Her Rules

by CC MacKenzie

  "I was just curious, that's all," she said in a sulky voice.

  It was the sulky voice that broke the ice.

  Without a word, he went to her and took her in his arms.

  She held herself stiff, unbending, the little witch.

  "I need to be alone," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

  "No. You need me. And God knows I need you, piccolino."

  She heaved out a very heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world on its shoulders. When she relaxed into him, his mouth curved. She was stubborn, hard-headed, wonderful.

  "You need sleep," he murmured into her hair and inhaled the fabulous scent of his woman.

  "Not much chance of that with you in my bed."

  "I promise not to touch you, just to hold you."

  "Holding means touching."

  "I mean sexually."

  She burrowed her face into his shirt and inhaled. "Didn't I warn you I'm no good at relationships?"

  "And I told you I am."

  Her towel dropped to the floor.

  His hiss of shock when he saw the myriad of bruises, scratches, made her blue eyes flare and leap to his.

  "Well, what do you expect? There were three of them and one of me."

  His hand wasn't quite steady as he reached out to touch a fingertip to the wound blooming beneath her ribcage. With gentle hands he turned her around, checked out her swollen elbow, the livid bruise the size of a tennis ball on her shin.

  "Fucking cowards," he whispered. Dark eyes carefully studied her wan-face and then narrowed. "Where else does it hurt?"

  Face too pale, she closed her heavy eyes.

  "Look, Olivier..."

  "Where else?"

  "My head."

  Careful fingertips explored her scalp and she flinched when he found the spot.

  "It's as big as a fucking golf ball."

  "I'll lie on my right side. The doctor said I'm fine."

  Without another word, he lifted her and laid her on the bed, tucked her under the comforter.

  Then he stripped and got in beside her.

  A sigh flowed through her as she experienced a welcome relief from all her cares and woes. When Olivier shifted to hold her close, careful not to hurt her sore head, she shuddered.

  He went still. "Anastacia?"

  "All I want to feel is you," she whispered against his neck, the heat of his body making her rub her cheek against the rough shadow of his jaw, rub her flesh against his until they were as one. "Hold me."

  "Always, ti amo, always."

  Tilting his head, he brushed gentle lips to her temple, his arms moving to curve around her shoulders holding her close. His fingers carefully, lightly, threading through her silky hair. She knew he loved her hair. He didn't speak, instead he rained soft kisses upon her closed eyelids, along her cheekbone and down to the edge of her mouth.

  Trembling from the sensation of being treated as if he adored her, she spoke,

  "No one has ever taken care of me the way you do."

  Olivier went utterly still.

  Then, breathing out a long sigh, his mouth hovered over hers as their breaths mingled.

  "Si?" He shifted to look into her face, gave her a slow and sexy smile that simply made her melt. "Then I am one very lucky man."

  And then Olivier kissed her.

  This was no gentle brush of lips against lips. He took her mouth with a controlled intensity she could feel strumming beneath her searching hands as they slid up his back. His muscles were taut, his entire being held rigid, restrained. And she realized he was still furiously angry by what had happened to her tonight. The big black cat, the predator that lived inside him unleashed.

  Now his tongue swept into her mouth. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she hung on, savouring the dark taste of her man. Her heart, or was it his, was a too fast beat against her ribs as her mind went blank. The only focus, her only anchor, was Olivier.

  He shifted beneath her hands as he moved one arm down over her hip, a possessive move, to draw her closer. At the same time he gently tilted her head for a richer, scorchingly sexual, kiss. Hot, and wet and open and desperate. God knew he was a good kisser, but he'd never kissed her like this, so intimate, so demanding. Her lungs burned.

  "Breathe," he growled the word as he broke the kiss.

  She didn't speak, instead she took his mouth the way he'd taken hers.

  Her heart was going wild.

  Her hand slid between his legs, found him hot and rock hard.

  "No." His protest was a heartfelt one as he broke contact again and gripped her wrists, holding them away from him. Heat scorched those fabulous cheekbones, that wonderful mouth wet from hers. His deep voice, when he spoke, was choked with the depth of his emotion. "You hurt. We should not do this."

  "I need you, Olivier." She pressed her pelvis into his, tried to get closer but he was bigger, stronger, and held her back.

  "You have had a very bad night, been attacked, kicked, punched and scratched," he said, refusing her. "Making love to you while I feel like this is not taking care of you."

  A roiling mix of sexual frustration and fury blended in her mind.

  "Will you stop with the guilt?" she yelled the words, despite the fact that she was about to spontaneously combust with need, and had the heady gratification of seeing his dark eyes narrow into slits. "Make love to me or get out. I'm not a child. I'm a grown woman."

  Olivier's furious hiss of breath sounded heartfelt.

  His fingers tightened on her wrists, but he didn't release her.

  "And what do you think it will do to me?" he asked, that fury vibrating in his deep voice.

  She blinked at the question, at the swimming emotion in eyes that pinned hers.

  "Olivier..."

  "What do you think it will do to me to have sex with you when you hurt, when you need nothing but love and tenderness from me? How do you think I will feel afterwards?"

  Anastacia's big blue eyes went wide, her emotions shifting so fast he might have missed them if he hadn't been watching her carefully. Olivier had anticipated her tug of release and held her tight.

  "Stop it. You are not leaving me now. We will talk about this."

  Her mouth, her big blue eyes, went sulky in the way he adored.

  Then her eyes burned with sheer temper.

  His piccolino was a handful.

  "Okay," she said through clenched teeth. "We'll talk. Let me go."

  Her eyes might flash, but the tremble of her lower lip made his heart swell as anger melted away. "No." And this time he kissed her again, helpless to stop. Her scent, the feel of her silky skin now rubbing against the hardness of him, the way she was so fucking brave, all of it just blew him away.

  That soft, sulky mouth opened erotically under his as again she tugged to be free. It took him a couple of seconds to release her. He'd expected her to shift, twisting away. Instead her slim arms wound around his neck as she pressed her soft breasts against his chest as her tongue met his, slow stroke against slow stroke, taste for taste.

  He'd been rock hard for her all night, but now his shaft ached so bad he groaned into her mouth as he reached down to cup her bare bottom and pulled her close.

  "Am I hurting you? It will kill me if I hurt you."

  "No."

  And the little witch used her hands to cup him, to drive him crazy.

  He knew his fingers were digging too deep into her flesh and he forced himself to gentle his touch. God knew she had more than enough bruises. Her response was to nip his lower lip in demand before releasing him to run her teeth along his jaw, down his neck. His fingers dug deep again, eyes watching her through slitted lids as his erection, demanding attention, twitched against the softness of her flat belly.

  "I want to taste you," she whispered, her husky voice a siren's call.

  Again his shaft twitched as he imagined her taking him in her hot, wet mouth, her tongue licking, tasting him and he nearly embarrassed himself right there and
then.

  It nearly killed him, but he managed to whisper, "Not tonight."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "Maybe. If you are feeling better."

  He nibbled on a full mouth that had again gone sulky. Using his superior weight, his strength, he gently nudged her to her back. He felt her complete surrender. It was a heady sensation because Anastacia liked to be an equal partner, in bed and out of it. Lifting a hand, he slowly slid his fingertip from the sensitive hollow of her throat down between her firm breasts with their hard pink nipples, to draw circles around and around her navel.

  The little incoherent sound in her throat was one of complaint and made his mouth curve.

  His Anastacia was a demanding little thing, even when hurt, even when she was giving in to him. Emotions, too hard to handle, rose into his throat so fast it made his eyes sting.

  Dio mio, he loved her, so much.

  "Don't tease me." It was a whisper that nearly broke him.

  It took him a few seconds to regain full control. Spreading his fingers on her flat belly, he moved lower to just above her pubis.

  The hands on his shoulders tightened as her breath hitched in her throat again and again. His hand stayed still as he dipped his head once more to kiss her, but this kiss was a gentle caress, a lazy sampling of her sweet, wet mouth as he sought to entice her into going absolutely boneless.

  Nibbling his way across her jaw, he said, "Open your legs."

  She obeyed with an alacrity that again made his mouth curve.

  The scent of her arousal fired his own.

  "You want me to stop?"

  Her breath hitched.

  "You dare."

  Their eyes were locked now, his mouth a mere whisper from her own.

  Affection, a deep tenderness and passionate hunger roared through him, at once demanding, furious and wicked. Giving another incoherent little cry, she arched her back. It was the signal he needed.

  "Okay, wrap your legs around me."

  Again she complied, so impatient for him again that his heart went tight.

  Dipping his head, he took one rosy nipple in his mouth and sucked without mercy. At the same time his hand slid south searching for the tiny bud in the hot slick centre of her that would bring her so much pleasure.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to bring him closer. Now he shifted his attention to her other breast as he played with her clitoris, quick then light, gentle then firm. Right there, the instant her body went too tight, he varied the stroke of his fingers the way he knew she liked it best. Dio, she was so wet, so slick, so hot. When he dipped a finger within, she arched, her body again going tight as it gripped and pulsed around him. Her scream was trapped by his mouth. The need, the want, to be inside her was so bad that perspiration beaded on his top lip as sweat trickled between his shoulder blades as he gently, so gently, brought her down from a climax that went on and on. "Molto bello," he growled the words as he watched her flushed face, eyes hazed with the deepest delight. Now he braced himself above her, her chest heaving, her silky skin gleaming with a pleasure and perspiration he'd brought her. "Feeling better?"

  Anastacia lifted heavy lids to find a face that could make angel's weep looking down upon her. Gorgeous dark eyes ringed with hazel were filled with such a sheer wickedness it made her mouth curve.

  "I'm feeling wonderful, thank you."

  "Good." He planted another lazy kiss on her mouth. "Lie back and think of nothing except taking your pleasure from me."

  Her brow creased.

  "Don't you want active participation?"

  "Not tonight."

  She was certain she'd picked up a whisper of frustration in his tone, but when he dipped his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse beating too fast in her neck, she stopped thinking altogether.

  "Oh Ana, my beautiful, Ana." His beard gently rubbed over her neck as he bent his head to sample the flushed flesh of her breast, his mouth owning her body in a way that had her begging for more. He owned her, this man, all of her. She loved how lean hipped and muscled he was as he caged her in. His erection straining towards her. She knew if she touched him, he'd lose it.

  "Ana," he whispered.

  Olivier felt the moment she lifted her pelvis to take him in. And he was male enough to love the way she needed him. He slid into her tight, wet, scorching heat, and knew if he lived to be one hundred he'd never get enough of her. Never.

  "We are an exact fit. Two halves making a whole." He knew it wasn't precisely poetry, but the words were torn from his heart, his soul. "I want you to bear my children, to share my life. Do not walk away from this, please Ana. I will not lose you."

  She pulled him down, her full and trembling mouth clinging to his until his whole system seemed to hum for her, until her breath was as ragged as his. When she went still, he tore his mouth from hers.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  "No."

  But he caught the little wince as he thrust into her.

  Cursing himself for being unutterably selfish, he rolled off her and away to sit on the edge of the bed. "What the hell, Ana?"

  "I'm telling the truth. You didn't hurt me. I lay on the bump on my head."

  He shifted so he could watch her face as he placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed.

  "No more tonight. I will not hurt you."

  Her vivid blue eyes and a mouth swollen and wet from his kisses pouted. Her shoulders slumped. Then she turned to give him her back and bare bottom.

  His hand itched to smack that pert little bottom so much that he had to laugh.

  She was such a handful.

  He slid into bed beside her, dimmed the light and curved his big body around her as he pulled up the comforter.

  "Ti amo, piccolino."

  "Love you, too, you bastard."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Death was such a final thing.

  The End.

  Over.

  Anastacia stood alone among the dead. Around her mother's headstone skinny weeds struggled for life in a parched soil. Guilt - the gift that just kept on giving, that she hadn't visited this place in too long, that she'd moved on and made a good life for herself in spite of death - rose out of its hiding place deep within her heart. She knelt, not worried about dirt on her blue jeans, and tugged the weeds, their thready roots clinging to earth as dry as dust.

  Dust to dust, ashes to ashes... the words were supposed to offer comfort to the people left behind when a loved-one died. They'd offered no comfort to her when she'd been a child all those years ago and they offered no comfort to her as an adult now.

  "I knew I'd find you here." A familiar arm wound around her waist as Danni's head dropped on her shoulder. "Olivier has phoned every single person he can think of looking for you. He woke up and you were gone. You might at least have left him a note, Banana."

  She heard the gentle chastisement in her friend's soft voice and was sorry for it.

  After making love to the man she'd been determined to walk away from, she'd awoken wrapped in Olivier's arms this morning. And she'd experienced the horrible sensation of being trapped. What the hell had she been thinking to let him sleep with her in her bed? To let him believe that they were a couple? Blowing hot and cold with Olivier was wrong on so many levels. She wasn't being fair to him, or to herself.

  As she'd woken, her mind had been reeling with too many thoughts of the consequences of her relationship with a super-star. Plus the demands of her new family, the demands of her career. The need to just... get away, to think, to simply be had washed through her.

  She'd acted purely on the spur of the moment without a thought for anyone or anything.

  But Danni was quite right, she should at least have left a message and, or, taken the cell phone she'd forgotten on her bedside table.

  No wonder people had been worried about her.

  "I didn't think. I just woke up and jumped in a taxi. I'm taking a little bit of a time-out."

  "Okay. But you're in a relationsh
ip now, a serious one."

  "I'm not good at relationships," she muttered, believing every single word.

  After a lengthy silence, Danni gave her another hug.

  "We didn't exactly have great examples of how a healthy relationship should work or half-decent parenting role models, did we?"

  Wasn't that the truth?

  Anastacia's mother, especially towards the end of her life, had been a nightmare for a young child to live with. Not psychologically present for her child, too caught up in her alcoholism, a woman who - as Anastacia now knew - had taken bitterness and revenge upon her ex-husband to a whole new level.

  As for Danni, her parents acted like fractious spoilt adolescents trapped in the bodies of adults, with their only child caught right in the middle of their emotionally draining perpetual dramas.

  Anastacia nodded to the headstone that bore the dates of the birth and death of her mother. "I never mourned her."

  "You were a little girl."

  "Not too little to feel relief she was gone." She pressed a fist to her heart. "I don't think the guilt of those feelings will ever leave me."

  "You were a child, Ana. Try and cut that child a break."

  Anastacia turned to look Danni in the eye.

  Read the sympathy.

  Read the support.

  Read the love.

  She opened her heart.

  "After everything she did to hurt my father, to hurt me, I still feel relief she's gone. What sort of a person does that make me?"

  Danni took her hand and squeezed. "Oh Ana, sweetie. You're one of the best people I know. Don't do this to yourself."

  Anastacia simply shook her head, and turned to focus on the dusty earth beneath her. She knew the truth.

  "My mother would be spinning in her grave if she knew my father had found me. And not only that, but that he has a loving wife and family. She'd hate that he'd found happiness."

  Silence.

  "When are you seeing them?" Danni asked.

  "This evening."

  "About time," muttered her friend.

  "I'm a crap daughter. And after the ruckus with his fans last night at The Blue Lagoon, I even asked Olivier to give up football for me when I know the game's his life. What sort of a person does that make me? I'm a crap girlfriend."