Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  Instead, the gloating pleasure flooding her body revived her earlier feelings of self-discovery and affection. He’s mine, she thought: his inked dick; his charming, difficult, exasperating character; his beautiful face; his tall, lean form; his mind and spirit.

  Granted, her fulsome ardor may have been stirred by Rafe’s deft hands skillfully massaging her nipples and making her clit and G-spot smile. Or perhaps by his beautiful, enormous, cinnamon-flavored dick, which clearly demonstrated that size did matter.

  Oh, God, oh God, of God. Her tightly wound-up G-spot bundle of nerves wildly quivered as Rafe dragged his finger over the sensitive flesh. Overprimed, about to combust, she didn’t hear Rafe’s low, tattered snarl.

  He pushed deep into her mouth.

  She started to gag.

  “Fuck, sorry.” Jerking back, he stroked her cheek, nuzzling the solid feel of his dick with his fingertips. “Jesus—though, baby, that was—fucking extreme.” Shaking his head, he blinked himself back into the world, gently ran his finger over her top lip, which was stretched around his dick. “You okay?”

  He felt her nod way more than he would have liked considering he should probably make amends if he ever wanted her to blow him again. “Why don’t I get you off first? How’d that be?”

  She gave him a nice little suck he took as yes.

  A second later, her clit and G-spot were being treated to the world’s most talented digits: two on her G-spot, his thumb on her clit, and as her orgasm started to swell through her sex, down her legs, up her spine, and then was turning her brain to mush, Rafe Contini, virtuoso lover of women who knew what he was doing and had for a decade or more, cupped Nicole’s chin in his free hand, held her head firmly, and, guarding against overzealous momentum, timed his climax to meet hers—exactly. He also saw to it that the glory lasted for them both till the absolute, mind-blowing, ride-off-into-the-sunset limit.

  Quickly withdrawing, Rafe breathed a litany of, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” in a tight, brittle riff as he grabbed a towel, wiped Nicole’s mouth, and lowered her down on the bed. Half-dazed, his chest heaving, he raked his fingers through his hair, rested his hands on the top of his head, and waited for the debris from the violent explosion to clear from his brain. “Christ,” he said in a soft rush of air. Then he took a deep breath, dropped his hands, gazed at Nicole all flushed and fragile lying sprawled on his bed, and smiled so widely two rarely seen dimples were etched in his cheeks. “Want me to buy you Cartier? Just say the word, tiger, I’ll sic my lawyers on them.”

  Eyes shut, she shook her head. “I’d buy it for you if I could. I almost died,” Nicole purred. “You are so-o-o fucking good.” Her eyes opened slowly, the pleasure glowing in the blue depths sunshine bright. “Thanks for giving me my turn first. I know why you’re in such demand. You’re chivalrous.”

  He was wiping himself off; he looked up and gave her an eye roll.

  “No?”

  “Just you, tiger. You’re deconstructing my life”—he winked—“and I mean it in the nicest way.” He dropped a clean towel on her stomach. “Now move the fuck over. I have to rest a minute.” His smile was killer sweet. “But don’t go to sleep. I’m not done with you.”

  “Oh goody.”

  He was on top of her a second later, kissing the grin off her face. “Winning with you is going to be survival of the fittest, no shit,” he whispered, brushing a kiss along her cheek. “I feel like a fucking gladiator.”

  “Does that mean I’m Wonder Woman? She kicks butt, you know.”

  “You’re a wonder all right, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when you kick my butt. Just saying.” He rolled away, shoved a pillow behind his head, then turned and smiled. “You know somewhere down the line, it’s going to be my turn first.”

  “Do I know that?”

  “You will.” He leaned over and kissed her. “You won’t mind.”

  “Such confidence.” She gave herself a swipe between the legs and tossed the washcloth.

  “I’m getting to know your sweet spots and your tricky ones.” His smile broadened. “Those take a little more concentration.”

  “For which I’m grateful.”

  He winked. “You should be.”

  “Is your minute up yet?”

  He was still laughing when he entered her creamy warmth; she liked the feeling, almost as much as she liked his slow, deliberate penetration so every sensation was magnified by anticipation, every sensory tingle was indelibly etched in her brain, her need for him bordering on insatiable. “You’re really good to me,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face, resting her palms on his cheeks.

  He smiled. “Only you.”

  “Just so you know—you can always win. I don’t care.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll change your mind after you come.”

  “When will that be?”

  His smile was all sweet, cocky heat. “You need a time or just a promise?”

  “I need you,” she whispered. “That’s all I need.”

  If any other woman had said that to him, he would have shown her the door. “You’ve got me, babe. Everything good now?” he added, unruffled by her demand, making her happy a business plan he was more than willing to sign off on. “And fast is fine with me if that’s your schedule. Ready?”

  As she nodded, she wondered if one could become a nymphomaniac in a matter of hours. Because all she wanted was Rafe Contini inside her, making her feel hot and wild and scary good.

  Rafe was thinking maybe there was a God because Nicole Parrish had appeared out of nowhere and was introducing him to heaven on earth—in terms of maybe the best, most intense sex of his life. The shocking concept instantly generated a wave of panic, until his self-preservation instincts kicked in to remind him he’d said maybe.

  “I don’t want to wait,” Nicole whispered.

  But his moment of panic had sent a burst of adrenaline through his blood, fueling his fight-or-flight reflex. Or, in his case, attack mode—an indictment of boarding schools where survival came down to winning or losing; there was no middle ground. Struggling to rein in the pressure to hit something, Rafe muttered, “If I get out of hand, maybe you should have a safe word.”

  She gave him a curious look. “Out of hand—like how?”

  “I’ve been known to lose it on occasion.”

  “With sex, you mean.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Since he didn’t want her to walk out, he left it at that.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m good.” She slid her legs around his waist and smiled.

  “What the hell does that mean?” He gave her a flat look.

  “Jeez, relax. It just means I don’t need a safe word.”

  Dead silence for a moment, then he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re into rough sex?”

  She sighed. “No, I’m a virgin. Does that make you feel better?”

  “How rough do you like it?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

  “Could we drop this conversation?”

  “Answer my question.”

  She unwound her legs and shoved against his chest. “Don’t snarl at me. It’s none of your damn business.”

  He lowered his weight on her just enough to get her attention. “I’m making it my business.” He gave her a chilly look, forcing her legs wider. “Now, one more time,” he snarled, just to get his point across. “How rough? And don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood.”

  “I know what you’re in the mood for,” she snapped, glaring at him as his erection swelled inside her. “Your dick likes this stupid macho shit, doesn’t it? You gonna pound the fucking answer out of me?”

  She was all sulky and pissed, flushed and huffy. And so totally hot and sexy she was probably right about his dick. But he’d spent a lifetime dealing with frustration, schooling himself to control his emotions and his world. And after all the fucking debate his adrenaline had almost flatlined. Screw the stupid argument. He offered her a warm smile, raised his weight off her. “Sorry. I
was out of line. So what would you like first? Slow, fast, simple, not so simple?”

  “Christ, are you schizoid?” But she was smiling.

  He smiled back. “Yeah, seriously demented. But that doesn’t mean my dick can’t make you all hot and bothered.”

  “No shit. And since it seems to matter, I’ve never done rough sex.” She shrugged. “I’m not saying I’m against it. No one ever appealed enough to give it a go.”

  “You probably shouldn’t say that.”

  “I just did.”

  A soft smile curved his lips. “Good to know. But I’m guessing I’m on the clock right now.”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  He laughed. “So polite, tiger. You must really want it.”

  “You’re fucking addictive. What can I say?” She slid her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips again. “Show me,” she whispered. “I’ll let you know if I like it.”

  Not an invitation any man with a heartbeat could refuse.

  Quickly sliding a hand under her ass, slipped his other hand under her soft bottom, tightened his grip and rammed home in one hard downstroke.

  She sucked in her breath.

  “Okay?”

  She held his gaze and nodded.

  “Let me know if you want to come up for air.” His fingers pressed into her soft bottom, his hips swung forward, and, firmly securing his hold on her ass, he began to move in a wild, unrestrained rhythm, ignoring all the posted speed limits, driving through the stop signs, pounding into Nicole’s tight, creamy sex with his full and undivided attention. Each thrust ended in his grunt, her gasp, as he rode her faster and faster, her heels digging into his butt, straining to pull him in, while he shoved in so far his dick damn near bent on impact. But most of the blood in his body was making sure his dick stayed in the game, so there was no way he was going to stop over a few jarring jolts.

  He was relentless.

  She was quivering, and shuddering under his hands, desperate, spiraling out of control.

  Seriously enthusiastic, he impudently thought, just before her teeth sank into his shoulder. He swore, hauled her hard into his dick, said through his teeth, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” and put every hard ass muscle in his big body into his next powerful thrust.

  She didn’t seem to notice, or she noticed and liked it. Not that he gave a shit when he was getting close to blazing out. They were both wound up, switched on, pumping and grinding until their skin was slippery with sweat, their breathing labored, a mindless lust burning away reason.

  “Now, now, now,” she screamed, eyes closed, throwing her head from side to side, clawing at his shoulders.

  He went still; his mouth went tight. “Tell me my name, goddamn it.”

  “Rafe, Rafe, Rafe!” A high, frantic cry, her nails scoring his skin.

  His smile was instant. “I’m here, baby—lemme take you home.” Plunging back in, he felt her climax begin to flutter up his dick, and holding himself deep inside her, swelled bigger as her tight pussy clasped and quivered around him in her frenzied rush to the finish. He waited a second, two, a polite third while the first hot orgasmic wave crashed through her body, then he joined her, coming hard, pouring into her, staking his claim in a way he would have found incomprehensible just hours ago. Softly whimpering, she arched up into his thick, rigid length, taking him into the very depth of her sweet, lush body. And he repaid the breathtaking rush of pleasure by prolonging the rapture for long, endless, heart-thudding moments.

  The silent aftermath stretched out in a haze of sexual intoxication, a warm, powerful satisfaction curling through their bodies, the activity of the world briefly suspended. Only their breathing breaking the silence.

  Nicole came up for air first. “I know who you are,” she whispered, dropping her legs on the bed.

  Rafe pried his eyes open and relaxed his grip on her bottom. “Sorry about that.”

  “I like that it matters.”

  He grunted.

  She grinned. “Postorgasmic sanity?”

  “Dunno.” He dropped his head, kissed her lightly, and rolled away. “You feel good, that’s all I know.”

  “So I won’t be getting an engagement ring?”

  He looked at her, unsmiling. “Fucking cute.”

  “Like your question,” she said with a lift of her brows.

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’m not talking about this.” Rolling up into a sitting position, he grabbed two towels, tossed one at Nicole, and began wiping up.

  “I have a novice question.”

  His hands went still; his whole body tensed.

  “Jeez, you’re jumpy. I guess you don’t get asked about engagement rings every day.”

  He gave his dick a last wipe. “No,” he said, dropping the towel on the floor.

  “I didn’t think so.” She smiled. “Stop scowling. My question is about something else. Was that what you call rough sex?”

  He chuckled. “Not if you have to ask.” He’d walked a fine line; no point scaring her off the first night.

  “Sorry I bit you.”

  “I’ll live. Feel like a shower?”

  “Are we done talking about this?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Sorry, I always forget. Men never want to talk after sex.”

  He smiled. “Does that ever stop you?”

  “Depends if there’s something better to do.”

  “A shower good enough?”

  “And?”

  He did a quick double take. “Jesus, babe, you’re driving me hard.”

  “Sorry.” She tried to look contrite.

  He grinned. “You’re a shitty actress. And I’m just screwing with you anyway. Drive me as hard as you fucking want. I can’t get enough. Ready to check out my shower?”

  “You have some special plumbing?”

  His smile was contagious. “Something like that.” He held out his hand. “Come see.”

  He’d just taken her hand to help her off the bed when his phone rang. “Let it go,” he said, as she glanced toward the bedside table.

  “I thought you turned it off.”

  “I did for a while.”

  “But you can’t for long.” She’d seen Dominic on call twenty-four/seven; she understood.

  “Not really. But whoever’s calling can live without me for a few hours.”

  But they’d not taken more than a few steps toward the dressing room when the phone on the desk rang.

  She nodded toward the desk. “Whoever it is knows you’re here.”

  He grimaced, came to a stop, then dropped her hand. “Give me a second.”

  Walking over to the desk, Rafe checked the caller ID, then picked up the receiver. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be there later.” Pausing to listen, he glanced at a small clock on the desktop. “I thought he wasn’t coming until next week.” A small frown creased his brow at the answer. “Okay, give me a half hour.” His frown deepened; he shook his head. “I don’t care if he’s antsy. Give him some Cristal to relax. Shit—well, try to keep the blow to a minimum. The best I can do is a half hour. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. Do what you can. Ciao.” He slammed the receiver down.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “We’re going somewhere. I’ll explain on the way. Let me call Simon and have the car brought up. Then we just have time to shower. We’ll have to save our play date for some other time.”

  “It sounded like trouble.”

  “Hopefully not.” He reached the bed and lifted her in his arms. “But my friend Ganz shows up when hackers are in the wings,” he said, moving toward his dressing room. “So perhaps minor trouble.”

  “Don’t let me get in the way.”

  He grinned. “Sometimes you can be so fucking polite. Mom taught you well?”

  “You wouldn’t believe. But I heard you on the phone, so any time just say the word, I can sit and wait until the storm rolls past.”

  “You can sit and wait w
ith me. Just a nod, tiger. No argument. I have enough shit going on.”

  She grinned. “Yes, sir. Be happy to, sir.”

  “Fucking A.” He dropped a quick kiss on her nose. “You’re finally learning.”

  Chapter 15

  “I’m going to shower in the other bathroom,” Rafe said as they walked into his dressing room. “Otherwise, we’ll be here all night. And this guy is unpredictable.” Setting her on her feet, he dipped his head. “You need one of the staff to help you dress or anything?”

  She smiled. “I don’t live in a palace. I know how to dress myself.”

  “A half hour’s a real pain”—he sighed—“but if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem. Want me to meet you downstairs?”

  “Fuck yes. Christ, you are perfect.” He didn’t say that most women he’d been with took a half hour to put on their lipstick.

  “Yes, yes, I am,” she said with a playful grin. “Five bucks says I’m first downstairs too.”

  “Let’s make it worthwhile. First one downstairs gets to name their pleasure when we come home.”

  She spun around, waved over her shoulder and walked into Rafe’s huge white marble bathroom that had, on first sight, made her question his avowal that he’d never had women at the carriage house. The room was palace-style luxurious and large enough for an orgy. French doors opened onto a balcony that overlooked the sea, a long countertop with three hand-painted sinks—zebras again—ran along one mirrored wall, a separate room held a toilet and bidet, and the mosaic tub was large enough to swim in, while the shower would accommodate at least ten people with rows of shower heads lining the ceiling and walls and several mounted shower wands.

  No time for speculation, though, when she was up against the clock. Fortunately, she’d had lots of practice dressing quickly for a night on the town; a piece of cake for a California girl familiar with putting herself together in a hurry after a day of surfing. Shower in five minutes, dry her hair in five more, dress in less time depending on her outfit. Makeup—another five. Hell, she even had time to check her e-mail tonight.