For more than a second, she appeared genuinely embarrassed. Had he stumbled onto something? What was the significance of the pink panties besides being totally out of character? Or was that the point? Maybe what he saw as out of character was a peek at the real woman hiding behind the black clothes and shoulder holster.
He hopped off the bed and motioned for her to stand. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m gonna need a runway walk. Now be a good girl and give Daddy a look at that sweet ass.”
She tackled him to the floor and jumped on top of him, screeching, “Daddy?”
He laughed and swatted away her pretend smacks. She could keep it up as long as she wanted because it gave him an opportunity to enjoy watching her tits bob and sway with every movement.
Rafe was having the time of his life.
“Look,” he eventually drawled. “I get it. The bump and grind is hard for a novice to pull off.”
She stopped and gasped. “Did you just call me a novice, you dick?”
He grinned and lifted her off him.
“Here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She was opening up to him. He also knew it was hard, and that some part of her resisted. The pink panties were like a key to the wonders of the universe. If he could understand the significance, he was sure everything about Domineau would make sense.
So on the spur of the moment, he decided to share something with her that absolutely no one else knew. That way they’d be at a sort of quid pro quo.
Breaking out an old, familiar routine, Rafe treated a gawking Domineau to a standard male stripper performance. A couple of tours with a Chippendales show meant that even drunk, Rafe had the moves.
Because she was on the floor where he’d left her, he strode right up to her when he was down to nothing but briefs and bucked his bulging manhood in her face. If she’d been on a chair, he could have bachelorette-partied her with a memorable lap dance.
Domineau shoved him back, and he wondered if he went too far. But she stood, grabbed the waistband of his briefs, and dragged him to the bed. “On your back, Dallas.”
He chuckled, saluted, and made to comply, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Oh, shit. Hold up. Condom?”
Right. Details. He glanced around for Sawyer’s stupid gift bag, found it, and removed one of the foil packs.
He held it up to show her and then tossed it on the bed. Rafe was about to demand she pull his briefs down but then stopped. Something was in the air. She was giving off signals. To start, at least, she had to call the shots. Domineau needed to retain control over her decisions.
With half a movement, the briefs were gone. She was staring. He hesitated and looked down his torso. Proportionately, his cock matched his physique. Big and beefy. Domineau’s expression left him reeling.
He lay on the bed as she’d wanted, but his hard dick stole the show. There was no way to ignore the thick shaft standing at attention.
She crawled on the bed. Her breasts swayed. He fondled one of the swinging globes and lightly tugged a nipple. With a sensual reverence, Domineau’s smooth, warm hands explored his body. Her fingers examined his collarbones and stroked the sturdy column of his neck. Rafe liked her touch. It was firm but gentle. It felt like she was studying him.
She straddled his waist and concentrated on learning every inch of his chest and arms. The light sweep of her fingertips on his muscled biceps made Rafe’s skin tingle. Goose bumps spread shoulder to shoulder. Curious fingers traced the contours of his chest. Her fingernails scraped his nipples, eliciting an aroused shudder.
When her fingers scoured him from chest to navel, he grunted his pleasure.
Swinging off his body, Domineau stayed next to him—stroking his thighs until his flesh quivered. He moaned, and his cock danced with need.
He sensed some hesitation when the tips of her fingers brushed through the thatch of hair framing his sex. Rafe reached for her hand and curled her fingers around his thick shaft. She made a small, almost silent gasp.
“At the risk of sounding like a twat, it’s so big.” She smirked with a husky chuckle. “Do you have to register this thing as a deadly weapon?”
“You have excellent firearm credentials.” He groaned when she squeezed and stroked. “If anyone can handle it, you can.”
She did things with her inquisitive hands and touch that melted his brain.
“Swing that ass close,” he growled. She stretched alongside him, and he lost no time reaching into her panties. His fingers slipped between her thighs and found a paradise of wet heat. He concentrated on her clit—rubbing the turgid nub. She undulated and stroked him with mind-numbing sensuality. Her thumb circled the fat knob on the head of his cock, spreading the drops of arousal that leaked from the tip.
She reached for the condom and tore the pack open with her teeth. He had to grab her wrist and remind her to go easy when she nearly strangled his dick while rolling on the protective shield.
He flipped her and tore off the skimpy thong. Rafe pressed his face into her mound and inhaled. She smelled like sex. He opened her legs and moved between them, using his thigh to press hers open. He felt that first probe and shuddered at the enticing softness.
He slid a hand beneath her ass and shifted her into position. Then with his free hand cupping her head, he pulled her into a ravenous kiss, swallowing her cry when he surged into her and made that first deep plunge. He moved, and she responded by melting. Her hot wet arousal made filthy sounds that filled him with unimaginable pleasure.
Thrusting deep, he increased the tempo until she was panting. Then he rolled them and put Domineau in the dominant position. She rode him with a ferocity that drove him insane with lust.
They kissed and made animalistic noises. She claimed his body in a way that ruined his composure. It was fierce and wild. They were out of control.
And then she just sort of lost it. One second, she was a mighty hurricane, battering his senses with her overpowering sexuality. Then she became a whimpering, trembling goddess of unspeakable pleasure.
Rafe’s heart thumped. Ba boom. Ba boom. Domineau spread her knees wider, gathered her hair in both hands and held it on top of her head. His brain registered her soft grunts and the way she bit her lip, but it was the ballerina beautiful undulations that stole his sanity.
She was magnificent, and she was also beginning to falter. The wild, fearsome fucking had turned into something else. Something he was sure neither of them expected.
His hands gripped her gyrating hips. She moaned. He tracked a path up her sides and into her armpits as she held her hair up. Domineau’s needy whimper made his eyes fly to hers. Goose bumps spread on the tender skin of her arms.
There was a slow-motion moment when he wondered what he should do. Would she ask? Beg him to take over? Or deny her true passions for the sake of performance?
He’d read about hearts flooding with joy and other bullshit like that and always thought the words were cheesy poetic license. And then Domineau of the pink panties Rivera dropped her hands to his shoulders, shuddered from head to toe, and whispered, “Rafe?”
It was far from begging, but he heard the plea, and for the only time in his life, he experienced a flood of indescribable feeling surge into his chest.
A tenderness he didn’t know existed inside him took over. He rolled them until she was where she belonged. Under him, her thighs spread wide, her greedy hips dancing with his.
In a matter of seconds, he took them from a wild fuck to a place he was damn sure neither one of them had ever been. The only way to finish was by making exquisite love to this complicated, unusual woman. She responded in kind although he was also sure she’d never call it what it was. Making love.
They fit perfectly. He was on fire. She was a trembling, moaning goddess. Her femininity in those moments blew his mind. The closer she got to an orgasm the more she let her guard down, and the walls around her emotions crumbled.
Domineau kissed him with such passion he reacted with a bone-wra
cking shudder. Their lovemaking fit the definition of perfection.
Why had they denied their feelings for so long?
He held on until she exploded beneath him. Her legs gripping his hips nearly crushed him when the eye of the storm hit. Stroking deep and hard, he marveled at every second and then … she shattered. And his life changed forever.
With a lusty roar, he followed her into the heavens. His body jerked, shuddered, and bucked as she squeezed him until stars invaded his eyesight. She was his, and they were one.
Minutes ticked by after he collapsed on top of her. She hadn’t released him from her embrace, and her legs still gripped his hips. Rafe struggled to get his breathing under control; a task made more difficult by their continued connection.
Pulling out had never been a big deal before. He was a guy. Once the deed was done and his cock satisfied, he generally had no problem switching gears. But it was impossible with Domineau.
Rafe breathed her in one last time and released a long sigh because he needed to attend to guy things. Carefully disengaging, he grimaced when the air replaced the wet warmth of her body. With an attempt at some credible gallantry, he lifted up and away while doing a visual checklist.
Condom in one piece?
Check.
Any leakage?
He was half-inspecting the situation when she suddenly rolled away and sat up. He knew she’d swung her legs off the side of the bed when he heard her feet slap on the floor. She was facing away from him, and when he looked over his shoulder, what he saw was her back and Domineau’s head resting in her hands.
Oh, god. That wasn’t good.
Right then, he didn’t care if the fucking condom caught on fire. Disposing of it quickly, he stood and was about to round the end of the bed when she bolted. He was momentarily flabbergasted when she shoved him aside. For a few seconds, their eyes met, and he drew a sharp breath. The things he saw reflected in her gaze sent agony into his heart.
She’d let him in.
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly what happened. Rafe was sure she thought she’d be able to keep him out, but things hadn’t gone as she expected. Fear like nothing he’d ever seen before—and he’d seen a shit ton of it—shot from her eyes.
He’d gotten past her defenses and touched her emotions. He’d been inside her, and he wasn’t referring to his dick.
Her reaction? Fear. His stomach quivered.
Watching her naked ass run from the room almost killed him. And then he heard the adjoining room’s door slam—on her side.
He ran to it and stared, slack-jawed. She’d shut her door? When he heard the decisive click of the lock, he flinched.
For the longest time, he stood there, staring at the closed door. His mind struggled to take in what was happening. An hour later, dressed and in a chair facing the two doors, one open – one shut, his heart was in danger of breaking apart.
He planned to sit there and wait for as long as it took. She’d open the door eventually, and then they’d deal with whatever this was.
Rafe was aware of every sound in the stillness surrounding him. He’d made it through the endless, sleepless night, but by the time dawn had rolled around, his nerves were on edge.
He’d had plenty of time to replay the previous day, over and over, in his mind. It was like any other only with the added fuckery of a night on the town in Bangkok with Team Justice.
Domineau had been her usual shit-kicking self. Nothing to indicate how dreadfully the night would end.
With the deafening silence as a backdrop, he ate the chocolate bars from Sawyer’s stupid gift bag and frowned when he saw the condoms. Shifting uneasily in the uncomfortable wood chair, Rafe fought off the worry trying to lasso his thoughts.
The one thought that wouldn’t shut the fuck up? How could something so right have gone so terribly wrong?
Muffled sounds—movement in the hallway—caught his attention. Sparing a hard glance at the still-closed adjoining door, he rose and swiftly went to the hallway door. Looking through the peephole revealed nothing, so he quietly cracked the door and stuck his head in the hallway. At the far end, the maids were beginning their work.
He checked out Domineau’s door. She hadn’t placed the do not disturb sign on her doorknob. He hoped that was a good thing.
Impatience and anxiety held a bumper car rally in his gut as he waited.
But waited for what? Did he imagine she would open the door and ask when breakfast was served? Pfft. No fucking way would it be that simple—not where Domineau was concerned.
It took a ridiculously long time for the cleaning crew to make it to his end of the hall. He’d cracked his door open and did double watch duty—keeping an eye out for any inkling of an attempted escape.
When they were at Domineau’s door, he chose that moment to casually stroll from his room and visit the soda machine across the hall. Nodding with a smile at the maids, he saw them knock as he fed coins into the vending machine.
They knocked again and announced their presence. When nothing happened, they opened the door.
Rafe bent to reach for the can of ice-cold Coke, and when he looked at Domineau’s room, he caught a glimpse of her bed. It was still made.
What? He straightened too fast and almost collided with the stupid soda machine. Not caring that his mouth was hanging open, he walked into her room and startled the cleaners. Nothing was out of place. Her stuff was still lying around, but there was zero evidence she’d slept in the bed.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Rafe turned the lock on the adjoining door and stomped into his room. Goddammit. How the hell had she eluded him?
Aw, shit, he thought. Smoke. Domineau was Smoke, so of course, she vanished into the air.
Frantically getting his shit together, he stuffed his wallet into a pocket, reached for his phone, and grabbed the room key. If he had to walk every street in this damn city in order to find her, he would.
By the time he reached the lobby, he was in a dark mood. The front desk clerk called out to him. Stomping like a man hell-bent on rage, he marched to the desk and barked, “What?”
Did he care that the dude looked like he wanted to shit his pants? Not at all.
“There’s a message for you, Mr. D’Alessandro.”
The timid guy he’d just brutally intimidated handed him a hotel chain envelope. It was too fucking late to pretend civility, so he ripped it from his hands, grunted, and stormed away.
Outside the hotel, he paused on the sidewalk and leaned his back against the building. The paper inside the envelope was a message from Cam. Everyone was meeting for a late breakfast. He included the coordinates and time. Rafe checked his watch and looked at the hotel entrance. Should he march back in there and demand to know if Domineau got the same envelope—and whether she picked it up?
He knew if he did, the front desk clerk would pay for his worsening foul mood.
Shoving Cam’s note into his back pocket, he slid on his sunglasses and made a plan. If she showed for the Justice meetup, he’d confront her away from the group. And if she avoided him outright, he’d kick her door in if necessary.
6
Was it possible to laugh to death? Parker wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a real possibility of that being true. His stomach goddamn hurt from a round of thigh slapping belly laughs that ripped him and Alex apart. They were hanging on each other, wiping tears from their eyes, and acting without any dignity whatsoever.
Roman was railing in full preach mode about what unbelievably huge motherfucking pussies Cam and Drae were—and he was doing it with all the flair and gravitas one would expect from a Rhodes Scholar.
“It was their fucking idea,” he growled with a beefy finger pointed at the two groveling idiots. “And that butt rag Sawyer—I swear to Christ, he knew these two would turn out to be little girls. The bastard tricked me! I’m serious, you guys, come on!” he bellowed. “They totally sandbagged me.”
The real distress in Roman’s voice made him and Alex howl w
ith laughter all over again.
Domineau materialized in their midst, thereby earning her Smoke nickname for the thousandth time.
“What the fuck with the Olsen twins?” she asked. Jerking her chin at Cam and Drae, she smirked and dropped into a chair. “Are they in time-out? Drae looks like he might cry.”
Alex slammed his hand on the table and barked with laughter. Slapping his buddy on the back, Parker tried to reel it in and stop laughing.
“Oh, my god,” she murmured after a moment. “Is Roman rocking fresh ink?”
Her question gave Roman a new soapbox to jump on and resume his hectoring rant.
“Look at this shit,” Roman barked.
He was one fucking scary dude when he was angry.
Holding his arm out, he waved it around for emphasis. “What the fucking fuck? I said tribal. Not lines and boxes.”
Domineau snickered after taking a good, long look. “Little black magic marker and you can play connect the squares.”
Roman glared at her.
“What do those two look so glum about?” she asked with a nod at Cam and Drae.
“Them?” Roman blasted the two with a venomous bark and an angry look. “You mean the vagina twins?”
Both guys squirmed, and Domineau chuckled.
“I’ll tell you what they did—the fuckers. Lined up a field trip. They wanted matching tats. Sawyer set it up. I went along for shit and grins. They both pussied out after forcing me to go first. Tell us if it hurts, they whined.”
Domineau joined him and Alex in their laugh fest.
Rafe walked up to the table with a serious frown. Jesus, Parker thought. What crawled up his shorts?
When Rafe asked what was so fucking funny, Roman shared the whole story yet again. Only this time, the telling became a one-man Broadway show with Roman embellishing every little detail in an effort to humiliate and needle Cam and Drae.
It was bad enough that the two turned into cowards at the last minute and backed away from the ink, but what made it worse for Roman was the unbelievably shitty tattoo he ended up with. It was gonna take some doing to fix the fugly design.
Original Justice (Justice Brothers Book 4) Page 6