He said nothing to that, but she felt him draw her other foot onto his thigh too, massaging that as well, before his fingers slid up to her other calf. The pleasure of it was exquisite, and she sighed, a heavy and boneless feeling stealing through her.
“You should have told me your feet were hurting.” He had his hands behind both her knees, sliding up higher to her thighs, stroking gently.
Maybe she should have found the direction his fingers were moving in a problem, but she didn’t. Her feet were warm where he’d put them on his thighs, and she could feel the heat of his body pressing against her shins. How strange that she should notice the cold only now, when he was keeping parts of her warm.
“They’re always hurting.” Her voice sounded thick. “It’s no big deal.”
His fingers stroked lightly over her thighs, moving in circles. “Do you have a physiotherapist here? A masseuse?”
She let a laugh escape her. “Are you kidding? This is a tiny company. We can’t afford it. Besides, I can look after myself.”
He didn’t reply, his fingers moving lightly, and the tension in her cramping muscles began to be replaced by a different kind of tension, a shivering, delicious ache.
She’d felt it when he’d kissed her too and when he’d pressed the hard ridge beneath the zipper of his pants between her legs, sending sharp, electric jolts of sensation straight through her. Though this felt less sharp, more gentle and lazy.
He stroked higher, over the tops of her thighs, then his fingers grazing in between, tracing lightly over her sensitive skin—making goose bumps rise everywhere and causing her breath to catch.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to see what he was doing, because somehow she knew that if she did, she’d have to stop him. That she wouldn’t be able to let herself consciously give in. But having her eyes closed and pretending that this was all part of him undressing her . . . yes, she could do that.
Coward. You should tell him what you want.
But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that just yet, not when all of this was so new and so unfamiliar. So she remained still in the chair as he stroked her thighs, as she felt him move, the heat of his body pressing against her shins. And then there was warm breath on her skin, the brush of something soft on her knees. His mouth?
“Poor Little Red.” Another whisper of warmth chasing over her bared flesh. “Looking after yourself all the time must be hard. Perhaps there are days when you’d like it if someone else took care of you?”
Her throat constricted oddly, because yes, there were days when she wished that. Because as much as she loved her grandmother, Aurora couldn’t go out to dinner or to the movies. Or take her to the Met or go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center. Couldn’t accompany her to the theater the few times she’d wanted to see some famous ballet companies perform, not the way her parents once had.
Oh, Aurora provided company and reassurance where she could, but she couldn’t take away the fear that sometimes overwhelmed Ella. She couldn’t take Ella in her arms and tell her that she’d take care of everything, that she could rest.
No, she had no one to do that. No one at all.
But she couldn’t say that aloud, because she knew that would make everything even harder than it was already. Easier to deny it, to pretend she didn’t need it.
“No,” she said. “I never think that.”
His fingers stroked down the sides of her thighs and she could feel his soft laugh move over her skin. “Of course you don’t.” Another brush of his mouth just above her left knee, then again above the right. “And yet here you are, letting me take care of you.”
“Stop talking,” she said a little desperately. “You’re breaking the mood.”
He laughed again, but didn’t say anything, his fingers sliding down the insides of her knees and gently easing them apart. Then he was back to stroking her lightly, gently, and his mouth was grazing the soft, sensitive skin on her inner thighs and moving higher.
She should tell him to stop, but that delicious, nagging ache was getting worse and she simply couldn’t find the energy to push him away. She barely had enough energy to move. His knowing, wicked fingers had somehow made her heavy and sleepy as a cat in a pool of sunlight, and she didn’t think she could make him stop touching her even if she’d wanted to.
But you don’t want him to.
Ella tipped her head back, keeping her eyes tightly closed as his mouth brushed the tops of her thighs, the breath catching in her throat. No, she didn’t want him to stop. The things he was doing to her made her feel scared and excited and hungry all at once, and she wanted to see where those feelings would lead.
His hands nudged her knees even wider, the warmth of his body pressing harder along her legs as he leaned forward. Then his fingers grazed across the front of her panties, a sharp electric pleasure making her gasp.
Oh, this wasn’t what she’d intended when she’d agreed to him undressing her, not at all, and she should definitely be pushing him away. Yet her hands remained where they were on the arms of the chair, gripping tightly to it as his fingers brushed over her again, tracing her sex through the thin cotton.
God, it felt good. So good. It made her want to arch her back, lift her hips, and get him to keep touching her . . . there. Yes, holy shit, right there.
His finger pressed down gently then began a slow up-and-down stroke, and she shifted in her seat, angling her hips to encourage him to touch her where she wanted him to.
“So impatient.” His breath whispered across her achingly sensitive flesh, not warm now but cool, making her realize that the fabric of her panties must be wet. “Be still, Little Red. I’ll make sure you get what you want.”
Dimly, she wondered if she should feel embarrassed, but then that faded as he increased the pressure of his finger, circling her clit before giving a long, lazy stroke down the length of her sex then back up again.
A helpless sigh escaped her, everything beginning to fade away. All her fears and anxieties, all her anger, all her loneliness. She’d never thought she would ever let him touch her like this and yet that’s exactly what she was doing. And not only that, she wanted more.
As if he’d read her mind, he hooked one finger in the fabric of her panties and pulled the crotch aside, exposing her wet flesh, tearing an instinctive sound of protest from her.
“Hush,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over her thighs again. “Hush now.” Then she felt him lean forward even more, his hands settling on her hips and holding her steady as his mouth moved between her legs.
She gasped, stiffening as a wave of heat rolled over her. What on earth? She’d gone from a simple kiss to sitting in the chair with her thighs spread, and his mouth was . . . was . . . God . . .
What the hell are you doing?
The thought vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, because he’d found her clit with the tip of his tongue and was slowly circling around it, making her shift and writhe, holding onto the arms of the chair. The pleasure was indescribable. She wanted suddenly to spread her legs even wider, but the chair arms prevented her, and somehow the fact that she couldn’t made the pleasure even more acute, even more agonizing.
“Rafael,” she murmured thickly. “Oh . . . please . . . Rafael . . .”
His fingers eased from her hips and down over the curve of her butt, urging her forward on the chair, and she went with it, trembling as, no longer constrained by the chair arms, he was able to shove his shoulders between her thighs, opening them wider.
Lights flared behind her closed lids as she felt his tongue begin to explore her, slowly and patiently licking every fold, taking his time. She began to shiver, feeling warm, thick silk beneath her fingers and she realized she’d let go of the chair and had buried her hands in his hair, and was currently holding on for dear life.
Her breathing was loud, which would have bothered her if she’d been coherent, but she wasn’t. Because then he slipped his hands beneath her thighs, lifting one
leg up and over his shoulder before doing the same with the other, making her have to lean back further and angle her hips. And then his tongue was pushing inside her, going deep, and she moaned, her fingers gripping onto him.
The world narrowed completely to the nagging ache between her legs. An ache that gathered tighter and tighter with every lash of his tongue, and soon she’d lost herself to the sensation utterly, squirming and shifting in his grip, searching for the release that she somehow knew he was withholding from her.
He was so very deliberate. So very controlled. Sliding his tongue inside her before coming back to circle her clit, over and over, every movement designed to push her close to the edge and yet not enough to make her go over.
It was maddening.
“Please . . . oh please . . .” she sobbed, twisting yet again as his tongue made another maddening pass. “I need . . . please . . . I can’t . . .”
He ignored her, pushing her pleasure to almost unbearable levels. And just when she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, he carefully closed his lips around her clit and sucked.
Stars exploded behind her closed lids, pleasure like the world ending overwhelming her, making her open her mouth to scream. But his hand was there, covering it, muffling the desperate sounds of her release, as the world did, indeed, end.
And a new one began.
Chapter 7
Rafe kept his hand over Ella’s mouth, her breath hot against his palm. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed, tears glittering on the ends of her lashes. His own heart was thundering in his head and he knew he was going to have to move, to distract himself again, or else he’d pull her down onto the floor, bury his face in that delicious little pussy of hers and eat her right up all over again.
So, very purposefully, he lifted his hand from her mouth then eased her thighs from off his shoulders, laying them carefully back down on the chair.
Her breathing was fast and ragged in the silence of the room and she remained unmoving as he gently eased the crotch of her panties back into place, covering all that pretty pink flesh right back up again.
Then he got to his feet, shoving back the hair she’d tangled her fingers in with one hand, struggling to get his own breathing back under control.
The taste of her was thick in his mouth, making his cock ache, but for some reason he felt calm. Maybe it had been a stupid thing to do to give her pleasure like that and maybe, once she came back to herself, she’d never want him to touch her again. Because he’d taken more than a kiss. More than simply undressing her, too. But he just . . . hadn’t been able to help himself.
Her legs had been trembling as he’d sat her down in the chair and when he’d taken off her ballet shoes, he’d felt the muscles of her calves cramping. Then he’d held her poor bruised little feet in his hands, and his chest had gotten tight, and it had been pure instinct to run his hands over her, massaging to ease her tight muscles.
He’d watched her face as he did so, seeing the relief unfurl over it as he touched her, the tight lines around her mouth fading. And it had struck him then that he’d never wanted to take care of someone like this before. Never wanted to ease their pain. Not when pain meant a very specific thing to him.
Yet he’d wanted to ease hers. And it made him feel good that something he’d done had helped her. Of course that had led to him wanting to do more for her than simply give her relief from pain.
It had been a strange thing to touch her, to concentrate on her and not himself. To direct all his focus into what he was doing so he could give her the maximum amount of pleasure. And oddly enough, it had eased the urgency in him too. As if he could have knelt in front of her all day, giving her every pleasure imaginable and being perfectly content to take nothing for himself.
In fact, even now, there was a part of him that wanted to forgo the undressing she’d promised him. Leave her to dress herself privately and then take her home without demanding anything further of her.
But there was another more primitive part that wanted to gather her into his arms and take her back to his apartment, tuck her into his bed. Keep her close. Shatter completely the distance between them once and for all.
Yet he wasn’t going to do either of those things. He was going to take what she’d promised him and yes, then he’d leave her to go home alone. And hope that she remembered what he’d done here in this room. Remember and be hungry for more.
He stepped forward, bending to gather her up into his arms, setting her on her feet. She made a protesting sound, swaying against him, her head resting on his chest, which pleased him. It made it awkward to untie the cloak and let it fall, not to mention undo the tiny fastenings at the back of her costume that held the fabric of her bodice and skirt together.
She shivered as the fabric fell away, the boned bodice falling with a thump onto the floor, the tutu in a cloud of tulle, leaving her wearing nothing but her panties. Her skin was very pale and very soft, and he wanted to run his hands over her, up the delicate arch of her spine and over her narrow shoulders, cup her small, pretty breasts in his hands, stroke the flat plane of her stomach. But he kept his hands to himself as he collected her clothes and began to dress her.
She said nothing as he hooked her bra and drew the straps up, then held out her jeans for her to step into. As she did so, she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, though she kept her attention down as if she didn’t want to meet his gaze.
He let her keep the distance as he pulled down a soft black woolen thermal over her head, following it with a thick, dark blue sweater. Even when he sat her back gently onto the chair as he covered her cold feet with some thick socks and the heavy, black boots she seemed to like to wear.
It was only once he’d finished tying her laces that he straightened and reached forward, gathering her into his arms again. She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to hold him away, but keeping one arm around her waist, he slid his other hand into her hair and tipped her head back, kissing her. Not hard, only soft, gently coaxing her lips apart so he could dip into her mouth, taste her sweetness, keep that connection between them a second longer.
There was a moment of resistance and then she relaxed against him, touching her tongue to his in a hesitant response that had him catching his breath, suddenly as desperate as he had been the moment he’d first kissed her.
It took all the strength he had to lift his head and take his mouth from hers, to release her and let her go.
She stared at him, her eyes dark. “Why did you do that?”
He didn’t know whether she meant just that kiss or all of it, not that his answer would change. “Because you’re beautiful. Because you danced like a dream tonight and you tasted even better. And because sometimes, Little Red, you need someone to take care of you, no matter how badly you don’t want them to.”
Her gaze flickered, color rising under her skin. “It doesn’t mean anything. What you . . . did just then. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to sleep with you. That I’m going to do anything more with you.”
She could think that if she liked, if she thought it kept her safe from him a while longer. But she was lying. Of course it meant something.
He smiled at her, to let her know he knew exactly what she was doing. “Fine. I’m sure you spread your legs and let me eat you out purely because it was all part of the kiss you promised me. All part of ensuring that money gets into your account.”
The color in her cheeks deepened and she turned away, going over to where her black leather purse sat next to the makeup table. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go home yet. I’m going to go to the opening night party. So, feel free to leave whenever you like.”
He stared at her for a long moment, debating whether or not to force the issue, to show her exactly what her spreading her legs for him had meant, what that kiss she’d let him take meant. But his instincts told him that now would be a good time to leave. She could go to the party and pretend that nothing that had happened in this dre
ssing room had mattered. But that didn’t change the way she’d moaned in relief as he’d massaged the cramp from her calves. Or how she’d buried her hands in his hair and gasped his name as he’d put his mouth between her legs. Or even the way she’d kissed him back afterward.
It meant something. It meant that the distance between them was crumbling whether she liked it or not, and that everything he was trying to achieve was all going according to plan.
“Would you like me to come to the party with you?” he asked, purely to mess with her because of course she would say no. “I don’t mind. If you want the company . . .”
“No,” she snapped and moved to the door. “I don’t need the company.”
The temptation to insist was strong, but he resisted it. Better to leave it. Better to leave her thinking about him, about his hands on her, about his mouth, about the pleasure he’d given her. Yes, far better to let her think about that.
“In that case”—he moved over to the door himself and pulled it open for her—“have a good evening, Little Red.”
And he smiled, showing teeth.
This wasn’t over and they both knew it.
* * *
The party—at a local bar—was loud, as Ella knew it would be. But that was fine. Loud was what she wanted. Loud would cover the sound of her own voice gasping Rafael’s name over and over, make her forget the feel of his mouth on her wet flesh, bury the memory of how swept away she’d been by the intense, impossible pleasure he’d given her.
Yeah, she especially didn’t want to remember that.
Yet somehow it didn’t matter how loud the music was or how many conversations she flung herself into, nothing was going to get the memory of Rafael de Santis and the things he’d done to her out of her head.
Even attempting to mask them with alcohol didn’t work. She wasn’t a big drinker to start with, and the two margaritas she had only ended up making her feel sick.
The Big, Bad Billionaire Page 10