Gifted (Rockstar Christmas Romance) (Lost in Oblivion, 4.2)

by Quinn, Cari

  “Gifts, plural?” She tried to catch her breath as she shifted on his lap to try to get more comfortable—and to avoid contact with his cock. If she felt it against her hip, she’d forget all about wrapped gifts and go right for the best present of them all.

  “One was spur-of-the-moment. Hell, both were. But one was really spur. Like tonight kind of spur.” He shoved the sack at her and nodded at her raised eyebrows. “Open the bag, Li.”

  She sighed. Using the nickname he’d come up with for her was his not-so-secret weapon. Well, his second nickname for her. The first wasn’t as nice, but she’d grown to love that one too.

  Pulling open the bag, she stuck her hand inside and felt around. The first thing she touched was a piece of paper. She drew it out and saw his email address in the corner. “You sent me an email?” She knew he pinched pennies, but wow, this was taking frugality to a new level.

  “Read it,” he said impatiently.

  She scanned the paper, the words jumbling together until she took in the tiny thumbnail photo near the bottom of the page. “An acoustic Gibson J-45 guitar? It’s beautiful. But I don’t play…oh.” The paper fluttered out of her suddenly boneless fingers, and she was too weak to chase after it. “I can’t have a guitar.”

  “You can, and you will, as soon as that one’s delivered. I ordered it rush. I apologize for not buying a clue and getting you one sooner.” He reached up to undo her hair, and she was so vexed that she just sat there and let him dismantle her updo. “In my defense, I was distracted by incredible sex. I barely remembered it was December, never mind that I was supposed to buy stuff.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “You don’t have to keep telling me it was incredible. I was there.”

  “Yeah, but it took a while to convince you I wasn’t just trying to get back in your pants.” He nibbled along her shoulder through her shirt and her nipples stiffened against the cups of her bra.

  “You weren’t?”

  “Well, duh, but that doesn’t mean I was lying about it being amazing.”

  She laughed and bent to pick up the piece of paper. She clutched it to her chest, not daring to read the words again. If she read them, they would become real, and she might just start to dream. “I could’ve bought a guitar for myself.”

  “You could’ve, but you wouldn’t have. Why, I don’t understand. Lila logic,” he said, borrowing her phrase. “Now you’re stuck. Politeness decrees you accept the gift and that you play it.”

  “For you?”

  His open expression shuttered, those dense dark lashes shutting her out again for an instant that felt like an eternity. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything.”

  What if I do? What if I want so much that I can’t stand it—or myself?

  She didn’t say any of that. She just waited until his head came up and those magnificent low-lidded golden eyes settled on her once again. “Actually, no, fuck that, I do expect something.” He reached into the sack and drew out a large square jeweler’s box. He snatched the paper she held and pushed the box into her hands. “I expect you to trust me tonight. With you. And these.”

  Frowning, she popped open the top. And simply stared.

  Pearls looped together, several strands of them. Black pearls, the opposite of the white ones she often wore to work and to functions. Her heart tumbled before soaring again to lodge in her throat, beating there like a caged bird’s wings.

  “I was told these are rare as hell. From some island or something. Card’s under there.” Nick flicked his finger at the sapphire blue bed the pearls rested on. “It’s a really long strand of them. You can wear them lots of ways.”

  “Yes.” She moistened her dry lips. “Why, yes, they’re lovely. Thank you so much.” She drew them out, and the strand kept unwinding. And unwinding. “Nick,” she gasped. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

  “No, a fortune is what you’re worth to me.”

  A month ago, she would’ve written it off as typical rock star lingo. The kind of thing a man used to getting women with little effort would spout off pre-sex without any real thought behind it. But now she knew better. She might not be sure she could trust him, but she knew with sterling clarity that he didn’t smooth talk her to get her between the sheets. He said what he thought, always. Whether it was crude, obnoxious, seductive or so sweet that the back of her eyes burned as she stared at the pearls she clutched in a death grip.

  “Stand up.”

  “More commands.” She set aside the jeweler’s box and obliged, mainly because she was curious. He’d shown her so much, in and out of bed, and she liked to think she’d shown him a few things too. At least she knew one thing she’d introduced him to.

  Snow.

  “Move closer to the fire.”

  “I’m not a doll.” So why was she doing what he asked?

  She glanced back at him, sprawled like a king in the chair with his socked feet peeking out from too-long red pants and his belt half undone and that stupid Santa hat tipped sideways on his head. She should’ve laughed, not felt the smolder in his eyes way down deep in her core.

  “I want to see you naked, in the firelight. Can you do that for me?”

  Her throat went dry, and she cast a quick glance toward the staircase. The music was still playing in the background on low, but from upstairs came only silence. It was late, and she had a strong suspicion they weren’t the only couple get naked under that roof right then.

  Or she would be getting naked. Maybe he just intended to watch.

  Why did that excite her so much?

  “No one will interrupt us. They’re all wrapped up in each other.” He leaned forward and slipped the email into the sack, then set it aside. “Let’s get lost too.”

  Such an easy request. So hard to let go of everything that made it so difficult.

  But she drew her sweater and thin cami over her head anyway. Even knowing the others were so close that anyone might come down and see. Knowing tomorrow would sting more after having tonight. She still stripped for him, shimmying out of her pants, then toeing off her shoes and socks.

  When she wore only her bra and panties, she turned away from him, shutting her eyes at his indrawn breath from the fumble of her fingers at the clasp. She shrugged off the straps, letting them slide slowly down her arms before the wisp of material fell to the floor. The flickering fire sent heat whispering over her skin as she bent, long hair falling forward, to ease her silky panties over her hips and down her legs.

  The fabric was wet. So wet. He could make her burn with a look, a word. And now, just from the weight of his stare on the body she was revealing to him without shame.

  Nick had given her this too, that confidence in the sexual arena. She hadn’t had it before him, not after being with a man who’d called her a prude and frigid to boot. But her estranged husband had been right. She hadn’t enjoyed sex—with him.

  With Nick, it was an epiphany.

  She kicked aside her panties and shifted toward the fire, then rested her hands on the mantle and stared down into the flames. Her skin felt seared from the warmth and too tight to hold everything inside. All her feelings for him, all her doubts and insecurities.

  Especially the desire that made her move her hips impatiently, seeking a comfort she couldn’t find. Not without him inside her, sating her need.

  “So goddamn gorgeous. You’re like a dream. No, screw that. My imagination’s not that good.” She startled at his calloused palm coasting up her bare back. His mouth brushed her earlobe and she leaned back, desperate to feel the solid weight of him behind her. He’d never let her fall. “I’m about to disgrace this Santa outfit,” he murmured, and she laughed, turning her head for the pure joy of seeing his golden eyes twinkle.

  “Condom?” He never forgot, but maybe just this once he’d been swept away.

  What a glorious thought.

  His frown made her do the same. “Damn Simon.”

  “Does he buy your condoms for you?”

&n
bsp; Nick snorted. “Hardly. The bastard likes to brag he doesn’t use them with Margo anymore. But normally, he buys me some for Christmas. This year, I got the frigging Led Zep boxed set and a painting of two nude chicks. And they weren’t even making out.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hello, I was here, I saw. That picture was a Van Renseleer. His work goes for—”

  “I don’t give two shits. Just because Simon’s Mr. Model Dude now, he thinks I want art? No. I want frigging rubbers, so I can make my yuletides bright.” He nuzzled her neck and made her grin in spite of his utter cluelessness.

  “I’m still trying to figure out why you’re mad Simon got you a Christmas gift that cost actual money rather than a cheap box of drugstore latex.”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” He slipped a hand down her belly, not stopping until the tips of his fingers brushed the apex of her thighs. “This, right here? The center of my fucking universe. The altar that I worship on. As a matter of fact...”

  Her breath caught as he drew her back from the fireplace and moved around her to kneel at her feet. He still wore the silly Santa top, and his pants were half undone, and Jesus, the hat was still perched on his disorderly blondish-brown hair. But his expression was hotter than the fire as he bent his head and gave her a long, slow, thorough lick.

  Her eyes closed, and her head fell back, but not before she saw the tremor go through him. That it was a visible thing, as palpable as the heat from the fireplace, only stoked her lust. “Better than I remembered,” he rasped, his mouth already moving against her for another taste.

  And another and another until the flames blurred and her eyes stung with sweat and she couldn’t do anything more than knock the stupid hat aside so she could dig her fingers into all that thick, soft, messy hair. To hold him in place as she rose up to her tiptoes and pressed closer, crazed to feel each distinct stroke of his tongue into her most secret places. Over her clit, hard and fast, and lower, to tease open her entrance before he silkily slipped inside with a groan.

  Or maybe she groaned. It was so hard to tell. Her knees were in danger of buckling, and she was making noises now, she was almost sure, ones he coaxed from her with so little effort.

  A single finger joined in with the assault from his tongue, and she was a goner. All it took was one deep thrust and she clamped around him as a cry tore from her throat. Her body flashed white-hot and colors burst behind her eyes, brighter than the flames in the hearth. She tried to shy away, to keep the experience manageable, but he wrapped his arms around her thighs and held her in place while he ravaged her, making the sort of sounds she would’ve been embarrassed about had she had any sense of herself left. There was just his lips and tongue, and then his teeth grazed her clit and sent her flying all over again.

  She was still trembling a moment later. Hell, two moments later. He rose and circled her before brushing his wet mouth along her bare shoulder. A reminder of what she’d let him do.

  What she’d begged him to do, in a voice that had gone raw.

  “You distract me so much that I forget myself.” His clothes rustled behind her and even knowing he was undressing made her have to grip the mantle for support. “I’ve always been so careful. But I can’t be with you. Even knowing you could ruin me.” His forehead dipped against her back and the puff of air against her spine made her nipples pucker that much tighter. “I almost want you to, because then I’d know it could be done. That I could want someone that much to risk everything. Even myself.” He gripped her hip and she realized he’d grabbed the pearls too. They dangled against her thigh, the long length of them smooth and seductive. “I want you to wear these, and only these.”

  She nodded. Sometimes it was so easy to say yes to him. Other times were harder. But not now.

  Not this.

  She wanted to be clad in just what he’d picked out for her. What he’d examined with his eyes then his fingers, touching each individual bead the same way he would touch her. With infinite care, until the need grew to be too much. His, hers. They blended together and became indistinct. Indivisible.

  He slipped the necklace over her head, and the sensation of the hand-warmed pearls falling against her skin was more erotic than anything she’d ever known. He slid the strand forward and they dipped into the valley between her breasts, but there were more, still more, flowing down her back. She started to turn her head, to tell him to wrap them a couple times, but he was drawing her arms up, pulling her wrists into the small of her back.

  “May I?” His words ruffled her hair.

  At first, she didn’t know what he was asking. Then she realized from the tension of his fingers around her wrists.

  He wanted to tie her up.

  Well, not exactly. The strand of pearls was long, and he’d be able to loop them around her wrists a couple of times. Still, her movements would barely be restricted. But the symbolism…

  Her ribs cramped and she lowered her head, struggling to breathe. He’d asked for trust earlier. How could she trust him with her body when she’d yet to trust him with her heart? There were so many things they needed to talk about, to lay to rest. One way or another.

  Maybe that was the actual meaning behind trust. She had to give him enough to tell him what had happened. What she’d seen, and why she’d panicked. And when the day came that she could actually get the words out, to listen to what he had to say. She had to have faith that he would give her the truth if she looked him in the eye and just asked, no matter how much it hurt.

  Faith seemed to be her Christmas miracle, because she was naked before him, and at this moment, she had it more than she’d ever had before.

  “Yes.” The word burst from her lips as she stretched out her arms behind her in offering. Trusting he’d be careful, that he would never push her somewhere she wasn’t ready to go.

  In time, perhaps she’d be able to give him a chance with everything else.

  His exhalation stirred the damp hair at the nape of her neck. He looped the strand of pearls around her wrists, keeping them loose, but tight enough he could draw her back against him with a rough pull that cinched the pearls at her throat. The pressure was slight, just enough to remind her he was calling the shots, here if nowhere else.

  This she could offer him. Oh so willingly.

  “In my purse.” Her lips felt swollen, and talking hurt her throat. Not from the pearls, but from how much they meant. “I have one condom left.”

  She expected him to say something funny. That was what he did. Dismiss through humor. Laugh—and even fight—through pain. But all he did was kiss the back of her neck, leaving her to absorb the vibration from his lips even after he’d moved away to sift through her bag.

  By the time he returned, she was quaking for him. Strung up and on the verge of something more powerful than she felt ready to experience. The heat at her front was no match for the inferno of him at her back. He was scorching her, his body heavy and hard as it pressed to hers. His latex-covered cock nudged her bound hands before he lined it up with the cleft between her legs, taking no time to taunt or torment. He was all about the goal now, sliding inside her and making her his.

  As if there had ever been any doubt.

  She bit her lip on a moan, swallowing the sound before it could escape. He was already turning her toward the sofa, his cock embedded so deeply inside of her that she could feel him pulsing in time with her every heartbeat. His hands were gentle and firm as they guided her torso onto the wide, plush arm of the couch. Fear made her jolt, but he didn’t let her go. Not having her hands to brace herself as he pushed her down was daunting. Almost as daunting as the intimidating weight of him against her spine as he drew out and then shoved back in, kicking her legs apart as he did so. Making room where there was none before. Simply taking over, because she’d given him permission and she wanted it as much as he did.

  More. Even more. God, she’d yearned to be owned like this, though she’d never had the words to explain her longing. To be filled and taken over unt
il her lines blurred with his, and everything that made her who she was only became stronger, more intense. Because he was with her, and together, they were unstoppable.

  She shuddered over the first peak, and sobbed into the arm of the sofa with her second. She couldn’t take in enough oxygen. Her body twisted under his, and her hands flexed, desperate to be free from their confines. But he ruled her with his fingers on her wrists and his cock and his mouth, whispering the kind of things in her ear that made her excitement intensify to the point of pain.

  “That’s it, baby. Twist that tight pussy. Don’t hold back. I want to feel you gush on me.”

  She shut her eyes and bucked her hips and gave him everything. To do anything less would be an insult—to him, and to her. He’d helped set this other woman inside of her free, and she’d never lock her in a box again.

  Her clit throbbed and she ground against the arm of the couch and rocked back into his wild thrusts to try to stem the ache. But there was only pleasure layering over pleasure, so drugging and thick that when he hit that spot, so way down deep that her legs shook, she couldn’t gather the breath to scream. Something broke inside her, just gave way, and he groaned at the flood of her arousal coating his cock. She could feel it everywhere, smearing her thighs, saturating them both. But there was no embarrassment because he simply gripped the pearls at her wrists, drawing her back against him so that the necklace grew snug at her throat and lessened her air supply just a fraction, enough to make the pleasure that much darker and more concentrated.

  Just…more.

  His cock was her world, so rigid and thick, forcing her to accept all that he offered. All that heat and dominance and desire, so overwhelming that her head swam and pinpricks of light filled her vision.

  If he fucked her into unconsciousness, she’d go happily. Die that way too.

  Her orgasm went on and on for so long that she sagged to the arm of the couch while he continued to seek his own. She was barely aware of his shout of release, but she’d grown so sensitive that the flex of his hips as he rode out his climax unleashed a whole new round of spasms.