by Julie Kenner
“Bedroom.” He pointed in the general direction. “On the bed. Arms and legs spread. I want to be able to see how wet you are when I walk in the room.” He watched her eyes as he spoke, saw the way they dilated in response to his command, and felt the tug of pleasure in his groin. He could concede power in the bedroom from time to time, but he would not be doing so tonight. Not when Callie was so clearly turned on by submitting to his wishes.
“And Callie—no touching.”
He watched her go, and the tenderness that swept over him was at least as powerful as this relentless sexual desire. She was everything. The pinnacle. The source. The goal.
In truth, he had never felt this strongly before, and his only thought was that his earlier, tamer passion with Livia had been the passion of youth. Or that his memory had faded to spare him lingering pain.
It didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was Callie. Making her happy. Making her satisfied.
And that was a task to which he would turn his full attention—and to which he was willing to devote the rest of his life. Which was a very long time indeed.
* * * *
My first thought is that though the apartment we just walked through is sparse and utilitarian, the bedroom suits him, and I can see bits of the man echoed in the furnishings.
The king-size bed is set against a brick wall, across which is a single wooden shelf filled with books. Above that are several black and white photographs of urban skylines. They are stark and beautiful, just like the room itself.
On the left is a wall of windows covered by vertical blinds. On the right is a wall of mirrors, though I can see that Raine’s closet is behind the sliding sections.
The floor is a rich, dark wood that is polished to a sheen, and a plush white rug fills the space at the foot of the bed, topped by a bench upholstered in black leather.
With one exception, the room seems perfectly put together, so precise that it could be a hotel or a showroom. But the bed is unmade, and there is something incredibly intimate about the rumpled sheets and tossed back comforter.
I leave the rest of my clothes on the bench, then climb onto the bed, my body trembling with anticipation as I position myself as he directed.
The truth is, I’ve been trembling since the first moment I met him, mostly from desire, but also a bit from fear.
Right now, there is no fear. There is only the sweet anticipation of knowing that he is coming and that he intends to take the time to very thoroughly fulfill his promise to me—kiss me, touch me, fuck me.
Oh, god.
My thighs are slick with the evidence of my arousal, and though I want to touch myself, I obey his orders and do not.
That restraint only turns me on more, just as his command did. There is no denying the fact that Rainer Engel is a man who likes to be in control; I saw that the moment he walked into my father’s shop.
But what I didn’t know then is how much I wanted him to turn that trait to me—and how much I would respond when he did so. How willing I am to surrender to him and let him take me where he wants me to go, trusting that it will be farther than I have ever gone before.
For a woman who usually keeps as tight a control on her sexual encounters as she does her caseload, this is strange territory. But then again, whatever is happening between Raine and me is strange as well. Strange and exciting and wonderful. And dammit, right then, all I want is more.
All I want is Raine.
I start to call out to him, but I manage to hold my tongue. I know damn well why he is taking his time. More than that, it’s working. I’m so aroused it’s painful, every cell in my body primed.
I am living, breathing anticipation, and I fear that if Raine doesn’t walk in here soon, I’ll explode simply from wanting him.
“Now that is a pretty picture.”
I lift my head to see him leaning negligently against the doorframe, still in that insanely sexy suit.
“Raine.”
“I like my name on your lips. I like it better like this, when it’s not just a name but a plea. Tell me, Callie, what are you pleading for?”
“You know. It’s your promise.”
“Remind me.”
“Touch me,” I say, because he wants me to beg. “Please, please, touch me.”
“With pleasure.” He moves slowly to the bed, as if we have all the time in the world, but all that does is make me whimper and squirm. “I like you this way. Wanting me. Waiting for me. Wide open for my pleasure and your own. Tell me, Callie. Do you like it, too?”
“Yes.” My word is breathy and so soft it seems to float away on the gentle breeze from a slowly turning ceiling fan.
“Why?”
“I—” I pause to think about it, but he shakes his head.
“No. No analysis. No outline. Just tell me.”
“Because I never surrender. Because this is safe. Because you want me to, and—”
“Yes?”
“And because it turns me on to please you.”
His sensual mouth curves up into an easy smile. “Does it? In that case we have a lot in common. Because it turns me on to please you. To touch you,” he adds, “just as I promised. Close your eyes, Callie. Close your eyes and feel.”
I do, feeling first the way the bed sags as he gets on beside me. Then I shiver at the first contact of skin against skin as he draws a single fingertip from the base of my throat all the way down, down, down to my sex. He teases me, lightly stroking my clit, then easing his finger deep inside me as my muscles contract violently, wanting even more than he is yet giving me.
My arms are stretched to the side, and I know better than to move them. But I have to fist my hands in the bedclothes in order to stay in place, and as Raine teases and torments me with one simple finger, I dig my heels in, clutch the bedspread, and arch up, seeking both satisfaction and relief, trying to make the sensation of his hand upon me bolder and brighter, and also trying to escape this intense, slow-building torment that is almost like pain in its persistence.
When he withdraws his finger, I sag onto the bed, already exhausted and more turned on than I can ever remember being simply from this sensual touch…and the anticipation of so much more to come.
“I’m going to touch you everywhere, angel. I want your body as aroused as your cunt. So vibrantly aware that I could brush your shoulder and make you come. I want to watch your skin prickle from my touch, your nipples tighten. I want to see the way your belly constricts as you try to hold in pleasure. I’m greedy, angel, and from you I want everything.”
As he speaks, he has moved, and now I feel the bed shift again. This time, I hear him set something on the bedside table, and moments later, I feel his palms upon my ribcage. They are oily, and as he moves them over me, stroking and massaging, I lose myself in the pleasure of being tended by this man. A pleasure that only increases when the oil heats from the friction of his hands.
The sensation of the heat and the scent of the oil’s spice is somehow both soothing and arousing—but when he teases my nipples, there is nothing soothing at all. Instead, I want to beg him to close his mouth over my breast. To suck my nipples that are now so potently in need of attention. Again, I bite back the urge, and I allow myself to get lost in the near-pain of this pleasure.
I don’t know what is in the oil, some type of mint if the scent says anything. But I do know the effect it has on my tender flesh, and as his hands ease up my calf, my thigh, and toward my sex, I can only bite my lip in anticipation, and then cry out his name when he palms my cunt, making my sex heat and tingle, even more needy than before.
But it is when he strokes circles on my clit, making it throb with unfulfilled need, that he almost drives me over the edge. And I whimper as I feel the coming release, but know also that Raine’s expert touch will not allow the explosion until he brings it on.
“So slick. So sweet.” I hear the struggle for control in his voice and take some satisfaction from that. He may be the one in charge, but I have a
hold on him, too. “Christ, angel, I want to drive my cock into you.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please yes.”
“I want to possess you,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “Hard and fast and furious, until there is no question that you are mine. But not yet. Not just yet.”
My moan of protest dies in my throat when I feel the brush of his beard stubble against my inner thigh, and then the stroke of his tongue on my sex. He plays with me, his tongue dancing circles over my clit. But then his mouth closes over my sex in a full-on kiss, and his tongue thrusts inside of me. I cry out, surprised by this sensual assault that has only made me more wild, more desperate.
Though my hips buck, he doesn’t yield. Just holds me in place, forcing me to accept the sweet torment that he is rendering with his mouth. But as the pleasure grows—as I start to shatter—he pulls back, and I do not have to open my eyes to know that he is grinning wickedly when he says, “Not just yet, angel.”
He flips me over, then treats me to another sensual massage, though this time he focuses mostly on my shoulders and back. Eventually he moves to my thighs, but there are no more small caresses that come close to my sex. No touch that is going to send me over the edge.
And somehow, because I am waiting for it, the absence of such erotic caresses arouses me even more.
“On your knees, angel,” he says, and I scramble up, eager for whatever he has in mind next. My mind is awhirl, my body at his disposal. And when he eases me down to the foot of the bed and pulls me toward him so that my rear brushes his slacks, I realize what he intends, and my sex clenches with greed.
I hear the distinct metallic sound of his zipper, then feel the pressure of one hand upon my rear as his other teases my sex.
He starts slowly, opening me. Entering me. He keeps his hands on my waist so that he can control the way I move. But the pleasure is too much for both of us, and his tempo increases with the heightening pleasure.
He bends over me, so that I feel him inside me and on my back. Now he has one hand on my breast and the other teasing my clit as he thrusts hard and deep, and I rock backward to meet him, wanting him to go deeper, wanting him to fill me up completely.
He is fully clothed, and there is something so decadent about me being naked and him being dressed that it adds to my arousal. “You’re mine,” he says as I fly. “Mine,” he repeats as I go spinning off. And when he finally explodes inside me, he takes me with him, and it is as if he has catapulted the two of us to the stars.
And then, when he pulls out and lays beside me, drawing me in to curl against him, I say the one thing that I know he wants to hear: “Yours.”
Chapter 8
He leads me into the shower, then cleans me up, washing my hair and tending to me so that I feel wonderfully cherished. Afterwards, he dries me off with a fluffy towel then wraps me in a robe that smells like him. I breathe deep, relishing the scent of it. We end up on the couch, wrapped up lazily in each other’s arms as we flip through the television channels in a ritual that I would consider uncomfortably domestic with any other man, but with Raine feels just right.
He stops on a football game, and I have to laugh. “Seriously?”
He lifts his brows in mock offense. “You’d prefer what?”
“We passed at least a dozen great movies. Singin’ in the Rain? How can you resist Donald O’Connor?”
“Actually, I never could. The man’s as charming in person as he is on screen.”
I cock my head, amused. “Is he?”
For a moment, he looks surprised, then his expression clears and he brushes his finger teasingly down my nose. “I read a lot of biographies. O’Connor’s one of my favorite stars.” As if to prove the point, we back up to the movie, and he holds me close, then kisses me softly when the movie ends with the billboard of Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds.
I sigh. “A shame the world doesn’t break out in song like that.” I see him watching me and narrow my eyes. “What?”
“I adore the way you think. And I also promise that you don’t want me breaking into song. I would scare small animals.”
I laugh, but I also can’t help the little tingle of pleasure at the compliment.
He clicks off the television then stands, holding out his hand for me.
“Are we dancing?”
He pulls me into his arms and dips me. “That wasn’t my original plan, but I can certainly see it as a possibility.” He starts to hum, then spins me before moving me artfully around the room. Considering I can’t dance to save my life, I’m impressed by his ability to lead, and by the time he dips me again by the bedroom door and then draws me back up for a kiss, I’m laughing and clinging to him, feeling happier and freer than I have since I came home to New York after my dad’s stroke.
“Thanks,” I say.
“For what?”
I want to say for making this about more than sex, but that seems both odd and presumptuous. “For making life a movie musical, even if just for a few minutes.”
He studies my face, and in that moment I am certain that he knows what I had originally intended to say. But all he does is brush a kiss over my lips. “Get dressed,” he says. “And let me get you some food.”
I half-expect that he’s going to cook, but he laughs off that prospect, assuring me that cooking is not in his repertoire. As it’s not in mine either—and since the mention of food has reminded me that I am starving—I defer to his suggestion that we go back to the club.
“It’s not formal, but jeans and T-shirts aren’t allowed. Not even in the VIP area. We decided a long time ago that we needed to keep a certain feel within the place.”
“Sadly, I didn’t pack a bag.”
“You’re about Jessica’s size,” he says, heading out of the bedroom and down the hall to a guest suite. “She won’t mind if you borrow something.”
I hesitate, not wanting to seem possessive of him so soon, but feeling entirely possessive anyway. And wildly jealous. I liked Jessica, after all. And what the hell was she doing leaving her clothes all over Raine’s apartment, especially when she was so obviously attached to Liam? And why—
“You’re thinking so loudly I can hear every word.”
I scowl up at him, still determined not to say a word because it would make me seem petty and jealous. Even though it is obvious that he is reading my face just fine, and I already seem petty and jealous.
“She and Liam moved to a loft in the Village two years ago. They thought it would be an adventure. But when I’m out of town, they sometimes stay here. It seemed easier for them both to just leave some things in the guest room.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat, feeling foolish. “That makes sense.”
A grin dances on his lips.
“What?”
“I like it that you’re jealous.” His voice is low, with enough heat that it is clear he likes it very much.
“Oh,” I say again, but this time it’s not foolishness I’m feeling, but something much more provocative. I rise up on my toes and kiss him. “You can fuck me again,” I say boldly. “But first you have to feed me.”
He laughs. “Then get dressed and let’s get some food.”
I pick out a knee-length blue dress with a full skirt and matching blue flats. I’m still uncomfortable about borrowing Jessica’s clothes, but Raine must have given her a heads-up because the first thing she does when I walk in is make me do a circle, and then sigh.
“Well, damn. I think you look better in it than I do.”
Since Jessica is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, I doubt that. But I’m no slouch either, and I’m willing to concede that I look hot.
There’s a phone by the bar that calls the kitchen, and Raine orders us both burgers and fries, and I have to smile at the dichotomy between the atmosphere and the food. But I like it. It makes the club comfortable rather than stuffy, and it bolsters my initial impression that this is the place where friends gather.
As I sit in one
of the plush leather armchairs and look around, I have to say that I think that is true. As far as I can tell, the men are all close, and Jessica moves seamlessly among them. Friends with each. And much more than friends with Liam. There’s only one, in fact, who shoots both Raine and me a flat look before leaving the room not long after we enter.
“Who was that?” I ask when Jessica comes over. “I got the impression he and Raine aren’t going to be doing the guy bonding thing anytime soon.”
“Trace. And you’re right.”
“What happened?”
Jessica waves the question away. “Ancient history, so don’t worry about it. And Trace is only in New York a few more days. He divides his time between here, Los Angeles, and Paris.”
“Nice.”
“He doesn’t like feeling tied down. At any rate, I’m being paged.” She waves to Liam, who is tapping his wristwatch. “And Raine is coming back with your burgers.” Her smile is just a little bit wicked. “Have fun, you two.”
The burgers are as delicious as burgers in an exclusive, centuries-old club should be, and the company is just as awesome. Mal and Dante join us, and we talk about everything from old movies to architecture and even a few quick references to the company they all work for, Phoenix Security, though the comments are vague enough that I have no sense of what the company actually does.
As we talk, Mal and Raine play a game of chess, and though I keep my expression neutral, I’m secretly thrilled when Raine wins.
“Anyone for another drink?” Dante asks as he rises.
“No thanks,” I say, then notice the time on the ornate clock on the far wall. “Actually, I should go. I want to see my dad tonight. And I should probably work on the inventory a bit, too.”
“All right,” Raine says.
“All right?”
“I’ll come with you. Hospital. Inventory. I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”