The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please, Book 4)

by Ward, Deena

  I nodded. I could never forget that.

  “It’s my turn now,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I see. And this isn’t about your body. Surely, I’ve made it clear that there’s nothing about your body that I don’t like.”

  He had, but I still got a small thrill hearing him say it.

  “You were right,” he continued, “about being different now. I see it in you. Sadness. Insecurity. Hesitancy. And fear. It’s different from what I saw before.”

  His hand rested on my shoulder and I stared at it in the mirror. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this kind of honesty. No. There it was again. The fear. Hell.

  “Okay, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, am I someone you can be with, in public, be proud of? I was in a porno. I’m ... dirtied,” I said.

  Gibson’s brows lowered and his hands tightened on my shoulders. “You’re not dirtied. I don’t know why you would think that. If you believe that I’m ashamed of you, you’re mistaken. I’ve always been proud to be with you. Anyone would be.”

  “But the videos. You’re an important man. You can’t have someone like me around with a secret like that. It could hurt.”

  “What could it hurt? I don’t care what people think. I never have. It’s one of the best things about having money, Nonnie, and it’s something you’ll learn, the longer you’re with me.”

  I shook my head. “No. This is big. What if we were out together and someone took our picture and printed it and they found out about me. There it would be for everyone to see. Gibson Reeves dating a porno actress. It would be terrible. It could hurt your business.”

  “No. Nothing gets printed that I don’t allow. And even if something got past me, was printed, and they dared to call you names, it could never touch my business.”

  “You know what I mean. Investors. Business deals could fall through.”

  “My only investors are Paulina and Xavier, and they have no control in Roundtree. If a deal falls through, I’ve got a hundred more waiting to take its place. I employ an entire department of people who do nothing but manage public relations for Roundtree and me personally. The public at large knows precisely what we want them to know and nothing else. Period.”

  “You sound like you can’t be taken by surprise.”

  He paused and thought for a second. “I could be, but there’s nothing that can’t be fixed or altered. And beyond that, at the end of the day, the only truth that matters is I don’t care what people think about me. I don’t have to. You don’t have to. That’s it. The truth.”

  I understood I had much to learn about the impact of immense wealth; there could be no point of reference in my life for such knowledge. When I thought about Gibson’s money, I thought of it in terms of what I owed him, of all that he had provided for me in the course of the past month. I was woefully ignorant, and only now was beginning to realize the extent of it.

  “Wherever or however you got this idea that you’d be an embarrassment to me or somehow detrimental to me, I want you to forget it,” he said.

  I’d gotten the idea from Michael. He planted the idea in my head on that terrible day at my apartment. When would I stop letting Michael control me? I had to find a way to strip away his residual power over me. But not tonight.

  Tonight was about Gibson, and what he saw in me

  I turned to face him. “Why haven’t you touched me or kissed me since everything happened?”

  “At first, it was guilt. But after what happened at your apartment the day we moved you to the estate, I thought it best to wait until you approached me again. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, without pressure from me. Especially no sexual pressure.”

  I lay my palms against his chest, smoothed his shirt over his firm flesh. “Well, you failed with that. I dream about you every night.”

  He breathed in deeply, his hands closed around my waist. “Every night?”

  “Every single one. And you always stop right when it’s getting good.”

  “That’s rude of me.”

  “I know.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I can’t see you without wanting you.”

  I licked my lips, drawing his gaze to my mouth. “I want you so much.”

  He looked into my eyes, his expression intent. “No more fits and starts for us, Nonnie. I need to know you’re ready to move on, to begin the process of getting past what happened. We can’t start anything, you and me, until you’re prepared for that, for the future.”

  “I think I am. I want to be.”

  “I’ll help. I don’t expect you to be completely healed. But you’ve got to be committed to that healing.”

  I felt heat rolling outward from him like a wave, a heat that matched my own. “I’ll say whatever you want, do whatever you want. I don’t have any pride left to protect. It’s shredded to pieces.”

  “That’s not true. You —”

  “Shut up, Gibson. Kiss me. You know you want to.”

  “I do, but first —”

  “Kiss me.”

  He looked at my lips. “I will. But —”

  “Kiss me, dammit.”

  He groaned. “Say that you’ll try. Promise.”

  “I promise I’ll try.” I even meant it at that point. “Now —”

  He released my waist and his hands rose to frame my face. “Shut up. I’m going to kiss you.”

  I would have said, “It’s about time,” but he gave no chance to say it. He leaned forward and kissed me, his lips slanting soft and warm against mine, both tender and firm at once. I inhaled his breath, wanted to take him inside me, to claim some part of him. Mine. He was mine.

  I wrapped my arms around him, pressed myself against him. I had longed for this, and I felt alive in every part of me. His tongue played at the edges of my mouth, then I opened for him and he slipped inside me. Yes, the taking, the giving. It was what I needed.

  I clutched at his back, trying to pull him nearer, but he was as close as he could get. His hands fell away from my face and quickly cupped my ass. Then he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck.

  He carried me like that, out of the room and down the hall. All the while he kissed me with a gentle sweetness that would have buckled my knees had he not been carrying me. He took me into the master bedroom, my bedroom, and he didn’t stop until he stood next to the big bed, where for far too many nights, I had slept and dreamt of him. Now he was here. With me. At last.

  His grip under my thighs loosened, and my legs slowly dropped. I slid my way down his body until my feet touched the floor. It wasn’t yet dark outside, but it was nearing sunset, so the room was gently lit by the remaining shafts of sunlight which filtered through the filmy curtains.

  My room smelled mostly of me, of my perfume, my soaps and lotions, my fabric softener. Florals with hints of citrus. Now, though, cutting through the femininity, here was a different scent. The spicy scent of man, my man, his otherness that I craved, almost searched out when my dreams left me with unfulfilled yearnings.

  He pulled his lips away from mine as his hands found their way to the ties of my blouse. We both watched his agile fingers quickly undo the ties, then pull the peasant blouse down below my breasts, the elastic in the deep scoop neckline stretching to accommodate.

  He leaned down and kissed the tops of my breasts while I worked on getting my arms out of the sleeves of the blouse. Then he reached behind me and made quick work of my bra. In moments, it was tossed aside, and my shirt was pulled over my head, gone sailing after my bra.

  He cradled and stroked my breasts, licked the areolae, kissed my nipples. Sweet. Gentle. Loving. I sighed, shivered and blindly sought the buttons of his shirt.

  He groaned. “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

  Maybe I didn’t, but I knew what he did to me, and the thunderous beating of my heart and the tightness in my lower belly told me that if this man wasn’t inside of me soon, I might go half crazy. I yanked at his buttons and somehow manag
ed to undo them, to pull his shirt off and drop it to the floor.

  I caressed the smooth warmth of his skin, the hard plane of his stomach, the muscled ridges of his shoulder blades, the sinews of his shoulders.

  He kissed his way down under my breasts, and his fingertips spread fire down my chest and stomach as they slid under the waistband of my skirt. He lowered himself until he knelt before me, and pressed his cheek against my stomach as I tangled fingers in his dark hair.

  With a smooth motion, he pulled down on the skirt, and the elastic waist slid easily over my hips, down my thighs and calves to pool around my feet. He wasted no time and sent my panties right behind.

  His hot lips and breath played across my stomach, his tongue flicking small licks that jolted my nerves, teasing a path to my pussy. I inhaled sharply, shuddered as he drew ever closer to my clitoris, to this center of what I needed.

  Then he rose up, and while I groaned at the loss, he pulled off the bedcovers then gave me a little push onto the mattress. I fell back and scrambled into the center of the bed as he crawled over me, straddling me, stalking his oh-so-willing prey.

  I spread my legs and he crawled between them, pushing a knee firmly against my pussy and settling himself over me. His hands pressed into the mattress on either side of my shoulders, and he looked down into my face with a wicked grin.

  He rotated his knee against me, and I lifted my hips, meeting him. He lowered most of his weight onto one elbow, then his free hand reached down between my legs, cupped my pussy. My entire body twitched and I arched against him.

  My response made him grin wider. He gently wiggled his fingers, the slightest pressure on my puffy labia, toying with my slit, his palm resting lightly on my mound. I pushed up against him, straining for more action, but for every inch I pushed forward, he pulled back. The tease continued. Relentless.

  I blew out a gust of air. “Please,” I said.

  “Please what?”

  My fingers dug into his shoulders. “You know what.”

  He leaned down, licked across my lower lip. “I do. But I love to hear you say it.”

  My pulse throbbed in my neck. “Please do more.”

  “More what?”

  “Oh, God, Gibson. Stop teasing me. Take me already.”

  His chuckle was long and low, with a darkness to it that made me shiver. “Is this what you want?”

  He pushed a finger inside my slit, gathered up the moisture there then slowly twisted his finger inside my pussy.

  Glorious, glorious yes. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

  He slid his finger in and out of me with tantalizing leisure. I clamped my muscles down around him, but I wanted ...

  “More, please,” I said, and was glad it didn’t sound as whiny as I feared it might.

  “Not yet. First things first.”

  His thumb pressed against my clit and I gave a little gasp. He circled the edges of this most sensitive spot and brushed over it, feather-like.

  Once again, I pushed my hips against him, but again he retreated as I rose. His finger moved in and out of me, combining with the movements of his thumbs and becoming a torturous not-quite-there sensation.

  Gibson’s eyes never strayed from me. He watched the tremors in my lips, the hitching rise and fall of my chest, and my eyes. Always my eyes.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  My voice came out in panting bursts. “No-you-don’t.”

  “You’re thinking about pushing my thumb out of the way and taking over the task yourself.”

  Damn. I nearly smiled. “Okay-you-do-know.”

  “You can go ahead and do it, but I’ll take my finger out of your pussy if you do.”

  I groaned. “Fine. I won’t then.”

  “Good girl.”

  “But will you tell me something?”

  “Anything.”

  “What do I have to do to get your pants off and get you to fuck me for real?”

  He laughed then, a rumbling sensation that passed from his torso to mine. “Excellent question.” He kissed me, a soft brush of his lips over mine. His finger continued sliding in and out of me, his thumb tormenting my clit.

  “You can start by coming for me,” he said.

  Then his thumb picked up pace, and the pressure intensified as he circled my sensitive flesh. His finger moved inside me, touching me in places it wasn’t touching before.

  I squeezed him inside of me and in an instant the buildup was upon me. I looked into his dark eyes, felt the bulge of his hard cock against my thigh, sensed it twitch in response to my tightening muscles.

  And then I was coming and the ripples of pleasure surged outward from my pussy and stretched my body taut, arched my back, made me cry a shuddered moan of release. As I barely crested the peak, Gibson pushed another finger inside me.

  I gasped. Yes. More.

  He leaned down and kissed me, then kissed his way down my chin and onto my neck, where he nuzzled his way over to my ear. I shuddered and shivered.

  Then his fingers were fucking me harder, faster. Unthinking, I spread my legs wider, lifted my hips higher, meeting him, and he didn’t pull away as did before. No, he was fucking me with some force now, his fingers pushing in and out, in and out, he slid and stroked, scissored and twisted.

  His thumb was relentless on my clit. It had never stopped when I came, and now it was circling with more pressure, then letting up, brushing over me with tantalizing butterfly kisses until again returning to a faster, pressured stroke.

  I breathed hard and clung to Gibson’s shoulders as if I thought there were a chance he might leave me. A light sweat broke out on my forehead and my breasts ached. Gibson’s tongue and hot mouth were an incomparable tingling delight on my neck and ear lobe.

  “If you still want me to fuck you, you’ll be needing to come again,” he said.

  Oh God. I knew that wouldn’t be a problem. I was already there, already feeling the pressure before the last orgasm had faded away. I closed my eyes, dug my fingers into his back. I arched. Tightened. Climbed higher.

  Then I came. Again. This time it was more intense, lasting longer. I shook and shuddered, only half heard Gibson.

  He nuzzled my neck. “Yes, that’s it. So beautiful. So wet and tight. Keep coming. Yes. Beautiful.”

  And then, like before, I rode the waves over the peak, and I’d no sooner crossed over then Gibson pushed yet another finger inside of me. I cried out. Three fingers. It was so much. So much.

  He rose up over me again, looked into my eyes. “Yes, Nonnie. That’s what I want. Stretch for me. Open for me.”

  I relaxed my muscles, allowed him what he wanted. As big as this was, I knew it didn’t come close to the size of his cock. No, that would take more still. And I would be overjoyed to receive it.

  His fingers turned in me. “Mmm, so good.”

  I felt the first aftershocks of my orgasm as a tiny quake inside me. He must have felt it, too, because he immediately began to finger-fuck me in earnest. I cried out, the stretching, pulling of tender parts an instantaneous rush of pleasure that rocketed all the way to my trembling limbs.

  With three fingers, he couldn’t go as deeply inside of me as with two, but I didn’t need depth at the moment. He drove me half mad, pumping in and out of me with enough force to shake my body. Yes, yes. Harder, harder. That was what I wanted. More. Harder.

  “Yes!” I cried out.

  And he answered, “You like this.”

  “Yes!”

  “Harder?”

  “Yes!”

  He made a deep, harsh sound and he drove his fingers inside of me ever harder, and I didn’t need his thumb on my clit anymore, though it was still there. I didn’t need anything but the hard fucking and the sound of his voice to send me over the edge.

  I cried out my release this time, long and loud, and my body shook from the power of it. I shuddered and didn’t want to let go of him when he pulled away from me. Then I saw what he was doing. He was stripping o
ff his pants. Yes. About damned time.

  He unleashed his cock and it was every bit as long, hard and perfect as I remembered. He wasted no time settling between my sprawled legs and guiding himself into my entry.

  He leaned over me, brushing my hair away from my sweaty brow and looking into my eyes with a tenderness that made my breath catch.

  Then he closed his eyes, and he kissed me. A gentle, sweet kiss, firm yet velvety soft, no demands, giving more than it took. His breath was warm and tickled my lips.

  He moved his hips against me. With exquisite slowness he pushed his cock inside me, just the head, waiting while I adjusted to his size. He was just that tiniest bit too big, the bit that made all the difference. Then he slid further inside me.

  I exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure and he captured it with his lips. His tongue licked me and I readily opened for him.

  Bit by bit he pushed his dick into my pussy, until at last he was fully sheathed inside me. I gloried in the fullness, feeling as if I had conquered something. Not him. No, never him. But something. Gibson was everything else.

  Then he settled into a long, unhurried stroke, a steady and easy rhythm that set off every nerve ending in the lower half of my body. I was alive with him and I brushed my palms down his back and over his hips, arched my back and pressed my breasts against his chest.

  All the while, he kissed me, his lips slanting over mine, his tongue entering me in harmony with his entries down below. Our tongues danced the same dance as our hips.

  He made small sounds, deep in his throat, the kind of sounds that let me know he was loving this as much as I was. I wanted to hold off, to wait to come again until he did, but between the kissing and the grind of his hips against mine, and the sounds he made, I couldn’t stop myself.

  I came hard and cried out, yet again, to the slow, even grind of Gibson’s hard cock inside me.

  He smiled, raised his head, broke our kiss. “Exactly what I was waiting for,” he said.

  And then he held onto me and carefully turned us over to where he was on his back and I made the adjustments so that I sat up, straddling his hips.

  He squeezed my thighs and gave me a greedy look up and down. “What do you say you drive us the rest of the way home?”