Seduction and Surrender (Reckless #2)

  A small flicker of coolness drifted over her heated skin as the dress dropped to her waist, a wild spiking pleasure coursing through her, his touch instantly igniting her cravings as if she’d not just climaxed moments ago. “You inside me ASAP. My turn, your turn, we both get turns,” she said in a heated rush, her need for Rafe unquenched, insatiable. Terrifying. “I feel as though I should apologize for my breathless frenzy, explain—if I could. Fuck it. I can’t. I’m hopelessly addicted, not that you haven’t heard that a thousand times, but—”

  “I haven’t,” he interrupted, not about to get into a discussion of the women in his past. “Where? Here, the bed or—”

  “Right here, right now. Right the fuck now!” Nicole was fevered, impatient, beginning to tremble, just like all the other women who lusted after Rafe Contini’s celebrated dick, she thought, reaching for the zipper on his shorts. “I don’t suppose you ever fall apart, crazed with lust?”

  She was staring at him with a fretful, narrowed gaze; his dick was rock hard, so he chose a tactful middle-ground answer. “Not often, no.”

  “You mean not ever,” she said, tight-lipped, struggling with the zipper caught in the chino cloth.

  Okaaay. Try again. “Look, pussycat, don’t take it personally, but coming from my family I learned early on to keep my shit together. Falling apart was never an option.”

  She was sprung so tight, she was practically twitching; he, on the other hand, was un-fucking-believably composed. “I never fell apart before. That’s all I’m saying. What the hell are you smiling for?”

  “It pleases me, that’s why.”

  “It unnerves the hell out of me,” she grumbled, jerking on the zipper. “And just so you know, I resent your permanently aroused dick and my inability to resist it; I resent all the women in your past…for no good reason, okay—I get it, the past’s the past.” She raised her chin contentiously. “But you know, sometimes I forget that. What I really dislike, though, is feeling this irrational lust whenever I’m anywhere near you and if you don’t help me with this goddamn zipper,” she hissed, her voice beginning to rise, “I’m going to scream! I want you inside me. Now!”

  If he was in the habit of expressing his feelings, he could have said they were both in the same schizoid boat—simultaneously sexed up and resentful. He also could have said that he wasn’t accustomed to women screaming at him. He should tell her to go fuck herself. He should tell her he knew a couple therapists. He should refuse her undiluted command. “How far inside?” he said instead, his voice dangerously soft.

  “Zipper,” she said with a little bite.

  “No problem,” he said, calm as hell, brushing her hands aside. His shorts were off a second later and, kicking them away, he spun Nicole around so her back was to him. “Hands on the windowsill.” Shoving her skirt up over her wiggling, squirming ass, he suddenly went motionless—irrationally offended by her goddamn eagerness. All his festering jealousies instantly reignited at the thought of other men who’d seen her like this.

  He dragged in a breath. Let it go. This was about play, nothing serious; the clock was ticking for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t the time to overthink; this was about hot sex, and getting off until his dick gave out. As if. Rational thought hadn’t had a fucking chance since he’d first set eyes on Nicole. “I have a few questions,” he muttered, jerking her upright and spinning her around, his mini-therapy session ineffective.

  She blinked. “You’re kidding!” But his expression was so grim she quickly adjusted her response to something more likely to keep her on her impassioned path to nirvana. “Look, if you want me to apologize, consider it done, okay? Whatever I said, I take it back.”

  “I’m not looking for an apology.” His expression was unreadable. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Could we do this later?” She drew in a steadying breath. “When I’m not so stressed out—lust-wise?”

  A flash of impatience. “No.”

  “I’d like to be agreeable, but—” She smiled, fluttered her hands in voiceless apology, then slid them between her legs. “This really isn’t a good time.”

  He jerked her hands up so fast her jaw dropped. Holding her hands in a deceptively loose grip, he smiled tightly. “It’s a good time for me.” He spoke softly, without inflection. “And if you ever want to come again, you might want to answer my questions.”

  Her eyes instantly narrowed into slits. “What’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem. You have a problem. Me. So…” His nostrils flared. “First, don’t fucking scream at me. Second, consider learning a little sexual restraint.” His gaze passed over her briefly, without expression. “Third, I want to know how many men have”—he sucked in a breath, suddenly questioning his sanity. His world was about to come crashing down around him for Christ’s sake and he was looking for some ridiculous head count. What the fuck? Jealousy? That shit is for other people, not him. Dropping her hands, he exhaled loudly, quickly raked his fingers through his hair, then gave her a curt nod. “Look, screw it. Just don’t scream at me, okay, and we’ll get along.”

  “Does getting along mean I can have sex with you?” Feeling as though the storm had passed, and she’d survived, her sexed-up psyche was willfully back on target. Her eyes locked on his blatant erection lifting the fabric of his boxers. “Are you going to take it out or should I?”

  She sure as hell had balls. But he was still smarting from almost losing it over some totally unacceptable jealousy. “It depends.”

  She smiled. “Come on, can we cut the drama?”

  He shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the screaming drama queen.”

  She squared her shoulders, inhaled, and offered him a tentative smile. “Okay, here goes, I’m going to lay it all out—every confused, conflicted emotion. And even though you’ve heard it from me before remember women like to talk things to death. I’ve always preferred things simple, no strings, no craziness. And until I met you, the pattern never changed. So I dislike, loathe, maybe even hate feeling this out of control about a man—you in particular. I don’t, as a rule, think about men and all I do is think about you, want you, need you…in me, over me, around me…every goddamn minute.”

  “Sex, you mean.” A noticeable growl vibrated through the words, his recent reflections on being reasonable about head counts going up in smoke.

  She grimaced. “I don’t know, maybe, could be. But you of all people can’t take issue with that.”

  “I find I do with you. It annoys me. Not often.” He smiled his first warm smile since she’d screamed at him, thinking that was about as close to contrite as his little hot-headed girl could manage. “Look…you’ve brought me a kind of happiness I didn’t know existed. But dealing with this—sex…relationship—whatever it is between us, processing all the strange, new feelings—good and bad—the wanting”—a quick, boyish smile—“fanatical by the way, is messing with my head too.”

  “Also, you don’t like women who talk back. I worry about that.”

  He laughed so long, she was scowling up a storm by the time he wiped his hand over his face and composed himself. “Sorry, but that was so fucking deluded.” He chuckled, caught himself. “Sorry, really.”

  “And you’re always completely transparent I suppose,” she said with a little flash of annoyance.

  No way he was going there, his entire life shrouded in layers of reticence. “With you, I’ll try, okay? Ask me something. I’ll answer if I can.”

  “But not why we’re here.”

  “It’s too dangerous for you to know. That’s why your uncle was freaking. Ask me something easier.”

  “Do you believe in love?”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s a pretty loaded word.”

  “Doesn’t have to be.”

  She waited, a smile lifting her perfect mouth. Understanding this was some kind of a test, he was careful with his answer. “Before you I would have said, emphatically, no. Now? I’m thinking maybe.”

>   She laughed. “Men. So predictable. Scared as shit about love.”

  “Predictable this, pussycat,” he said, reaching out for her, putting an end to a conversation that couldn’t possibly end well. Grabbing her skirt, he jerked it up, ripped off her lace panties with a snap of his wrist, dropped them, shoved his boxers down, then spun her around. “Hands on the sill, Tiger. You wouldn’t want to fall.” His voice was soft, the finger he slid up her slick pussy practiced, professional, smoothly efficient as he gently tested her readiness.

  With a quivering sigh, she leaned over and set her hands on the sill.

  “Good girl.” But even as he slid the swollen head of his dick into her sleek, pulsing sex, he had to remind himself that he’d always considered wantonness an asset in a woman; he should be pleased she was so slick and horny. Chill. So he did, and in his habitual fashion—denying the problem—fucked instead. Splaying his fingers around her slim hips, he secured his grip and, without preliminaries, drove in hilt-deep, ignoring her startled cry, begrudging her low moan of pleasure that followed, not sure any of this was even close to habitual.

  Nicole had never been a casual lay.

  More like an obsession.

  And in his current reproachful frame of mind, undeterred by reason or logic, he blamed this beautiful, captivating, unpredictable woman for making unclear what had always been clear in his life, for trashing his long-held custom of sex as entertainment, for the bloody unwelcome cluster-fuck in his brain. Rankled and sullen, wanting her to somehow pay for his obsession, he gave her ass a slap. “Show me what you’ve got, babe. Give me a good ride and I might let you come first.”

  His fuck-all tone was so outrageous, her pulse was suddenly loud in her ears for reasons other than her feverish arousal. “You’re confusing me with all the women who put up with your bullshit,” Nicole snapped. Pushing hard on the windowsill, she tried to rise, ignoring her wildly aroused libido, which was screaming No, no, no! Don’t do this to me! Shutting down the hysterical voice in her head, she flung herself back against the immovable force holding her down. “Get the fuck off me!”

  Motionless, tense, his dick buried deep inside her, he didn’t move, with the exception of tightening his grip on her hips, his fingers leaving marks on her skin. Assailed with an overwhelming need to finish what he started, her hot, pulsing pussy wetter than hell, there was no doubt in his mind she wanted to come as much as he did. Rocked with indecision, thoroughly selfish, sexual denial previously unknown, he quickly debated his options. With anyone else debate would have been a nonstarter. Also, if he wasn’t so fucking ready to explode, if his fucked-up life didn’t make true enlightenment impossible, he might have seen the humor in the situation.

  Really, what woman says “stop” when she’s impaled on your dick and panting? The Princess of the Universe, of course. Who the fuck else?

  Dragging in a steadying breath, he took a moment to deal with his rancor, quickly calculated a sexual cost-benefit analysis, and decided Nicole couldn’t go long without an orgasm. So what the hell—he could afford to be polite a few minutes more.

  But he was still damn near explosive, his dick in particular, and it required another moment or two to drain the snarl from his voice. “Sorry, my fault,” he said tightly. Shutting his eyes briefly, he summoned every shred of willpower he possessed, then withdrew from the sweetest, hottest piece of ass this side of paradise. His libido was still raging, his erection hard enough to cut steel. Life sucked.

  “Oh, hell, I’m sorry too.” Standing up and turning to face him, Nicole offered a small deprecating smile. “I just always get pissed when you play God.” She twitched her nose. “Jeez, sorry again—really—that would have been super good too. Damn”—she smiled—“I apologize for my freaking temper.”

  “Not a problem. I deserved it,” he said, not defensive, patient, being an adult now that his pulse rate was diminishing. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  “Look, it’s supposed to be just a game.” Nicole sighed. “I overreacted.”

  He shrugged. “We both did. For what it’s worth, I don’t mind your temper. It’s different.”

  A playful twinkle warmed her eyes. “Different from all your compliant lays?”

  “Something like that.” Although she was so much more, different in countless ways—all good, shiny, bright, and dazzling.

  “You’ve had it easy too long.” She held up her hands to stop his protest. “Not that I don’t understand. Smart, handsome billionaire with a legendary dick. Hell, I’m willing to be agreeable for access to your inked magnificence.”

  He chuckled. “You, agreeable? Hey, joke, relax. You’re perfect.” Pulling her close, he slid his hands down her back, rested them at the base of her spine, and smiled his most winning smile. “However”—a lift of his brows—“at the risk of returning to the war zone, I don’t much feel like conversation. I’m barely keeping my shit together, you noticed, yeah. Anyway, under stress, my normal go-to setting is to smash something or else fuck till I drop. Old habits, sorry. If I’m scaring the shit out of you, you’re off the hook. I can do myself.”

  “I don’t scare. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m horny too. Capisce?”

  That he’d noticed her horniness wasn’t the issue so much as his curious disapproval of it. But apparently she was willing to overlook his behavior for her own selfish reasons. He understood; selfishness was his mantra too. “Our bet still on then?” he asked with a truly lovely smile.

  “Fuck, yeah.” Damned if he couldn’t be sweet. And, honestly, he had major reasons for his badass mood. “I’ll even raise you one. Me at your complete disposal. That should give me extra points on the scoreboard.”

  He sucked in a breath. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I thought you were the one who did,” she purred.

  He was beginning to have a real good feeling about the next twenty-four hours. “Seeing how you’re magnanimously offering me my drug of choice, you have to tell me what I can buy you in return—name it…anything in the world. Don’t even think about frowning, because you deserve a ton of gifts. You make everything better in my fucked-up world.”

  “I don’t need presents.” She grinned. “But there are some things I want.”

  He looked at her from under his dark lashes. “I can afford the fucking gifts, okay? So decide. That’s an order.” He dipped his head and gave her a lazy grin that was pure, undiluted sex. “The other things you want are free.”

  She shrugged. “Okay then, if you insist, I’ll decide on a gift after the wedding.”

  His eyes went from stunned shock to anger in an instant. “Very fucking amusing,” he growled.

  Her little giggle was one of triumph. “You said anything.”

  “Very well,” he said with a small despairing sigh. “If that’s what you want—no point in waiting. We might as well call your mother and father and give them the good news.”

  Nicole immediately went ashen and Rafe grinned, made a little check mark in the air, and whispered, “Gotcha.”

  “You’re so on my shit list,” she grumbled. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “I can give you something else you’ll like better,” he murmured, flexing his hips so she felt the rigid length of his dick against her stomach.

  Still sulky, she tried to swat his hands away; he pulled her back, his palms hard on her ass. “I’m done fucking around, Tiger. No more talking, no more arguing, no more playing around. If you’re not interested in fucking, I’m going solo.” Motionless, he waited, done trying to read her mind, needing a clear-cut answer. Because a blinding neon sign was lighting up his brain, blinking TWENTY-FOUR HOURS and he was real fucking close to scaring the shit out of her.

  She recognized the line in the sand, the grim set of his mouth, the taut muscles of his throat visible above his T-shirt. “Definitely interested,” she murmured. “Now pay attention.” Rising on tiptoe, she slid her hands up his black T-shirt with the logo of s
ome band she’d never heard of, slipped her arms around his neck, locked her fingers under the dark silken curls lying at his nape, and stretched to kiss his chin.

  Every cell in his body was paying attention, fresh blood rushing to his dick at dizzying speed. Dipping his head, he touched her lips, whispered, “Ummm…nice—sexy.” The kiss quickly deepened, his dick started doing the happy dance, Nicole began to pant, and under normal circumstances he would have had them on the bullet train to orgasm. But the deliberative part of his brain wouldn’t shut down. It kept reverting to the imminent dangers facing them, reminding him that the time clock was ticking down, his world was shrinking by the minute, destruction was fast approaching, and, regardless his feelings and wishes, including the fierce delirium of flame hot sex, nothing mattered if they lost this war.

  “Hey.” Nicole leaned back enough to give him a perplexed look.

  “Sorry.” Dragging himself back from the brink of the abyss, he smiled. “I apologize for zoning out, but there’s a ton of shit going down right now. You have my permission to smack me back to reality when I drift off.”

  “Oh God, I’m so selfish. Would you rather be with your friends? I’d understand completely.”

  “Hell no. I just want to be with you and forget everything except the good stuff.” He was back in reality, the hard pull of disaster fading, the complications facing him boiling down, running out of steam, cooling. He had a day, a wisp and flicker of innocence still left him, and a woman he really liked and wanted; he’d never wanted anyone more.

  “Okay, then here’s what we’re going to do,” Nicole said, firmly, unwrapping her arms from his neck, easing down from her tiptoes, and stepping away.