Power and Possession(23)

“I’m way past even minimal control.” His voice was a low rasp. “So don’t touch or I might go off. I’m assuming you don’t want that.” For the first time in his life, he didn’t trust his dick to comply, and motionless, he waited for her answer.

She smiled. “No touching—promise. I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of—Oh, Christ.” Her hand began to quiver and, abruptly dropping it on the bed, she drew in a slow, even breath. “This never happens,” she whispered, her eyes locked with his. “Never.”

“No shit,” he said on a suffocated breath. “I’m hearing bloody violins like some goddamn silly girl.”

The sudden silence was fraught with chafing discontent.

Then Rafe restlessly raked his fingers through his hair. “Fuck it. We’ll deal with it.” He didn’t say that his libido was calling the shots, that he had no intention of letting her go.

“Right.” She wasn’t about to voice her purely selfish thoughts about instant orgasms either. He wasn’t looking real reasonable right now, with a kind of suppressed fury in his eyes. And she had plans.

“So you still want to look?” He spoke with such admirable control, he could have been asking her if she wanted one card or two in high-stakes vingt-et-un.

Even his breathing had quieted and she forced herself to speak as dispassionately as he. “Yes, please. I’m locked down tight again.” She gave herself points for matching his cool, detached gaze. “Observe.” She held up her hand. “Steady. Now let’s see that art up close and personal.”

“Just for a minute.” Moving the few steps to the bed, Rafe lay down beside her and, turning his head, held her gaze. “You’ll have plenty of time to see my tattoo up close and personal in the weeks ahead.” At the quick lift of her brows, he added, “Open to discussion of course.” When it wasn’t. “Right now, though, just look or I’m going to come all over your hand.” His voice was curt. “There are physical limits.”

“Don’t worry. I have no intention of missing out on your impressive hard-on.” Her gaze flicked downward to his dick at full stretch. “I can see why women adore you,” she added coolly. “I expect you don’t have much competition.”

“And I expect you can pick and choose your bed partners,” he countered, experiencing a shocking twinge of jealousy, when he’d always had zero possessive instincts. “Forget it,” he muttered. “It’s none of my business.”

“Same here.” Christ, what was she thinking? Coming up on her knees, she pointed at the magnificent length of his erection arched navel high against his stomach—a masterpiece of both virility and artistic talent that was making her melt inside, that spurred a small breathlessness in her voice when she spoke. “Hokusai, right?”

With his gaze on her pussy only inches away, it took him a fraction of a second to reply. “Right.”

An exquisitely detailed image of Hokusai’s iconic Great Wave was inked on the underside of Rafe’s rampant, upthrust dick: foam-topped waves, small figures of men in boats, a wide, beautiful, pastel sky. Then her gaze came up in fleeting surprise. “The water’s moving!”

“Traditional tattoo work respects kinetics and muscle movement.” He flexed his lower body and his erection swelled—animating the billowing waves, pitching and tossing the boats.

“That’s amazing.” Her overwrought whisper encompassed both the moving image and the ostentatious size of his arousal. “Did it take long?”

His gaze widened, the discrepancy between her tremulous tone and the bland question confusing. “Is this conversation going to be lengthy?” His voice, in contrast, was edgy, because his dick was aching something fierce and politesse had never been his strong suit.

She stiffened at his tone. “What if it is?”

He dragged in a breath, asked himself if this cheeky bitch was worth all the trouble, and, even before the thought was fully formed, knew the answer. “It took a week to finish.” He smiled. “Is there more?”

She liked when he smiled like that, indulging her. “When? If you don’t mind?”

Yes, he did mind—a whole freaking lot. “I had it done when I was sixteen. You know, kid stuff, a spur-of-the-moment impulse that ended up taking longer than I thought.” A severely edited version of his youthful rebellion against his father’s oppressive monitoring of his sex life.

“The colors are splendid: the luminous gold sky, the complex blues in the waves, the creamy foam flecked with bubbles. Subtle coloring like that has to be rare.” She smiled and tilted her head slightly. “Not to mention the rarity of a dick your size that allows scope for the entire scene.” She looked up. “That’s me asking to see it all.”