by Naima Simone
He leaned forward, and the thick, long waves of his hair tickled her cheeks; his breath teased her lips as if taunting her with the kiss she needed…craved. Her chest rose and fell on her own soft pants. Just a little while ago she’d been prepared to return to her room in order to avoid just this. But now—now she longed for his tongue on her skin, his hands in her hair, his cock penetrating her, filling her. Completing her.
His head dipped. His mouth covered hers, taking but giving at the same time. He pushed his tongue between her lips, licking, sucking, inviting her to do the same. She’d noticed that about him first in his car and again last night. He enjoyed sex. Took delight in it. From the lazy thrust of his tongue to his deep rumble of pleasure, he seemed to savor every taste, every stroke, every sound. He didn’t hurry or skip right to the intercourse. Didn’t become impatient or frustrated.
He was a lover.
Her first.
He loosed her hands and tunneled his fingers through her hair, cradling her head and tilting it for a deeper penetration. He consumed her, lapping and tasting as if she were a heady treat, and he had an insatiable sweet tooth. She clutched his back, tugging him closer for more. Only he did this to her—made her toss all inhibition and restraint aside. With him, she became this earthly, sexual creature, one focused solely on pleasure. But only with him.
With a groan, he dragged his mouth over her jaw and down her neck. His fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her head back. She whimpered, the tiny bite to her scalp another erotic sensation in a landslide of them. He raked his teeth down the tendon in her throat, retracing the path with his tongue. Another soft cry escaped her, and she dug her fingernails into his skin through his T-shirt. Suddenly, she wanted the clothing off. Wanted to have his tight, golden skin under her hands. Wanted to be flesh to flesh.
Impatient, she grasped the hem of his shirt and jerked it up. He accommodated her by leaning back and, brushing her hands aside, reached behind him and grabbed the material. In seconds, the top was over his head and tossed to the floor.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, awed, momentarily distracted by the seemingly endless stretch of painted skin. She didn’t know whether to stare or touch. So she compromised and did both. Reverently, she slid her palms up his ridged abdomen, over his chest and shoulders, and down his sculpted arms. Stroking him possessed the illicit pleasure of touching a Rembrandt or Picasso. Naughty, doing something she shouldn’t, but irresistible. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.
Leaning forward, she opened her mouth over his left pectoral muscle, tracing the claw of the highly stylized dragon that started at his hip, unfurled over his stomach and chest, and ended over his shoulder. She sank her teeth into the dense muscle, and his growl of approval vibrated against her. His fingers fisted in her hair, pressing her harder to him, encouraging her with his tight grip to do it again. Harder.
She complied.
As she soothed her tongue over the shallow dents, he tugged on her hair once more, arching her neck back, tilting her head up for the kiss he crushed to her mouth. He plundered, possessed, owned. And she accepted, submitted, surrendered.
She parted her lips wider, demanding more of him. Desperate to be even closer, she scooted forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and joined them chest to chest, hip to hip.
“Rafe,” she whispered, dropping her head back on her shoulders. The thick rigid length of his cock ground against her folds and clit, and she moaned deep and long. Pleasure pulsed through her in waves, eddying in her belly, spilling from her core to dampen her cleft. The thin material of her pajama shorts offered no resistance or barrier to the hard erection rocking against her in short, subtle thrusts.
“Damn it,” he muttered a second before shooting off the chair. His big hands cupped her behind, holding her steady and aloft as he strode across the room. Seconds later, they entered a dark bedroom she hadn’t noticed on her previous visit to his man cave. He set her on her feet and shoved her robe off her shoulders. It hadn’t fallen to the floor yet before he hooked a finger through the straps of her tank, linking them together over her chest. He jerked, and she stumbled forward into the rock-hard wall of him. Her hands latched onto his waist.
“Drop the shorts,” he murmured, cupping her nape. He squeezed her neck for emphasis. With suddenly clumsy hands, she rolled down the waistband of her shorts, pushed them over her hips, and stepped free of the small puddle of cotton. “Underwear, too, princess,” he added, voice rougher. “I want to see what I only got to feel and sink into last time.”
She shuddered, a glimmer of embarrassment flickering inside her, but again, she did as he asked. Or ordered. Not so sure which one, and about now, she didn’t care. She craved what he did. Yearned for it more than her next breath, her next heartbeat. If she were offered the choice between a lungful of air or this man buried balls-deep within her body, she’d take him, his cock, and soul-shattering oblivion.
His full lips firmed, and desire glinted in his narrowed eyes. Then her shirt was over her head and on the floor. Like a predator on the hunt, he stalked forward, inching her backward. When the backs of her knees bumped the mattress’s edge, she lowered to the bed, and he followed, crouching over her like the sleek, dangerous animal he reminded her of. She was caught, taken down. And she’d never been happier for it.
He nudged her thighs apart with a knee and settled between her legs, latching onto a nipple at the same time. She gasped, clutching his head as he sucked her into the moist cavern of his mouth, his tongue swirling and lapping at the hard tip. His long dark strands tangled around her fingers, draped over her wrists. Pleasure arced from her breasts straight to her core, causing the empty and moist channel to spasm harder as if pleading for what her breasts were receiving. When he scraped the edge of his teeth across her beaded flesh, the quiver below increased, became more demanding.
She whimpered, her hips undulating in a wild cadence, grinding her clit against his abdomen, seeking even just a little relief from the erotic torture he administered. He planted a soft kiss to the damp tip before switching his attention to her neglected breast and drawing it between his lips. Her nails dug into his scalp, and God, she wanted to apologize but couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs to get the words out. She could only manage broken cries and soft moans. Not that he seemed to mind. The sharp tugging on his hair and the bite of fingernails appeared to spur him on, make him suck harder, flick faster.
Heat coalesced and constricted in her sex, centering in the small bundle of nerves at the top of her folds. She circled her hips, rubbing against him, propelling herself closer and closer to the edge…
Raphael abandoned her breasts, his wide chest and torso momentarily stilling her restless and desperate gyrations. He continued his journey south, not stopping until his shoulders spread her thighs wide and he stared at the hot, wet core of her. She should’ve been embarrassed. His thumbs holding her wide open, his intent inspection of her flesh, the glistening evidence of her desire for him—the raw eroticism and vulnerability should’ve had her cringing. In the back of her mind, the demure good girl she’d been all her life scolded her for baring all in such a shameless manner. But then the woman who writhed with pleasure, drowned in it, told the goody-goody to shut the hell up and reached for the man who made her burn.
“Damn, you’re pretty,” he breathed against her flesh. He blew against her exposed clit, pressed his thumb to it, and she jerked as lightning struck and sizzled through her. “I knew you would be. God, I can’t wait to…” He didn’t finish the sentence but lowered his head and licked.
She screamed. He growled.
And she splintered.
When she reassembled, he still devoured her.
“Again,” he demanded, then proceeded to shove her back up the peak she’d barely climbed down from. His tongue forged a path between her folds, finding and circling her clit, plying the tiny nub with soft laps and pointed thrusts. She trembled beneath him, pleaded, commanded. But he didn’t listen, didn�
�t stop. Not until she tumbled headlong into ecstasy again.
Enough. Not enough. No more. Please give me more.
Pleasure had reduced her to an aroused, indecisive mess. Her mind warred, but her body had already taken sides. As he rose over her body, her arms were reaching for him, her hips arching, her sex—still pulsing with the aftereffects of orgasm—ready to swallow his cock deep.
He settled against her, and the flared head of his erection prodded her entrance. Yet he didn’t push inside.
“Raphael?” she asked, bowing beneath him, stroking his rigid length. A tiny muscle danced along his jaw but he didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned over her, cupping her cheek. And the gentle touch in the middle of their fierce joining jolted her. “I thought you were going to call me Rafe,” he murmured.
She traced his lips with a fingertip. “I was, but…I like your given name. It’s beautiful.” Like you.
“You’re the only person who calls me that.” He dipped his head, stole a short but hot kiss. “I like it.”
The “Me, too” stuck in her throat, trapped by an emotion she didn’t want to attempt and analyze, much less acknowledge. He shifted, pressing his erection harder and tighter against her. The slow grind of hips stole all thought away from nicknames and focused every bit of her attention on the rigid length prodding her folds.
“Baby, I haven’t been with anyone since you, and I imagine with all the tests you’ve had to take you know by now I’m clean. But if you want me to put on a condom, I will. And I’ll understand.” His eyes flickered down to where his cock was notched at her opening. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want anything between us. I want to feel all of you surrounding me and sucking me deep.” His gaze returned to hers, impossibly hot. “Your choice, baby.”
Her choice. Her heart thudded against her chest wall. And not entirely because he poised naked and hard above her. She didn’t reply, instead reached down and encircled his thick column. Drew him forward, shifted her hips, and pushed. She sucked in a breath as the tip of him penetrated her. Above her, he groaned.
Permission granted, he snatched control. Slowly, firmly, he slid into her. She clutched his back, holding on. Muscles and tissue stretched and quivered around his shaft. After months of non-activity and two orgasms, she struggled to accommodate him. But with determined thrusts and patient pauses, her core inexorably relaxed, and soon he was buried inside her. She shuddered, vacillating between the discomfort of being almost too full and the pleasure of being filled. Her arms and legs tightening around his shoulders and waist. Her face hidden in the crook of his neck. His hands stroked up and down the sides of her chest and torso, his low murmurings seeking to soothe the tremors racing through and over her body.
“You okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let me know when you’re ready.” She squeezed him, her muscles rippling over his cock, which jerked in response. “Fuck,” he rasped. “I take that as a yes?”
“Yes.”
His fingers speared through her hair, tugging her head back. His mouth captured hers just as he withdrew and thrust hard. He swallowed her cry, but the sound acted like a match to his control, incinerating it. Grabbing her wrists, he slammed them to the pillow on either side of her head. Fingers intertwined, he plunged into her over and over, riding her with a wildness that tore her breath away. He released one hand, palmed her thigh and hiked it higher, lifting her so he went impossibly deeper into her sex. Another breathless scream escaped her as electric currents pulsed and raced up her chest, down her spine and legs, and returned to the core of her he fucked so relentlessly.
“Raphael.” She didn’t have a chance to finish the thought. Ecstasy crashed over her, shattering her into dozens of pieces. Dimly, she detected his hoarse growl, welcomed the hard jet inside her and the weight of him covering her. She managed to whisper his name once more before sliding into oblivion.
Chapter Twenty
The insistent ring of a cell phone dragged Raphael out of a heavy sleep like a nagging insect he couldn’t slap away. He pried an eye open and glared at the top of the phone visible in his jeans pocket.
“Damn it, Chay,” he muttered, the ringtone unmistakable. Careful not to awaken the sleeping woman in his arms, he uncurled from around her soft form and snatched up the jeans where he’d dropped them the night before. He pulled the phone free. “You have the shittiest timing ever,” he snapped, tugging his pants on and striding from the bedroom.
A pause. Then snort. “Sorry I had to pull you away from” —a snicker— “whatever. But we have a nine o’clock appointment this morning. I figured you may have forgotten about it with everything that’s been going on this week.”
“Shit.” Rafe thrust his fingers through his hair, dragging the tangled strands out of his eyes. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and stubble scraped his palm. “The Taylor consultation?”
“I wouldn’t bother you with it except they made a specific request that we both come to their home for the meeting.”
“Yeah.” He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom door. A fierce objection surged within him, demanding he stay, that he not leave Greer alone. Especially after the attempted kidnapping. And last night. But this appointment had been set weeks ago, and he couldn’t bail on Chay. Not when meeting such a high-profile client. While Chay could answer most client questions, when it came to the technological area, Rafe was the expert. “I’ll be ready.”
“I’m sorry,” Chay said. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“I know. Pick me up at the house?”
“No problem. And Rafe?”
“What?”
“Don’t forget the suit.” The click reverberated in Rafe’s ear before he could reply.
“Bastard,” he snarled to the dead line before plunking the phone down on his desk. With a resigned sigh, he jogged up the steps. Thirty minutes later, he entered the basement again, tightening the knot of his “consultations and christenings” tie. He hated the damn thing with a passion. Muttering about pretentious clients and stupid monkey suits, he crossed the office and paused at the darkened doorway of the room where Greer continued to sleep.
The sheet covered her, revealing the smooth slope of her shoulder. Her long hair spread across the pillow like a dark velvet flag, some of the heavy strands obscuring her face from his view. A sinuous heat unfurled in his gut, stretched up his chest like a slow-burning fire. Need, true, but something else, too. It was the “else” he didn’t dare analyze.
Her stunning revelation from the evening before drifted back to him, the admission no less shocking for the hours that had passed.
I didn’t even love him the way a woman should when she’s about to pledge the rest of her life and body to a man. The sex was more dutiful than mind-blowing.
She hadn’t loved Gavin. Not consuming you-complete-me love. And yet she’d been ready to marry him. Why? Granted, her father was a controlling asshat, but he wasn’t a feudal lord forcing her to marry someone he’d chosen. What had been her motive to chain herself to someone she’d had “dutiful” sex with? Shit. Many words described sex with Greer—hot, blistering hot, and fucking hot just a few of them—but “dutiful” didn’t make the list. Hell, it wasn’t an option. But it did obliterate any lingering doubt he’d harbored about that ludicrous abstinence agreement Greer claimed she and Gavin had before his death. If their relationship hadn’t been a love match, and the sex yawn-worthy…
He closed his eyes. Relived last night. Her body had been just as lovely, as sexy as he remembered. But there had been changes. Minute, but still there. Slightly fuller breasts. Definitely more sensitive. Her nails had nearly drilled holes in his head when he’d sucked her nipples in his mouth. Damn. Desire pulsed in his veins, heading straight for his cock. And while her belly remained flat, there was a firmness there where the baby slept. She would begin to show in just a few weeks, maybe as early as two. He couldn’t wait to see her rounded s
tomach, to touch the swell…
Stop it. With a shake of his head, he pumped mental brakes on the thought. One night of sex—albeit the best sex ever—and he waded into dangerous territory of hope and fantasy. He lifted his lashes, stared at the woman sleeping so peacefully in his bed. A hard wrench twisted his gut, knocked against his heart.
God, he wanted to believe. To accept. And now with her confession about the truth of her and Gavin’s relationship, slapping back the hope had suddenly become tougher. Because part of him didn’t want to fight, just surrender. And be happy for fucking once. With pathetic ease, he recalled the joy in seeing the son he believed his and Yolanda’s for the first time. Those beautiful eyes had gazed up at him, and his heart had been lost. Love as he’d never experienced, not even for the boy’s mother, had swamped him. And the agony had been equally devastating when he’d discovered he had no claim on the baby.
Rafe sucked in a breath, rubbed a hand across his newly shaven jaw. Yeah, he believed Greer. But what happened when the baby was born? What happened when he looked into the infant’s eyes, fell deeply in love, and then lost him? He couldn’t bear it. Not again.
Not again.
He sank to the bed, stroked a hand over her warm, silken skin. And sighed. Jesus, she was beautiful—
“Touch me again, and I’ll cut it off myself,” she grumbled, slapping his hand. “Need sleep.”
His shocked crack of laughter quickly transformed into a cough when she flipped over on her stomach and burrowed her head beneath the pillow. Who knew? Mannerable, polite Greer Addison was a certified grouch in the morning. He grinned, his confusion from moments earlier dissipating. Risking the health of his dick, he nudged her shoulder blade.
“Princess, I have to leave for an appointment. I should be gone about three hours. Greer, are you listening?” He poked her again, and his smile widened at her aggravated, muffled sigh. “Don’t leave the house. And Gabe’s coming by to stay with you while I’m gone. He has the key and the code. He’s the only person inside, all right?” He tapped the pillow. “All right?” he repeated.