Power and Possession(63)
“Good. We understand each other.” Having been given the required answer, there was satisfaction now in the undercurrent of his voice, the savagery restrained. “And if you like roses,” he murmured, gently moving inside her so he touched all her sweet spots, “I’ll get you roses. Okay?” Recognizing acquiescence in her soft little breathy sigh, he slowly slid his strong fingers over her hips, held her firmly in place, flexed his quads, and swung his lower body forward with a practiced, delicate, indulgent precision.
“Oh, God, oh God, oh God…” She exhaled a soft, languorous moan, shifted faintly against his gentle grip, the world momentarily eclipsed by the most exquisite, inexpressible bliss.
The familiar sound of her pleasure thrilled him, made him wildly jealous of any man who’d ever heard it, made him grateful as well for his unaccountable luck in having her walk into his life. She was spectacularly sensual, easily aroused, quick to climax, and, in a purely selfish, carpe diem way, he wanted to keep her for himself alone. He didn’t question his need for control, nor his capacity for managing his anachronistic feelings. He only said, this man without limits, “From now on, babe, consider me your personal cock-block. No one gets into your pussy but me. Clear?”
Shuddering with peaking desire, his huge erection filling her entirely, a dizzying, taut friction obliterating all but blinding need, she only half heard the rough query in his voice. “Yes, yes, whatever you say,” she stammered, not sure what he’d said, but understanding an answer was required. “Rafe, please… hurry,” she whispered, wiggling her hips in frenzied need, softly panting, impatient, seething. “Please… I’m so close… please, please. Oh God…”
She had no right, he thought, to be so provocative.
And so faithless. Did she even know who was cramming her full, making her tremble? Would any dick would do when she was this wild?
He struggled for a moment with his aberrant feelings, with her bewitching sensuality, with a degree of outrage he’d never felt before. He was no different from all the other men who wanted her, he resentfully thought; not disengaged as was his custom, or, at best, marginally involved, but like a dog after a bitch in heat.
And for a man who’d known only female adulation, who viewed women as interchangeable amusements, who’d always been the object of pursuit, never the pursuer, it was a radical change.
A hugely objectionable change.
Suddenly, he had zero interest in anything but climaxing hard and fast. He had no interest in making it last or making it good for her. Ripping away her skirt, which was in his way, and tightening his grip on her hips, the heat of her body under his hands taunting him with its lush opulence, he started fucking her like there was no tomorrow, like the finish line was in sight, like coming without her would somehow right the inequities of the world. Or at least the world of de Barre, his bloody roses, and all the other men she’d known.
He felt her muscles quiver up and down his dick, heard her scream begin, and, swearing under his breath, powered up a straight path to nirvana, like he hadn’t had a fuck in a decade. Like he might never get another. Like he owned her body and soul.
With his pulse thundering in his ears, with his dick rock hard, with only a tenuous thread of reason reining him in, he didn’t stop his hard-driving, wildly explosive rhythm through one, two, three of her orgasms. By then, he was no longer sure if he was pleasing her or himself, whether her past even mattered, whether he’d ever understand the clusterfuck in his brain.
Whether he even fucking cared.
Just as he decided no, Nicole started whimpering. He recognized that familiar, mewling sound, knew what it meant, and with an impromptu combination of cynicism and awesomeness, he thought, Bottom line, good times, and whispered, “Ready to cap it off, tiger?” Then he smiled because there was no way she heard him and, with a sigh, realistic about the price he would pay in precedent for the pleasure she gave him, he deftly took her over the orgasmic edge.
But a moment later, as he was about to give her a small encore while he climaxed, she cried, “No, no—no more! I can’t!”
His hesitation was brief; there was a certain principle of fairness. “Feel free to wait this one out then,” he murmured, and like a well-oiled piston, he kept pumping and pounding, flat-out racing for the checkered flag.
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.