Power and Possession(77)
“Just a little orgasm. I’ll turn you so your back’s to the men. Better?” he murmured, stroking gently, running his fingertips over the soft cushion of her G-spot, sliding up and down her aching flesh, easing in a third finger with a casual push.
Better was a relative word: sexually yes; scarily no, with potential exposure imminent. But she felt herself turn liquid inside, melt around his fingers, and like a coward, she shut her eyes. Like an addict, she gave in to the haze of lust beginning to engulf her. And when he whispered, “God, you’re beautiful, tiger. Smoking hot, tight, slippery wet,” she forgot where they were or didn’t care where they were, and pressed into his hand with enough force to let him know she was eager, impatient as always when he touched her.
She started to quiver as his penetration deepened, softly moaned as he shifted into the exquisitely delicate, perfectly placed, lightly teasing strokes that had effectively turned her into a nymphomaniac in less than a day. Not that she was interested in any kind of therapy right now. Not that she was actually capable of logical thinking as her delirium mounted, and the aching pressure racheted up. “Are you okay?” he whispered just before he pressed his fingers in so deep she could only nod as carnal frenzy melted her brain.
But short moments later, she squirmed faintly against this hand, asking for more. “Good to go?” he murmured, smiling, knowing that artless eagerness, liking her uninhibited desire. Recognizing that he was on the clock too, with a roomful of techs in view. Quickly covering her mouth with his, he caressed her, testing the limits of her sleek, honeyed warmth until she was panting, barely breathing—his fingers and thumb flexing lightly, then harder, then with a subtle, tactile, targeted perfection guaranteed to make her scream.
Like that.
He swallowed her frantic sound as she convulsed around his fingers and glanced up under his lashes to see whether they had an audience. Just Ganz, who smiled, gave him a finger gun salute, and turned back to the tech huddled over his computer.
Rafe kissed her gently while she purred under his mouth and slowly returned to the world.
“I hate you,” she murmured when she finally opened her eyes.
“Yeah, I could tell. Sadly, I’m going to have to wait for you to pay me back.”
She stared at him for a moment before she winked. “Are you going to get off in public too?”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Whatever turns you on, babe.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?”
“Just trying to keep up with you, pussycat.” He smiled and gently withdrew his fingers. “And you said you didn’t want to come. Liar.”
“Don’t look so smug. You’re good, okay? I turn into a wet mess of goo whenever you touch me.”
“That is so hot, tiger. Better than anything, I kid you not.” He glanced up when Ganz cleared his throat. “Looks like duty calls. Want something to eat? Henny can bring something up for you.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.” He pointed at a phone with about thirty buttons. “Call him. The one marked kitchen gets you there. Order anything. I don’t care.” He lifted her to her feet, gave her ass a little pat, then rose from the sofa. “I’ll be over talking to Ganz. Feel free to interrupt.”
They left for Geneva shortly after breakfast.
A helicopter landed on a wide expanse of lawn and Rafe escorted Nicole out to the plane, Ganz and Simon following behind.
“We’re flying to Nice, where a jet’s waiting for us,” Rafe explained. “Have you ever been to Geneva?” He spoke with casual courtesy, as if they weren’t in a race against a dangerous, unscrupulous enemy. As if collateral damage wasn’t a possibility. As if his security wasn’t on high alert with all hands on deck.
“No. You live there, right?”
“Part of the year. Depends on business. I travel a lot. Here we go. Watch your head getting in.” He handed her up the small ramp into the copter. “Hi, Davey. Good weather for flying. Did you talk to Carlos?”
“Yeah. He’s going to call when he’s ready.”
“Good. The usual precautions.”
“We’re on it, boss. Everyone buckle in. This won’t take long.”
Chapter 20
Geneva was a thirty-minute flight from Nice in a private jet; no lines, no waiting to take off, only smiles and bows and “Welcome aboard, sir, whenever you’re ready.” Arriving in Geneva was equally convenient. Two cars were waiting for them on the tarmac.
“Ganz is going directly to our tech center,” Rafe said, helping Nicole into the backseat of another armored black Mercedes. “I thought we’d stop by my flat first. You might prefer staying there rather than sitting around watching everyone punch keyboards.”