Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  At the soft mockery in his voice, her gaze came up and met his. “I want the same thing you want.” He was standing beside the bed, his prize dick at full stretch, twitching gently against his flat stomach. “Come closer.”

  “Not yet.” He picked up a wet washcloth he’d carried in. “Open yourself for me,” he instructed. “We’ll start with your clit.”

  She smiled, feeling less defenseless with the evidence of his arousal pulsing in time to his heartbeat. “I need a more polite tone of voice.”

  “I know what you need, and it’s not that.” He lifted his brows. “So—anytime.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be rude.”

  He laughed softly. “Jesus, are we having fucking tea?”

  “What if I resist? I could. Until you’re nicer.”

  He closed his eyes for a second. “That’s not going to happen—me getting nicer. If your other bed partners let you get away with this bullshit that’s their problem. I’m not the altruistic type. So—I repeat… anytime.”

  She breathed out her displeasure. “Give me the damned washcloth. I’ll do it myself.”

  “If I wanted you to do it yourself, I would have said so. Now show me your sticky clit. That’s a fucking order.”

  She felt the blood in her face rise. “This is preposterous,” she muttered, dropping her legs and rolling away.

  With blurring speed his fingers closed on her shoulder and, flipping her over, he shoved her back on the bed and swept his hand downward over her breasts and rib cage until his palm came to rest firmly on her stomach. “What’s preposterous is your constant defiance,” he said, meeting the fury in her gaze with mild annoyance. “What the hell? You want to come, I want to come. I don’t see the problem.”

  “Let me go!”

  He splayed his fingers wider, exerted more pressure, and angled his head as if trying to decide if this was just a game. “You like this don’t you? It’s turning you on.”

  She looked up to his face, her brows drawn in anger, but her skin felt hot, her heart was pumping madly in her chest and it took her a few seconds to reply. “No.”

  “You don’t mean that,” he said. “Even if you think you do,” he added softly. “So here’s me playing God. And you playing the game my way. Show me your clit or I’ll tie you up, clean you up, then see that you don’t come for thirty days. I’ll have sex with you but I’ll be the only one who climaxes. Clear?”

  She was speechless for a moment, confused, rebellious—oh fuck—stunned by tiny, tingling spasms pulsing through her body in embarrassing arousal.

  “You don’t have a choice,” he murmured, helping her out, giving her leave to accept the inevitable, not mentioning the telltale carnal flush rising up her throat.

  Aware of her limited options, his smile promising he’d make even submission worthwhile, she shut her eyes and silently complied, reaching down to touch her pink folds, sliding her index and middle fingers in slightly deeper, opening her slick flesh enough to expose her clit, mortified to feel it so engorged that there was no question she was interested in whatever he considered worthwhile. At what price?—her mutinous voice of reason snorted. Suddenly overcome by panic, not sure she could deal with Rafe’s total autonomy, she forced aside the impetuous, gimme, gimme fever gripping her senses, opened her eyes, and stared at him stonily. “Don’t.”

  He smiled. “You’re way past don’t, tiger.” Her guilty need was graphically evident in the insistent little pulse swelling her clit. “You like me, I can tell.” He carefully touched her slick, swollen nub, and the tiny rocket of sensation that kicked against his fingertip pleased him. “So don’t pretend. Come on, it’s not the end of the world”—he paused, gave her a tender smile. “Not even close. It’s only sex… a little wider now so we can get you cleaned up… there, perfect, good girl—don’t move.”

  She shivered at the first touch of the wet washcloth, flushes of warmth ran through her, flowed into all her slippery, greedy places, making her squirm, and she rose into his hand with a low, muffled sound, forcing the pace.

  “Hey, hey, not so fast.”

  She made a face at him and he grinned. “It doesn’t have to be wild every time. Relax.” Then he delicately swabbed her clit, taking his time, thorough in his cleansing. “Everything good so far?” he murmured as she lay, fists clenched, dragging in shaky breaths, glaring at him. “Need a little more speed?”

  But by the time he’d finished sponging, she was panting raggedly, frantically writhing her hips, so near orgasm he was tempted to humor her. If he didn’t prefer less argument with his sex, he would have. If he didn’t want to screw her obsessively, he could have overlooked a fight or two. But he didn’t care to deal with perpetual drama for the next month; she needed to recognize there was a down side to her confrontational style. This was lesson one. Tossing the washcloth on the floor, he bent down and dropped a kiss on her nose. “I’m going to climax first.”

  Nicole’s eyes flared wide. “You’re kidding!” she gasped, her orgasm terrifyingly close, blissful relief beginning to swell inside her.

  “I’m not,” he corrected. “I washed him for you. You’ll have to come closer.” He pointed to the edge of the bed where he was standing.

  Overcome with fury, she hissed, “I’ll do—myself,” and quickly slid her hands down her stomach.

  With frightening speed he pinioned her hands to the bed and leaned in close so his narrowed gaze was only inches away. “You can do yourself later.” His eyes burned into her. “Right now, I want your mouth on me. Understand?”

  “Screw you!” She fought against his grip—big mistake: a frantic-for-sex female without clothes writhing in his grasp seriously affected the size of Rafe’s erection; it also triggered a stunning, fuck-me tremor that flashed through every functioning nerve in her body.

  He was watching her with a ghost of a smile. “The sooner I come, the sooner you get off, tiger. It’s pretty simple.”

  Never before faced with sexual extortion, she dragged air in through her nose and eyed him hotly. “I’m damned near there already. Do you really think you can stop me from climaxing?”

  “Fuck yeah. For thirty days if necessary.” He shrugged and smiled. “We can fight it out if you like. Your decision, of course.”

  “Why would you do that?” She wasn’t stupid enough to ask, Would you do that?

  “Because, my little hothead,” he said very softly, his dark, silken hair brushing her face, his golden gaze so close she could feel the glow, “you can’t always have your way.”

  His quiet certainty gave her pause; she had to swallow before she found enough breath to speak. “Does that mean you’re going to make all the rules?”

  Recognizing her wavering tone, he slowly released her wrists and stood. “Not all of them—but more than you.” He sighed, as if he were helpless against irksome reality. “You’ve been running wild too long.”

  Surprised at his choice of words—that it actually mattered to him—she let a small silence fall before she said, “Maybe I like it that way.”

  He gave her a teasing smile. “You’ll like my way more.” Then he circled his erection with his fingers, slid his hand downward, and added inches to his dick, the flaring head swelling sizably in a flamboyant display of virility. “So stop resisting, pussycat. It’ll only get you in trouble.”

  “With you.” Her mouth was in a tight line.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes. But trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you know how offensive that sounds?” she complained.

  He shrugged. “Do you know how good I can make you feel?”

  “Don’t be so sure.” But her voice was scarcely a whisper and her slight frown signaled doubt. She took a small, emphatic breath. “If you must know, I don’t like feeling defenseless… desperate.” She gestured at his showy dick. “For him, you. It’s unsettling. It alarms me.”

  “I understand the desperation,” he said quietly. “But it’s not so alarming”—he smile
d—“to at least take turns. What do you say? I’m not interested in making you unhappy.”

  She sighed. “That’s not actually possible.” A flicker of a smile appeared. “Really. Even when I’m pissed. You’re so extraordinarily handsome, it obscures objectivity. How’s that for pure folly?”

  He dipped his head. “None of this has anything to do with reason. When you walked into my stateroom, I felt the world shift. And I begrudge that feeling as much as you begrudge your defenselessness.”

  She grinned. “So we’re motivated by an underlying umbrage.”

  He shook his head and grinned back. “Lust first, baby. Fuck the rest. So bottom line”—his grin widened—“you have to make up your mind how we’re going to play this.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip, then sighed. “Okay, we’ll try it your way.”

  “Fair enough,” he said very calmly. “So, are you going to come closer or what?”

  “If you ask me nicely.”

  “I thought I did. I know I did. Don’t be a dick.” And into the small silence that ensued, he added, “Thirty days without an orgasm.” One dark brow inched up slightly. “That’s a long time.”

  A little shiver ran up her spine, whether from the thought of such an unsettling eventuality or the more challenging sight of his blatant erection visibly expanding to a spectacular height as he spoke, she wasn’t sure.

  “Give in,” he whispered.

  She frowned, took a breath. “It’s really hard, and I didn’t mean that so stop grinning. I’m just not sure I can do it—give in the way you want me to.”

  “You mean even faced with no orgasms for thirty days.” He couldn’t imagine it.

  She nodded.

  “Seriously?”

  “Could you? Beg?” Her voice was constrained. “Because that’s what this is.”

  He didn’t immediately reply, then said, “No.”

  “You see? You’re asking too much. It’s a double standard and you know it.”

  He looked amused. “Is this about equality?”

  “It should be.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face in a nonverbal curb on his temper. “I’m not sure that’s what I want with sex. I’m not sure you do either. Could we talk about this later?”

  “After I go down on you, you mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a quiet finality in his voice, an undiluted bluntness. “When later?”

  He didn’t quibble; he was tired of arguing. “We’ll talk tomorrow. And you can come as many times as you want tonight.”

  Her brilliant smile could have been seen from outer space. “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like it before. Now stop talking before you piss me off again.”

  “Yes, sir.” She licked her lips and grinned. “So, what exactly can I do for you?”

  “I need your mouth here.” He pointed.

  “You want a kiss?”

  He smiled. “It’s a start, smart-ass.”

  He watched with pleasure as she slowly rose to her knees: the enticing sway of her spectacular tits as she turned; the slender span of her waist that made his fingers twitch; the sweetness between her legs that was currently his magnetic north, his consuming passion, his addiction.

  When she was resting on her knees at the edge of the bed, she put her hand flat on his hard chest. “Mine,” she said, feeling his power and strength, his potent maleness, the sexual heat escaping from him in waves.

  He sucked in a breath at her touch, at the aberrant word no woman had ever dared say to him, at his heart-tripping reaction that rapped on every door he’d always kept closed. He frowned. “Dangerous territory, tiger.”

  She looked up to see his golden eyes darken, and caught in the wicked burn she suddenly felt cornered, captive to the too handsome, too rich, too improbably charismatic man. But a second later, she stopped freaking out because it usually took zero effort to make it happen if she wanted a man. Not that Rafe was a role model for conformity, but—what the hell… life was good, the sex was fantastic. “I’m not easily scared,” she said with a nervy grin.

  “I’ve noticed. That’s part of the fun. You think you can handle me.”

  Their eyes locked for a moment.

  “I always win, tiger.”

  She smiled. “Funny thing. Me too. In fact”—she was cut off; her comment, her breath, her ability to think, because Rafe was sliding his fingertips down her stomach and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where he was heading. Oh yess… his fingers came to rest on her newly washed cleft and she involuntarily moaned as he slipped one finger inside and ever so gently touched her sweet spot.

  Reality was instantly transformed into a lush, misty, flower-strewn landscape with the prince of her dreams smiling at her. “I’m so on board with your style of winning,” she whispered, her eyes half shut. “You have magic fingers, no question.”

  “Glad you like them,” he said. “More?”

  Awash in pleasure, feeling breathless and adored, humbled by Rafe’s benevolence, she wanted him to feel the same incomparable wonder. Caught up in a sumptuous euphoria fueled by pheromones and lust, she jettisoned her conditioned resistance and lifted her lashes. “It’s supposed to be your turn first.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you later.” Untouched by tender sentiment, he thought: Thirty days; plenty of time.

  “What if I want to?” She lightly touched the taut head of his erection, glancing up through her lashes. “I don’t need your consent, do I?”

  He laughed. “You got it, babe.”

  “I figured. You’re pretty fucking worked up.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a lopsided grin. “You too.” He moved his finger an infinitesimal distance over the solid flesh of her pulsing clit.

  “Jeez, cool your—jets,” she gasped. “I can’t do—two things at once.”

  “Sure?” His voice was soft as silk. “You might like it.”

  She made a growly noise. “How would you know, since you’ve never done anything like this before?”

  “Right. But I’ve a great imagination. I dream about this shit.”

  His look of innocence was truly impressive. “Hmmpf!”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She was still glaring.

  He grinned. “Don’t bite, okay. That’s all I ask.”

  “Maybe I’m not giving any guarantees.”

  “Even if I guarantee you one of the better orgasms of your life?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Now that’s definitely a yes.” Making an executive decision to move the party along, he quickly added a second finger to her superwarm pussy, which was already telling him yes in a hundred different ways.

  She was softly moaning when she dipped her head and swirled her tongue around the flaring ridge of his erection and ran it down the throbbing vein underneath—definitely an added bonus to degrees of sensation, he decided, and stroked her G-spot in a friendly hello.

  Really, why she even debated feeling this good was seriously overthinking sex. Rafe had the right idea. Just do it. Not that he might have operated on that premise a few thousand times more than her. But that didn’t mean it didn’t feel good all the same.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  It wasn’t rude or harsh; the question was only whispered in bewilderment. Returning to the world, she realized she’d apparently zoned out. “Sorry,” she said, her mouth full so it came out muffled; but he must have gotten the message because when she glanced up, he was smiling.

  “You’re supercute, tiger. But if you need instructions, just ask.”

  In answer, she grabbed his balls—not too hard, not too soft; she wasn’t expecting a coherent answer. There—a nice, guttural moan, like he really meant it.

  Settling into her groove, she sucked and licked the velvety skin beautifully inked by some hot-shot artist in Tokyo so each up and down lift of her head was like a trip to the museum. Lightly pumping his rigid len
gth with one hand so the ocean waves totally rocked and rolled, she gently massaged the pliant flesh of his balls with her other hand, slid her head downward, taking as much as possible of the smooth, solid length of him into her mouth, then with added suction and some tongue slowly worked her way back up again. Rafe’s low throaty growl played back-up music to her performance.

  His hoarse, raspy voice echoed her own volatile need as he touched and tortured her throbbing sex, caressed her nipples and breasts, made her all fluttery and needy, warm and tingly, like the pro he was.

  Even his choice of soap was beneficent; he tasted of cinnamon. Cinnamon and Hokusai—nice combination, along with his huge dick in her mouth, which was stoking all her freaking hot and heavy, loaded-for-sex desires. In fact, in a total turnaround, she was thinking she’d be happy to take seconds with—like seriously—gratitude. So in terms of pure luck, barging into Rafe’s stateroom was—

  Rafe pressed down on her clit with his thumb, gently flattened it out and instantly drove any coherent thought out of her mind. With a high-pitched squeal, she jerked upright as raw, scorching bliss burned through her body at warp speed.

  His fingers cupped her neck and he slowly forced her head back down. “Give it a second.” And a moment later, when her cry dropped to a restive little mew and the strumming aftershock subsided, he whispered, “Like this?” and rubbed his thumb so softly over her clit she purred.

  “Better?”

  His voice was husky, low.

  Still trembling slightly, her mouth crammed full, she raised her lashes. “Amazing.”

  Damn near as wired as she, he grunted softly as her reply drifted over the swollen crest of his dick. “Do that again. Talk.”

  She took a deep breath. “Actinium, symbol Ac, atomic number 89, aluminum, symbol”—she felt his laugh, then his dick slid farther into her mouth as he flexed his hips. A second later, the pad of his finger ran over her G-spot with such finesse she almost begrudged him the experience required to gain that level of skill. But currently mesmerized by the shimmering enchantment lighting up her brain, jealousy issues faded into the ether.