Power and Possession

by C. C. Gibbs

  At first when she started climaxing again he discounted the small tremors. But the tiny flutters were real and escalating; his dick took serious notice and, half angry, half pleased, he tightened his grip on her hips. “Hang on, tiger. Pedal to the metal.” Tapping her hard, totally ready to blow after waiting this long, feeling as though he’d been superpolite through a helluva lot of her orgasms, he waited only for her scream to begin before he climaxed in an explosive white-hot rush, pouring into her, filling her with wave after wave of come in such brute hammering thrusts the torque on his spine bordered on painful. Forgetting all the rules of casual sex, of sex as inconsequential entertainment, of the messy risks in nonrandom chicks, he marked Nicole as his in the most elemental, unconstrained, barbaric way.

  When the madness was over, he kissed her, his mouth resting gently on her nape.

  In voiceless apology.

  Then he gently lifted her in his arms, walked to a sofa only faintly visible in the light from the shaded windows, sat, set her on his lap, and held her close.

  Only the sound of harsh breathing filled the silence.

  Coherent thought still in abeyance.

  Normalcy waiting in the wings.

  The sudden tension in her spine should have warned him, but he was still coming down from one of the better orgasms of his life. So when Nicole swiveled around and slammed her palms against his chest, he automatically eased back.

  Then she wound up and slapped him hard. “You fucking asshole!”

  He winced but otherwise didn’t respond; he deserved it.

  “And if you’re going to get pissy about who I was with last night,” Nicole muttered, defiant and glaring, pelting him with a flurry of two-handed sharp, stinging slaps, “you better tell me who you were with.”

  Fuck, that hurt. She’d come enough times to be a little more grateful, he thought, bearing her assault with restraint. “Whoever it was,” he said, a small irritation entering his voice at the thought of who she’d been with, “I didn’t send them any fucking roses.”

  “Whoever?”

  “Hey, watch it,” he growled, jerking his head back. “I like my eyes. And if you need a fucking name—names… but no way he was going to be that honest—I’ll ask Simon. He drove her home.”

  “God, you’re a massive shit!” Nicole slammed his shoulder with a hard chop.

  “Maybe if she’d entertained me as well as you did de Barre,” Rafe drawled, cranky after that painful chop to his muscle, even more cranky about de Barre, “I’d remember her name.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Grunting as her fist damn near broke his nose, he grabbed both her hands and put an end to the one-sided militancy. “You want to fuck, babe?” he murmured, his insolent gaze up close and personal, his fingers viselike on her wrists. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Maybe if you learn some goddamned manners,” she snapped, trying to shake him loose, “I might think about it.” The brilliant blue of her eyes literally glowed with a palpable anger. “Do you ever fucking ask first?”

  He softly exhaled, the answer not likely to please her. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said with withering contempt. “Maybe something like the truth?”

  He drew in a small breath before he spoke, reminding himself to keep the stricture out of his voice. “Okay, you want the truth? You’re a hypocrite.” His lashes drifted a fraction lower, the gold of his eyes only faintly visible. “You came five fucking times. You’re welcome.”

  She went completely still.

  “You’ve been indulged, pussycat.” His voice was ultrasoft. “You’re very beautiful. You’re used to getting your way.”

  “And you’re not?” He was expecting concessions from her—damn him—when he didn’t know the meaning of the word. “You practically banged me to kingdom come, you prick! I hope you had fun!”

  There was a small pause while he softly inhaled, debated various tactful and nontactful answers, wondered when the game had changed, why he didn’t feel like walking out when she was—granted, in his selfish opinion—a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, indifferent to all the myriad problems and subtleties of their volatile stances, wanting her anyway, every way. “Truly.” He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right. I was a prick. There’s no excuse. None.” He dropped her hands, leaned back, spread his arms along the top of the sofa, shut his eyes briefly, then dipped his head. “Let me make it up to you.”

  She looked at him, penitent and contrite and so damned beautiful she didn’t wonder that he had the world at his feet. Rich or poor. It wouldn’t matter. And she understood too that they were both struggling with their new, challenging, occasionally righteous feelings. “I guess I could have been less bitchy,” she said quietly. “But from now on, just ask first. Okay?”

  His small startle reflex quickly contained, he gazed at her from under his lowered lashes. “Like how?”

  “Lord, Rafe.” Nicole sighed. “I don’t know. Figure it out.”

  He ran his palm over his face and blew out a restive breath. “I don’t do this… exclusivity shit. I share, for Christ’s sake. It’s part of the game. And now”—he bared his teeth in a rictus of displeasure—“I want to lock up your pussy and hang the key around my neck.” He snorted. “How’s that for a mind fuck?”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m not sure I’d care if you did that. And believe me, that’s so far out of my comfort zone, we’re talking beyond this galaxy into the black hole of the universe.” She grimaced. “You’re not the only one obsessed.”

  He suddenly grinned. “So the sex is that good?”

  “Fuck you.” But she was smiling.

  “You say that so often, I’m beginning to think you mean it,” he said, hushed and low.

  His deep voice resonated through every sexually addicted nerve in her body with predictable effect. She winked in open invitation. “So—wanna see if you can keep up?”

  “You say the sweetest things, Miss Parrish.” Straightening, he leaned forward and kissed her gently, a young boy’s kiss, the kind he hadn’t given even when he was a young boy. But she made the world seem fresh and new, brought with her an incomprehensible joy, made him believe in the word relationship as a meritorious concept. “Keeping up shouldn’t be a problem, pussycat,” he whispered, with another brushing, butterfly kiss. He ran his hands down her arms and smiled. “But let’s get out of here first. I’ll find you something to wear.”

  Nicole’s eyes flashed wide. “If you say you have a closet full of women’s clothes, I’m going home.”

  “You can wear one of my robes. And I’m not letting you go home,” he said, tapping her bottom lip with his index finger. “So take that option off the table.”

  “You can’t make me stay.”

  “Don’t start,” he said pleasantly. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  “You can’t, that’s all.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Forgive me.” This wasn’t an argument she was going to win, nor one he wished to have; she’d leave when he let her leave. “Now let’s wash up in some rudimentary fashion and have Simon drive us home. You good with that? Please?”

  His smile was freaking beautiful, and cautious, like he was a little worried about her answer. She nodded. “Yup. I’m good.”

  He exhaled. “Thanks.” Then he grinned. “First time walking on eggshells for me.” He quickly put up his hand at her lifted brow. “All good, seriously. You’re teaching me a lot.”

  Nicole smiled. “I know what you mean. Obsession’s a bitch, right?”

  “Hey, as long as you’re in the picture frame, I’ll deal with it willingly. Now I’m calling Simon.”

  He told Simon to park out back, then picked Nicole up, rose from the sofa, and carried her into the bathroom. His office held a minimum wardrobe, and once they’d cleaned up, he changed into jeans and a T-shirt, offered her a choice of sweats or a robe, helped her int
o a light blue cambric robe, and carried her through the back corridors to an exterior door.

  Manned by beaucoup security.

  Nicole lifted her brows as the door was opened for them and they walked out into the summer night. “You must be important. Or is the crowd down here so rowdy?”

  “Neither. The casino’s close, a security issue; so is Ganz.” Not to mention Rafe’s usual list of enemies. “That’s why I like the house. It’s private. Hi, Simon.” He handed him Nicole’s shoes. “Mission accomplished. We’re going home.”

  Nicole liked the sound of the word home. It was a total fantasy, of course, but screw it, she intended to enjoy every second, every breath, every lush sensation while she was here. Call it Zen, call it magic, call it bewitchment or the perfect alignment of the planets. It was pleasure, pure and simple.

  And all because of a superbeautiful, badass, charming, incredibly talented sex god currently holding her in his arms in the backseat of his armored car.

  She sighed softly.

  He dipped his head and held her gaze, a faint frown visible under a fall of dark hair. “Everything okay? Need something? Just name it, you got it.”

  She smiled. “That was a happy sigh.”

  He exhaled. “Good. I’ll see that it stays that way.”

  And for the first time in his life, he wanted to make a woman happy, keep her happy. Keep her close. It was a strange, unapologetically glorious feeling that didn’t bear close scrutiny. “Want some music?” He reached for the control; no point in getting maudlin. This was about sex. Good sex, crazy, obsessive sex, but that was all. “Who do you like? The car playlist has pretty much everything.”

  Chapter 16

  Nicole fell asleep in the car.

  Looks like keeping up isn’t going to be a problem, Rafe decided with a good-natured smile. Apparently hours of mind-blowing sex exhaust some people; he’d have to think about practicing a little discipline. She was more fragile than hard-core party girls, like a feisty kitten—all sharp claws and hiss—but surprisingly innocent underneath. Not as worldly as she supposed.

  Not worldly at all in terms of his crazy-ass lifestyle.

  When Simon opened the car door at the house, he took one look and spoke in a whisper. “Henny called wanting to know your plans.”

  “If Nicole doesn’t wake up, I’ll come up to the house,” Rafe murmured, sliding out of the car carefully. “Let them know.”

  Simon nodded and quickly moved to open the front door.

  Rafe stood for a moment in the entrance hall, waited for the door to be shut behind him, then took the stairs at a leisurely pace in order not to jar his sleeping beauty. The bedroom had been put to rights in their absence and, pulling back the duvet on the freshly made bed, he lay Nicole down gently, tucked her in, and watched her sleep with a slight air of wonder.

  Having a woman in his bed was extraordinary. He couldn’t have imagined the likelihood for a decade at least. Yet he felt no trepidation or disquiet; he felt instead a strange content. More: a feeling of peace. And he carefully stored the feeling away against the cold reality that would reclaim him soon enough.

  He knew better than to believe in miracles.

  A last look, then he walked to the balcony doors, quietly opened one, walked outside, and closed the door behind him. The night sky was brilliant with stars as he walked well away from the door, sat on one of the chaises, took out his phone, and called his cousin Jack.

  Jack and Fiona had gone to his villa in Ibiza. He’d received a text after they arrived. This time of year it was nonstop partying on Ibiza; no one slept until morning.

  When Jack picked up, Rafe said as loudly as he dared, “I need to talk to Fiona. Go somewhere quiet so I can hear her.” The DJ music in the background was ear-splitting. “I’ll wait.” He thought about saying, “Call me back,” but didn’t know whether Jack was in any shape to remember a message.

  He was getting worried by the time Fiona finally got on the phone. It was quiet, though; no club noise. They must have walked out on the beach.

  “I thought I’d check in,” Rafe said politely. “See how things are going. Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “How could I not? Everything’s sooo perfect. Your villa, Jack, the crowds of celebrities, even the weather is unbelievable—”

  “Glad to hear it,” Rafe interrupted when she stopped to take a breath. Drunken women liked to talk and he still had calls to make. “I was wondering if you could help me with a couple of questions about Nicole?”

  “Is she okay?” Fiona’s panic-stricken voice catapulted upward.

  “No worries. She’s fine. She’s sleeping now,” Rafe replied, calm and soothing.

  “Thank God.” Fiona’s relief vibrated through the phone. “I could just picture myself calling her mother with bad news. Nicole likes to take chances. Sometimes they backfire—nothing big ever, but well… occasionally things have gotten dicey.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Anyway, thank goodness she’s okay. And no wonder she’s tired. She was out last night till morning.”

  He really didn’t need that reminder. Tamping down his surge of anger, he returned to the business at hand. “I was wondering if you knew where Nicole bought her silver dress? We had an accident at the club. I’m going to have to replace it.”

  “If you spilled a drink on it, don’t worry. It’s cleans up easily. That’s why she likes it. It’s perfect for someone who can travel anywhere with only a backpack. I think her mother set that standard. Nicole learned about minimum wardrobes from her, although they definitely never bonded on yoga. Did she mention her mother does yoga at sunrise? Oh shit, you asked me something, didn’t you?”

  “I need the name of the store where Nicole bought the dress.” He spoke very slowly so he wouldn’t overwhelm her alcohol-soaked brain. “There’s a tear in the skirt. It can’t be fixed.”

  “Oh hell, it was a gift too. As for the shop’s—”

  “A gift from whom?” Rafe’s voice was suddenly tight with fury. “If you happen to know,” he quickly amended in a normal tone.

  Fiona was several drinks beyond deciphering emotional nuances; Rafe’s displeasure went unnoticed. “Her uncle gave her the dress. I think he owns the store or part of it. I know he owns a hotel in Rome because we stayed there. Anyway, we came to Monaco after a few days of sightseeing in Rome.”

  “The name of the shop?” Rafe gave himself points for polite forbearance.

  “Lemme think. It had an Italian name, of course. Which is a problem when you don’t speak Italian. Hey, hey, good news, I remember the location because I handed over the address to the taxi driver. It was on the Piazza Capranica. Wait, some of the name is coming back to me too. It starts with a D. Do you ever do that—run through the alphabet when—”

  “The location should be enough.” Rafe’s patience was stretched thin; listening to inebriated women fell into his don’t-give-a-fuck category.

  “Degli! That’s the first part. Or was it—”

  “That’s a start,” he interrupted as politely as possible. “One last question. Any idea on size? I could check on the dress”—if the cleaning crew hadn’t tossed it by now—“but in case the label is gone. I’m hoping to surprise Nicole.”

  “Then mum’s the word,” Fiona said with a giggle. “She wears a size four—that’s American, so whatever it is over here—you’d have to ask. But she’ll love anything you buy at that shop.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your help. Wait—shoe size?” And he listened through a long description of possible sizes depending on shoe style until he finally did lose patience. “I think I got it. Sandals, heels, sneakers”—he listed off the sizes.

  “Man, you’re on top of things”—Fiona giggled—“like, in a good way.”

  “Now to see if I can find that dress,” he said, deliberately changing the subject. “Thanks again. Could you put Jack back on the phone?”

  “What’s up?” Jack’s lazy drawl indicated he was well on his way to getting wasted.<
br />
  “Are you sober enough to remember what I’m saying?” Rafe spoke in Italian, in the event Fiona was close enough to hear.

  “Probably,” Jack replied in English, not wishing to be rude. “Text me if it’s important.”

  “I’ll text you the details, but a couple questions right now. Can you keep Fiona interested for a month?”

  “Jesus.”

  “Watch what you’re saying in front of her.”

  “No shit.”

  “I’ll pay, of course. Whatever.”

  “Hey, hey, Fiona, don’t go far. Okay, one more for me too. Make it two. There. She went to get us drinks at a bar on the beach. We’re in a party mood like everyone else here,” Jack said, switching to Italian. “Doing shots. She likes the pretty colored ones.”

  “Good for her,” Rafe said drily. “Just don’t lose her in the damned crowd. I’d be seriously pissed.”

  “Chill. I’m watching her, yeah, yeah, she’s not going far. By the way, she rocks; I like her. When you asked me about a month, you just caught me by surprise. I’m not averse to the action. But a month for you, dude. Is the world coming to an end?”

  “Sometimes it fucking feels like it. But in a good way. So go anywhere you want, do anything you want, so long as you keep Fiona satisfied and out of my hair. That’s about it.”

  “Christ, don’t hang up when you’ve just told me you’re staying with one woman for a month. I need details for that kinda crazy.”

  “Too fucking bad.”

  “Okay, one question. What’s different about this woman?”

  Rafe laughed. “Everything. That’s all you’re getting. Make sure Fiona calls Nicole in the morning. I want everyone happy.”

  “You most of all.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Seriously, thanks Rafe. I’m having a good time too.”

  “Buy Fiona some nice stuff, take her shopping. Women like that.”

  “How would you know? You don’t shop with your one-night stands.”

  “Some of them shop afterward, okay? I get thank-you notes.”

  “I didn’t know people still sent thank-you notes.”