Power and Possession(90)

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.