked in a breath as his dick pulsed and twitched. “Christ,” he breathed, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” A smoldering heat darkened the gold of his eyes. “I don’t have very good manners, sometimes none at all.”

  She shrugged off his threat. “I’m not looking for manners. Just a condom. I’ll even do all the work.” She jabbed a finger at his engorged cock. “As long as you bring that to the party. So where are your condoms?”