Ella kept her gaze on his hand holding his champagne glass. His elbow was resting on the arm of the chair, the glass held lightly between long fingers. His sleeve had fallen back, exposing strong wrists and the long ropes of muscled forearms. There were scars there, marring the tanned skin.
He was scarred elsewhere too, and she knew from experience that he didn’t like her touching them. Didn’t like her asking about them either—the couple of times she had, he’d changed the subject, and she hadn’t pushed. She wasn’t quite brave enough to do so yet.
Do you want to be brave enough?
That was a good question.
She lifted her attention from his arm and met his gaze. Silver blue and direct, yet . . . guarded. She hadn’t noticed that before. In fact, now that she thought about it, he was a very guarded man. He was very attentive, very possessive, and seemed to have a never-ending supply of curiosity about her—which she found very flattering—but when she asked about him, he always changed the subject. Except when it was about innocuous things, like movies.
In fact, that first morning she’d woken in his arms had been the only time he’d talked about himself. It was strange. Didn’t men always want to talk about themselves?
“Do we have to do that now?” she asked hesitantly. “We always talk about me. Why can’t we talk about you for a change?”
If he found the question disturbing, he didn’t show it. “Because I’m not interested in me. I’m interested in you.”
“But what if I am? Interested in you, I mean.”
He lifted a shoulder. “What’s there to say? I’m the middle son of a weapons billionaire, and now I run his company. That’s pretty much my life.”
“No. That’s not all your life. There’s a lot I don’t know about you, for example. Like . . . what do you like to do when you’re not working?”
He grinned. “Well, as you know, I’m partial to a Star Wars marathon. I’m also a huge ballet fan.”
“Yes, but the ballet has to do with me, not you.” She couldn’t quite keep the frustration from her voice. “Would you go to the ballet if I wasn’t dancing?”
Something glinted in his eyes. “Tell me what was bothering you in the limo and then I’ll tell you what my favorite color is, my star sign, all that shit.”
Ella put her glass down and stared at him. No, he wouldn’t, she knew instinctively. Oh, he’d give her something, but it wouldn’t be anything that mattered. He’d keep himself hidden, keep himself guarded.
“I don’t want to know what your favorite color is,” she said slowly. “And I could care less about your star sign. If I tell you what was wrong in the limo, you tell me where your scars came from.”
* * *
Every muscle in Rafe’s body tensed as he fought to keep the reaction from showing on his face. Why the fuck did she want to know that? And why the fuck did she think she had the right to know? Not that it mattered. He knew what those scars meant, what they represented. He didn’t hide them, he wasn’t ashamed of them. But they were his, not anyone else’s.
She’d asked about them before, but he’d calmly let her know that was an off-limits subject and up to now she’d respected that. What had made her change her mind?
“What have my scars got to do with anything?” he asked, pleased that his voice sounded so calm.
Ella’s gaze was very direct, which he didn’t like. At all. “I just realized that you know a lot about me, but I don’t know anything about you, and that includes your scars.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because . . . well, we’re sleeping together. Living together, or at least we are at the moment. It would be nice to know a little bit about the man I’m sharing a bed with. Anyway, it can’t all be about me all the time.”
“Why not?”
“Because it can’t. At least, I don’t want it to be.” She stared at him. “It’s a two-way street, Rafe. That’s what a relationship is all about.”
“And what would you know about relationships?” It was a low blow, but he was feeling cornered and he didn’t like it. “Tell me, since your experience is apparently more wide and varied than mine.”
But Ella didn’t blink. “At least I have some relationships with people. I had them with my parents, with Aurora. Do you?”
He used to. With his grandfather. Except his grandfather had died five years ago, so he didn’t so much now. And he didn’t count the fake one he’d had with his own father, or the difficult ones he had with his brothers. “Is this what was bothering you in the limo?” he asked, because it was time to turn the discussion back to her. “This relationship nonsense?”
“You have a lot of scars, Rafe. Where do they come from?”
Shit. Stubborn Little Red.
To give himself time to think, he raised his glass and took a sip of champagne, watching her face. Her chin was at a determined angle, silver glinting her eyes. He knew that expression. She wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
“Why ruin a perfectly good meal with that subject?” He kept his voice light, neutral. “There are so many other things to talk about.”
But she wasn’t having any of that, apparently. “We always talk about what you want. What about what I want?”
Anger stirred inside him. “Everything I’ve done so far has been for you, Ella. I took you to the Met, to the Bolshoi. Every night I—”
But she didn’t wait for him to finish. “I didn’t ask you to do any of those things,” she snapped, that silver warning in her eyes glinting furiously. “Those were all things you decided for me. And now this is something I want.” With a sharp movement, she sat back and folded her arms. “But I guess if you don’t want to give me that, then I don’t have to sit here. I could get up and go home instead.”
His anger tightened. Christ, she was going to interrupt this dinner a second time? And all because she wanted to know about his fucking scars?
You’re the one making a big deal out of it. Just tell her and then it’ll be over.
A thread of cold wound through his anger, though it couldn’t possibly be fear since fear was an emotion he’d long since left behind.
He ignored it. Okay, so he was left with two choices—either he let her walk away from him again, or he gave her what she wanted. Easier by far to let her walk away and yet . . . he couldn’t fucking do it.
He wanted to sit here and have dinner with her, talk to her. He wanted to be with her, learn more about her, and then when all the plates had been cleared away and the staff had been dismissed, he wanted to pull her close and kiss her. Lift the hem of the blue dress she wore and maybe have her against the window like he’d promised himself he would. Yes, he wanted all of those things and he couldn’t give them up.
Which left him with only one option: he was going to have to give her what she wanted.
Fuck. Okay, if she wanted to play hardball, then he’d play. But if his Little Red thought she could best him, she could think again. He was the master at this game, not her. What she was asking for came at a price, and it was fucking expensive.
“Fine.” He made sure his tone was deceptively mild. “Since you’re so into bargains, let’s make one right now. I’ll tell you where my scars come from, if you give me two things.” He held up a finger. “First, you tell me what the fuck was going on with you in the limo. Then”—he raised a second one—you can get on your knees under the table and suck me off.”
Ella’s jaw hardened, but her fierce gaze didn’t waver. “And then you’ll tell me about your scars?”
Jesus. She was like a dog with a bone. “Yeah, sure. Why not? Orgasm first though, darling.”
Her eyes narrowed and she didn’t say anything.
She was going to balk and that would be good, because he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about his scars to her. Then again, if she did balk, he was going to have to let her get up and walk away.
Or you could just tell her without all of this bargain bullshit.
He could, sure. But he wasn�
��t going to. This was a control issue. If he simply gave her what she was asking for, he’d be giving up his control of the situation, and there was no way in hell he was going to do that. She had to know who was in charge here, and that was him.
Abruptly, Ella pushed her chair back and got to her feet, glancing toward the doorway the waiter had disappeared through. “If I do this now, we might be interrupted.”
A jolt of electricity shot straight down his spine, making a feral smile turn his mouth. “Then you’d better hurry, hadn’t you?”
Giving one more glance toward the doorway, Ella came around the table to where he sat, and looked down at him. Her eyes were alight with temper, her jaw at that defiant angle, a flush coloring her cheeks. “Wait are you waiting for then?” she demanded. “I can’t kneel down if you don’t make room.”
Rafe let out a silent breath, the jolt of electricity beginning to send shocks through his entire nervous system. The whole time they’d been sleeping together, he hadn’t gotten her to do this to him, simply because he’d been too busy gorging himself on her. But now? Fuck, why had he waited so long?
“Impatient, Little Red?” he murmured, pushing his chair out a bit more, giving her some space between it and the table.
“No.” She stepped in front of him then sank to her knees with all her fluid dancer’s grace. “I just want to get this over and done with.”
He laughed, because he knew that wasn’t the case at all. Her cheeks were flushed and her attention was on his lap, where he was starting to get harder and harder with each passing second. “Sure you do. Sadly for you, I’m going to make you take your time. After all, it’s not every day a man gets to eat at his favorite restaurant and get a blow job at the same time from his favorite girl.”
She snorted, which he liked, her hands reaching for his zipper—but before she could, he took hold of her wrists. “You’re not in charge of this,” he chided softly. “I am. Remember that, Ella. Which means you don’t get to take whatever you want, whenever you want it. I told you: you want my cock, you have to earn it.”
Her expression was mutinous. “I thought you said—”
“Keep quiet,” he ordered. “Keep quiet and do as you’re told, and you’ll get what you want. It’s that simple.”
That pretty rosebud mouth of hers hardened, but she didn’t say anything.
Good. She understood then.
Rafe sat back in his chair, reached for the button on his suit pants and unfastened it. Then he pulled down his zipper, keeping his movements slow, savoring the moment. Her gaze dropped to his lap instinctively, which was hot. And when he reached into his underwear to get his cock out, her eyes went wide, which was hotter still.
“Come here.” His voice wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. Jesus, he hadn’t realized quite how much he wanted this until right this second.
She leaned forward obediently, putting her hands on his thighs to balance herself. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in a golden curtain, and he couldn’t resist gathering all that softness up in one hand and winding it around his wrist. She made a little sound as he tugged her head back, which was as hot as fuck, making him want to do it again. But his patience was running thin, his cock too hard to even consider playing with her. “Open up, Red,” he ordered in a guttural voice.
And she did. Beautifully.
He took hold of his dick with his free hand then, urging her head closer, he slowly eased himself between those pretty pink lips.
Even then, as her mouth closed around him, he didn’t realize his mistake. All he felt was intense heat and a wicked pleasure that tore a groan from his throat and made him almost dizzy. Jesus, she felt so fucking good.
Using her hair, he tugged her head back before flexing his hips and thrusting forward, showing her what he wanted. And pretty soon he found he didn’t even have to move, because she was doing it herself without guidance. Apparently she was a fast learner.
Hot, wet mouth, that suction, that rhythm . . . Christ.
“Holy fuck, Red,” he whispered hoarsely, staring down at her, watching the erotic sight of his cock sliding in and out between those perfect rosebud lips.
Then somehow her fingers were wrapping themselves around his dick, squeezing in time with his thrusts into her mouth, and she wasn’t sucking him anymore, but licking him, her tongue circling the head of his cock, driving him absolutely fucking insane and making him shake in his chair.
“Red.” Her name was harsh, ragged, but he’d gotten beyond niceties. “Fucking suck me.”
Her gaze flicked to his, the light gray gone silver, and it was then that it hit him, the understanding of his mistake. The realization that he wasn’t in charge of this at all, that she was. And that she was undoing him, slowly and with each lick, with each squeeze, each suck, she was taking him apart.
He wanted suddenly to push her away, get up and leave the room, and now, before she destroyed him. But the pleasure held him still. Held him captive. Pinning him in the chair as she took him in deep, watching his face as she did so.
She knew what she was doing to him. She knew exactly. And it was too late to run. Too late to even pull away. She was moving faster, sucking him harder, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Ecstasy had him in a stranglehold, his hips flexing, thrusting into her mouth even as he tried to get up the will to pull her head off him.
But it was a losing battle.
She made a sound, the vibration of her voice against his aching cock too much, and he was thrusting hard and fast into her mouth, his hips coming up off the chair, gripping her hair so tightly it had to have hurt.
He was powerless to stop. Powerless against the orgasm that raced up his spine and exploded in his head, making him roar her name as he poured himself down her throat.
Then he collapsed back in the chair, his heartbeat thundering in his ears in a way it had never done before. Never ever. Not in the gym and not with any other woman. Jesus Christ. What had just happened?
She shifted between his thighs, her tongue moving on him, giving him a couple of delicate licks that had him shuddering with aftershocks, then it was she who was tucking him away and doing up his zipper, tidying him up with neat little movements of her hands.
He stared at the ceiling, the effects of the orgasm ringing in his head. Conscious of the gravity of his mistake. He should never have let this happen. He’d meant it to be a way to prove his control and she’d ended up being the one who’d held him in the palm of her hand and he’d . . . he’d . . . Oh God, he’d simply let her.
His hands came down onto the arms of the chair and he made to push himself out of it.
“No,” Ella said and leaned right into his lap, her hands on his hips. “You’re not going anywhere.”
His heart was racing out of control and he didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Why it felt like everything was slipping out of his grasp no matter how tightly he held onto it.
You’re panicking because she blew your cock then blew your mind? What the fuck is wrong with you?
Control. That’s what he needed. He had to get the control back somehow.
He lifted his hands and leaned forward, thrusting his fingers into her hair, curling them tight around the silky strands. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, darling.” His voice cracked weirdly on the words.
She simply stared back, her gaze so sharp it felt like it was cutting him into pieces. “I’m scared,” she said simply, devastatingly. “Aurora can’t go home and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how long you’ll want me to stay. And I don’t want to go home because it’s so lonely there. So that’s why I was quiet in the limo. I don’t know what’s happening between us. I don’t know what you want and it’s scaring me.”
So that’s what it was? That’s all? Jesus, why hadn’t she just told him?
“Didn’t you hear me when I told you I’m never letting you go?” He tightened his grip on her hair, emphasizing his point. “I meant it, Ella. You’re mine.
You always have been. And now I have you, I’m not giving you up.”
Something rippled over her face, an expression he couldn’t read, but then her gaze steadied. “Your turn.”
For a moment he didn’t understand what she was talking about, and it must have been obvious because she reached up and wound her fingers around his wrist, tugging his hand from her hair. Then, holding it, she pushed the sleeve of his shirt all the way up his arm, baring his skin.
“Tell me,” she said. And her fingers brushed lightly over one of the scars on the underside of his wrist, ragged and white. “Tell me what these mean.”
Chapter 11
Ella knelt between his thighs, holding onto his arm, and she could feel him tense, as if he wanted to rip his hand away. In fact, it wasn’t just his arm that had tensed, it was his whole body, as if he wanted to push his chair back and stalk from the room. But he wouldn’t, she’d made sure of that by leaning against his legs. Leaving would mean shoving her out of the way, and she’d counted on the fact that he’d be reluctant to do that.
Turned out she was right.
He looked away from her, leaning back in the chair, his muscles relaxing. Though she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he himself was relaxed in any way. She could sense the tension still vibrating away inside him.
Had it really been the best idea to push him like this? Then again, she knew that if she didn’t push, he’d simply steamroll right over her the way he’d been doing for the past couple of weeks already.
She couldn’t let him do that, not anymore. It was clear he had no idea what a relationship actually was, seemingly puzzled by the fact that she wanted to know more about him. And even though she wasn’t sure herself why it was important that he understand this, she’d decided that was her line in the sand all the same.
When he wanted something from her, he’d have to give her something in return.
Of course he’d tried to distract her, then he’d tried to get out of it with that blow-job bargain, thinking she’d refuse. Well, she hadn’t refused. Sure, she’d been embarrassed at the thought of sucking him off in the middle of a public restaurant, not to mention nervous, but she had a point to prove and she’d be damned if he thought he could scare her away before she could.
The Big, Bad Billionaire Page 16
