Power and Possession

  “It’s about time,” Nicole said, in a cooler tone of voice; she, too, had had time to reconsider her options. “I thought I was going to die in here.”

  “Jesus, tiger, it’s only been six minutes. You barely had time to run out of swear words.”

  “I had time.”

  “Then you don’t know very many.” He sat down on the carpet, a few inches in front of her, crossing his legs in an easy yoga position.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “What?”

  “Yoga. My mother does yoga. I’ve tried. It hurts.”

  He didn’t want the conversation to go off on a tangent, so he said, politely, “I forget. But I’d like to apologize. I was rude.” At her lifted brows, he added, “Very rude, boorish and ill-bred, totally obnoxious. I’m sorry. And if there’s anything I can do to atone for it, just let me know.”

  “Untie me.”

  “Besides that.”

  She laughed. “I knew that was coming.”

  Her laughter encouraged him. “You’ll like it, pussycat. Guaranteed.”

  “You will too.”

  “Fucking A.”

  “Not because you’ve ever done it before.”

  “God, no.” A teasing flash in his eyes, golden sunbeams. “I just have a good imagination.”

  “Okay, then, sure—why not?”

  A hint of suspicion in his glance. “That’s it?”

  “I figured I was going to die of thirst. This can’t be worse. And my knees are going to get sore eventually, so—”

  “Is that my cue to hurry?” A real smile now, all shine and dazzle.

  “I do like a clever man.”

  “Not because you’ve ever known one before,” he said, paraphrasing her earlier comment.

  “God, no,” she mimicked. She winked. “Imagination. Not that you need any more flattery, but these ropes are beaucoup hot on all my hot spots. And a little satisfaction wouldn’t go amiss.”

  A sardonic slant to his eyes. “Amiss?”

  “You got a problem with that word?”

  “Christ, no, I love that word, use it all the time. Especially when I’m golfing.”

  “Once my hands are free, Contini…”

  “Not now, tiger. Just shut your eyes,” he said, very softly, “and do what you’re told.”

  She heard him move, felt him come up behind her, and sucked in a breath when he leaned over and his hands closed over her breasts.

  “Whose tits are these?” he whispered, stretching her nipples.

  She whimpered at the sharp sting, a second later felt the shimmering aftershock flare through her nipples, then slide downward like molten fire to her sex.

  He squeezed harder. “Answer me.”

  “Yours, yours, they’re yours.” The words glossy, spinning, urgent.

  “What’s mine?” His fingers opened, spread wide over her breasts, closed like vises on her soft flesh. “Tell me.”

  “My boobs, nipples, everything,” she said, breathless, shaking.

  “No one else touches them. I’ll need your promise.”

  “No one, I swear.” She was struggling to find breath to speak, her spine rigid with the torment of her vaulting need. “Only you.”

  Fuck, his hard-on spiked six inches with that breathless promise. And if he’d been raised normally, he would have assuaged her impatient desires. But that pussy spread open for him, the helpless woman tightly bound, the flashbacks and hot libidinous urges flooding his body had never been house-trained. They were selfish, dangerous, intensely predatory; the kind that should be locked away.

  Quickly releasing her bound calves, he raised her to her feet. “Do you mind sitting?” he asked, deliberately polite, reminding himself that if any woman mattered, she did. So don’t go over the fucking line.

  Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Nicole thought, but Rafe was smiling and she wasn’t really afraid of him despite the rumors. “I’d like that,” she said.

  He laughed softly. “First date?”

  “Not like any of mine.” She grinned. “If you’ve noticed, I’m being very careful not to move.”

  “Because of these?” He touched the clit knot and pussy ropes, watched with pleasure as she drenched his fingers on cue.

  “Please, Rafe.” Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m asking nicely.”

  “It’ll be better if you wait.” He exerted a delicate pressure. “Understand?”

  “No.” Her voice was just a wisp of sound, the orgasmic momentum building.

  He saw it too and, turning her around, quickly released the tie at her wrists, shifting the dynamic. Taking her hand, he drew her to one of two green, cut velvet upholstered chairs in a window enclosure. “Sit, relax. We’ll talk about it.”

  After helping her into the deep, cushioned chair, he knelt in front of her, smiled. “Are you warm enough? I could turn the heat up if you like.” Without waiting for an answer, he lifted her feet up on the chair seat, eased her legs open, and effectively redirected her attention. Seconds later, her wrists were loosely bound to the sides of her ankles, and a few quick loops of rope over her thighs held her legs open.

  He looked up. “Comfortable?”

  Her smile was half dreamy, the ropes over her sex tighter with her thighs spread wide. “This your idea of conversation?”

  He shrugged, his motivations beyond the boundaries of polite conversation. “Does anything hurt? Look at me, tiger.” She was beginning to drift away with the pussy ropes doing their work. “Does anything hurt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Hey.” He cupped his ear.

  “No,” she said, like she was listening to a faraway song, her gaze blank.

  “Sure?” He touched her slippery pink flesh, open like a rose, heard her soft moan. “Answer me.”

  There was something unsettling in his voice that gained her attention.

  “I asked you if you’re sure nothing hurts?”

  She didn’t notice the small wolf-curl to his lip, although it might have been too late even if she had noticed. “Yes, I’m sure. But I want to come. Please, Rafe.”

  He almost relented when she uttered his name in such a soft, pleading tone. That he even considered it was testament to her unaccountable appeal. But old habits were, in his case, dearly bought and deeply entrenched. “Soon, pussycat. I promise.” He rose to his feet, took note of the sudden alarm in her eyes and slid a fingertip along one of her arched brows. “Relax. I’m not leaving you. I’m just going in the dressing room. I’ll be right back.”

  When he walked back in, her smile lit up the room.

  “You said you had one.” He held up her purple travel vibrator. “Should we give it a try?” He switched it on.

  Her sex rippled violently at the familiar buzzing sound; she uttered a low moan of expectation that turned into a whispered purr. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

  He slid the vibrator over her clit, teased her slick pussy with a lazy sweep of the tip, pressed it in fractionally and held it in place for a slow ten count before withdrawing it. Ignoring her groan of frustration, he moved it upward, slipping the sleek buzzing device over her stomach, higher still, to the knot over her ribs. Carefully easing the vibrator under the knot, he glanced up to fury in her eyes. Smiled. “I’ve never been called a sweetheart before.”

  “Now I know why,” she muttered. Although in truth, with the ropes shimmying over her breasts and clit and sex as the vibrator steadily pulsed, all her feel-good nerves were humming a happy tune. But Disney wasn’t enough. She wanted a graphic novel orgasm.

  Rafe made a small adjustment to the rib knot. “Keep an open mind, pussycat,” he calmly said as if they were debating climate change and he was the reasonable one. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” He turned the vibrator up to full power.

  Her wild scream bounced off the ceiling and walls as all the ropes vibrated and every erogenous zone in her body was set ablaze. Pleasure washed over her in wild, seething waves, building higher and higher, lighti
ng up her senses like a meteor shower, burning through her nerve endings. Trembling on the brink, she twitched and rubbed against the ropes, reaching for her elusive climax, the breathless rapture so very close—almost, almost.

  The fierce, cresting thrill abruptly faded, spiraled away.

  The vibrator had been turned off.

  Her eyes snapped open, and, looking up, she saw Rafe standing by the chair. “You got a problem?” Her voice could have cut steel.

  “More than one, but that’s beside the point. You’re going too fast, racing for the finish line as usual. You should slow down.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” She lifted her chin, a small, imperious gesture. “Now, let’s stop playing games. I want to come.”

  He’d stiffened at that small lift of her chin, and her unequivocal demand. Not that either altered his plans.

  Reaching out, he took her chin firmly between his thumb and fingers and, ignoring her resistance, turned her face to him. “I need your help.”

  “And I need yours.”

  Leaning over, he flipped the vibrator switch back on. As her eyes began to shut at the immediate revival of the rich, gluttonous sensations in every pleasure center in her body, he spread his fingers over her cheeks, tightened his grip. “Nicole, open your eyes.” His fingers were leaving marks, forcing her to respond. When she slowly opened her eyes and recognition lit her gaze, Rafe smiled. “Thank you,” he said gently. “Now, look—here.” He tipped her face slightly so she’d see what he was holding in his other hand. “Open your mouth.”

  Momentarily lost to a vibrator jolt of spiking pleasure slamming through her body, it took her a second to respond. Even half-stunned, and breathless, she instinctively said, “Me first.”

  “Jesus, you never quit. But under the circumstances”—he indicated her trussed body with a lift of his fingers—“here’s the deal. If I don’t get off, you don’t get off.” He hit the Off switch on the vibrator.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re a control freak.”

  “No argument there. So—you want to get off or not?”

  In the end, he held her head firmly, waited for her to open her mouth, and eased in his dick cautiously because she was glaring at him. “Be nice now, and I might give your pussy a workout with that vibrator. It’s up to you. But then everything always is, isn’t it tiger?” he finished sardonically. “Don’t bite. You do, you get punished.”

  With Nicole’s insurgent temper, however, his warning might go unheeded. There was a certain sense of danger in having his dick in the mouth of a woman who was scowling at him. Then again, a little risk always made fucking that much better. Not to mention that his fiery, all-in-a-huff pussycat knew how to suck dick. If it didn’t feel so good, he might take the time to be pissed.

  He came in record time, thanks to her proficiency and his aching dick, which had been ready to explode since he’d walked into the bedroom.

  Then, as predictable as clockwork, even before he’d wiped himself off, she tilted her head, rubbed the come off her mouth on her upper arm, and said, “Now me.”

  The synthesis of incivility and bland acceptance in her casual swipe of her mouth, along with her brusque demand, meant his nervy little princess was back in form. But when it came to insolence, he had the market cornered. “Not yet, tiger. By the way, you give good head,” he said, tossing his T-shirt aside. “I needed that.”

  “Obviously you’re not welcome.” Each word chill as a mouthful of ice.

  “Maybe you’ll thank me later,” he said pleasantly, kneeling between her legs, beginning to untie the ropes binding her wrists to her ankles.

  “Nope, ’cause once you’re done with your little games, I’ll be on the next flight out.”

  His gaze snapped up. “You’re leaving?”

  “This was a day-by-day arrangement. You knew that,” she said with a little sniff. “I have other plans.”

  “With anyone special?” His voice had dropped in volume, the query delicate as the air at twilight.

  “I have lots of friends in Monaco,” she drawled in a flawless fuck-you tone. “You met one of them at your club.”

  A veil dropped over Rafe’s eyes, hiding the raw chill. “I remember.” He untied the last knot holding her legs. “There you go.” He lifted her from the chair. “Steady,” he said, as she sucked in a breath, the jolt to her clit imploding through her body like a battering ram, the shocking pleasure immune to her censure. Her arms and legs were free, but her torso was still restricted by the ropes, captive to the sensual pressure points under the knots; she remained physically and sexually helpless, suspended between fury and a ravenous hysteria.

  Aware of her hot-blooded passions and the erratic rhythm of her breathing, Rafe said, “Maybe you could accommodate me one more time before you go. If you don’t mind,” he added offhandedly. “One last fuck for old times’ sake. What do you say?” He stopped her answer with a finger over her mouth. “That’s not really a question.” Picking her up easily, his hands spanning her waist, he pretended not to hear her hard gasp as the ropes went taut, nor her throaty groan.

  Semigently—he still had nominal control over his temper after she’d baited him with de Barre—he lowered her to the floor on her hands and knees. “Ass up,” he said, bringing the flat of his hand down in a quick slap on her butt.

  She yelped in shock.

  “Move it, babe.” Two hard slaps. “I want easy access.” His erection surged at the bright imprint of his fingers on her pale skin.

  Momentarily stunned, it took her a second to respond. But her bottom was smarting from his stinging blows, her nipples had tightened as though heedless of restraint, and the incendiary heat pulsing between her legs was equally immune to his brute insolence. Hot and aroused, pissed, confused, driven by riveting need, she dropped down on her forearms.

  “That’s the way, baby—ass up nice and high.” He gently stroked the rising red blush on her silken bottom. “Feel that glow, pussycat? My fingerprints are branding your ass.”

  As if on cue, the smoldering heat from his spanking spread flame-hot through her senses, coiled through to her throbbing core, shuddered through her body with terrorizing pleasure, made her frantic to feel him inside her. When it was indefensible to feel that way. When she should defy him.

  When under different circumstances she might have.

  But having been aroused repeatedly only to be denied each time just short of orgasm, bound with rope that repeatedly pushed and teased every sexual button and nerve ending, she was in a constant state of quivering desperation—beyond further resistance. Resting her cheek on the carpet, she obliged him, making her sex even more accessible.

  They both wanted the same thing—at least now, this very moment. She almost told him that but didn’t know if it would make things better or worse, whether he’d understand the inexplicable mystery of her longing—how she was almost faint for wanting him. She didn’t understand it herself.

  For Rafe, the only tangible reality beyond his blind rage at her threat to leave was Nicole’s capitulation. She wouldn’t be leaving him—of that he was sure. And de Barre wouldn’t be screwing her; he could bet the fucking bank on that. Choking on resentment, taut as a crossbow, Rafe said harshly, “You’re not allowed to come until I say so.”

  She bit back her protest, not daring to respond. Not now—this close to having what she so feverishly needed.

  Kneeling behind her, he adjusted the ropes framing her pussy with a facile glide of his finger, making room; then, without warning, sullen and pissed, he drove into her slick warmth in one powerful thrust.

  She gasped.

  He quickly positioned his fingers over the clit knot, felt her immediately yield, turn pliant under his hands, and begin to pant softly. Fuck. As if he needed reminding of her ready acquiescence, not just for him but probably for her friends in Monaco, damn her. They were just going to have to fucking wait their turn. His grip tightening, he quickly withdrew, then plunged back in and settled into an
unchecked, hard-driving rhythm. She readily met his fierce thrust and withdrawal, as frenzied as he, as overwrought, even more wildly impatient after her arousal had been curtailed and disrupted countless times.

  It didn’t take her long to begin peaking, but then it never did, Rafe reflected bitterly. Not so fucking fast. The second he felt her first tiny climactic ripples slide up his dick, he jerked out of her slick, overaccommodating pussy and ejaculated all over her, coating her with come while she screamed in frustration.

  It took him longer than usual to return to the world after one of the most spectacular, world-class orgasms of his life. Seriously, his heart might have stopped for a second. Gasping for air, his focus still centered somewhere in the vicinity of his dick, he reached out for his semiclean T-shirt and was suddenly aware of Nicole sprawled on the floor. Crying. Shit.

  Tears were seeping from under her lashes, trailing down her cheek to the carpet. He should have felt more than a brief pang of remorse; someone less perverse might. Someone more charitable. But he was still too resentful, images of de Barre’s insolent smile spurring a hitherto unknown jealousy.

  Lying down beside her, he gently cupped his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her closer, caught her jaw in his teeth, and closed his mouth softly with a low animal growl. Moving up her soft cheek, he left a faint trail of soft bites, coming to rest with her earlobe in his mouth.

  She didn’t move, as if she knew he was the predator and she the prey; that she was at his mercy. Lie still, don’t move; the law of the jungle.

  “You only fuck me,” he growled, dominant male, staking his claim. “No one else touches you. Only me.”

  She nodded, incapable of resisting him, defenseless against her enigmatic feelings, vulnerable to an outrageous lust.

  He’d moved back enough to see her eyes. “Sure?” He didn’t know why he asked; it didn’t matter. He was keeping her.

  She nodded again, wordless in her complete abandonment of reason.

  “I need a yes from you. You know that, right? No more arguments. Nothing but yeses.”

  “Yes, Rafe.” Grave, quietly intent. A tiny nod to confirm.