Taking Control (16 page)

Two fingers slip into her, their passage made easy by her abundant arousal. Inside, I feel her hot and tight against my digits. Palm up, I stroke her with long, even caresses while I work the rest of her cunt with my mouth. Every inch gets licked. Her inner thighs are the recipients of love bites, followed by soothing pets of my tongue, and finished by tender kisses. I might not mark her neck, but I’m going to leave signs of my invasion all over her legs. My beard growth gently abrades her, adding an extra layer of sensation.

Her hands alternate between pulling at my hair and pushing at the headboard for leverage. She moans and sighs and cries, a symphony of fucking accompanied by the juicy sounds of her cunt and my own groans as I feast on the delight before me.

All too soon she’s coming. Her thighs shake and tremble, and her cries are more frantic. “Ian, Ian,
Ian
,” she wails. Her chants of worship make me feel like a god. The blood is rushing from my head and hardening in my cock.

“Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” she begs. “I
need
you.”

TWELVE

S
URGING
UP
TO
COVER
HER
body with mine, the scent of her clings to my unshaven cheeks. Her legs fall open, and even in the dark of night I can see her glistening between her legs. My saliva and her come have mixed to form an erotic decoration of her body.

“Why are you stopping?” she whispers as I hesitate.

“I don’t know. I see you here, and I just want to worship you.” I run my hands down her sides, shaping her form. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her cunt beckons me, and I slide the tip of my cock in and feel her soft embrace fold around the head. I close my eyes and savor the moment, knowing I should pull out right then and sheathe myself. But I don’t want to. She mindlessly urges me forward, her hands grasping at my ass cheeks and her thighs pulling at me. I slip an inch further inside. It’s fucking heaven, and I don’t want to leave.

Her back arches and her head tips back, her entire body urging me to take her hard. I plunge inside her with one long stroke, enjoying the naked feeling of her ridged channel sliding against my bare flesh. She cries out. I bite my own lip to suppress a shout. Her heat surrounds me from crest to base. I still for a moment so that I can feel the small pulses as her sex stretches to accommodate me. A squeeze of her hand on my hip signals me that she’s ready.

I look down between us and wish there was more light so I could see in detail the way her folds part as I drag my cock slowly in and out of her. My cock is slicked with her arousal, and the wet sounds of her cunt are matched by breathless panting from both of us.

“Tomorrow we’ll do this in front of the mirror so you can see how gorgeous you look.” My hands smooth over her shoulders, tracing the tense arms, enjoying the feel of the muscles in her biceps. I plump her breasts, fondling her nipples. Her chest heaves with labored breath, making my hands rise and fall. All the while, I’m shuttling in and out of her in even measure. She shackles my wrists with her fingers, alternatingly clenching and releasing them like a cat kneading her favored human.

Leaning over her, I brace an elbow by her side so I can kiss all of the tender places I’ve stroked with my hand.

The cords of her neck stand proud as she arches into me. The tenseness of her body, the flush of her face, and the urgent way she claws at my back all tell me she is ready to come. I slip my free hand between us. Her clit is swollen and sensitive. When I press my thumb against it, she screams my name. The sound ricochets inside the bedroom and inside my head.

I work her steadily through her orgasm. Even when she whimpers “no more,” I don’t let up. There’s more inside her. “Ride it out, bunny,” I croon in her ear. She’s entering that pleasure/pain stage where every touch is electrifying, and she’s not sure whether it’s good or bad. On the other side is another more intense orgasm, and I want her to reach it.

Sitting up, I pull her legs together and clasp her around her thighs with one arm while I work her clit with my other hand. Her nails rake the back of my hand and my forearm, and she thrashes wildly on the mattress. “Come for me, bunny. Come,” I order. And then I feel her shatter beneath me. Her sheath squeezes my cock so tightly as she climaxes a third time that I nearly fall backwards in ecstasy. She’s shaking, almost crying, as she comes down off the high.

I slip out of her and, with three harsh jerks, start to ejaculate, long spurts of come spilling over the backs of her thighs, between her legs, and onto the sheet. With a groan, I pump myself harder, until there’s nothing left inside me, and I collapse on the mattress beside her.

The sheets are torn loose from the bed corners, and beneath my legs I can feel the scratchy surface of the mattress cover. We are a sticky, sweaty mess, and I want nothing more than to lie there with her in my arms while she tries to absorb the power of the climax that just ripped through both of us.

“I don’t understand how it gets better each time,” she says finally, licking a bit of sweat off my chest.

“Because you’re like good whiskey, bunny. Each minute that ticks by makes you taste better.”

“Like twelve-year reserve?” she giggles.

“No, more like a one-hundred-and-twelve-year reserve. You taste any better and I’m not going to be able spend even one minute out of your pussy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It can be an absolute fucking reality,” I tell her. Realizing that she might be uncomfortable, even if I’m not, I force myself out of the bed. With the adrenaline of the night having worn off completely, the aches and pains of the fight are making themselves known. Before I can prevent it, a slight moan escapes me.

“What’s wrong?” Tiny sits up. Her hair is tangled in a thousand knots. She’s never looked sexier.

“Nothing,” I reply before leaning over to kiss her, but she pushes me back before my lips can find their target.

“Is that a cut over your eye? Did I scratch you?” She sounds horrified.

“You did, but not there.” I present my back to her so she can see the evidence of her mindless excitement. They’re marks I’ll wear proudly. There are scratches on my forearms, ass, and thighs. I hope they burn when I shower.

“Then what?”

I realize I’m going to have to tell her something, and I don’t want to lie to her. She doesn’t deserve that. “Give me a minute.”

She nods, but I feel her gaze tracking me—and not in a sexual way. In the bathroom, I find a washrag and wipe away the sticky residue of my come and maybe even a little of hers. I toss the cloth on the floor and wet a second one for Tiny.

She’s still sitting on the edge of the ruined bed when I approach. I gesture for her to lie back while I clean her up. “After I hung up with you earlier, I was attacked.”

Her hand grips my wrist, preventing me from using the cloth. A droplet of water splashes on her stomach, but she barely notices. “Where? Who did it? Did you call the police?”

“I don’t know who they are, and no, I didn’t call the police.” Gently, I move her hand and commence my task of wiping her clean.

“Why didn’t you call the police?” she nearly yells.

“Because I don’t think either you or I need the eye of the law turned toward us.”

She falls silent and then, more subdued, asks, “What will you do?”

“Tomorrow Steve and I will discuss the matter. See what we can come up with.” While I’m not interested in lying to her, neither am I ready to confess that I’ve apprehended one of my assailants and currently have him locked in a windowless cell in Kaga’s basement. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him yet, and I’m not prepared to divulge that information to Tiny until I do. I don’t want him on her conscience. She has enough to deal with.

“Is that why you were late?”

“Yes, I had to change. Steve took me to Kaga’s, and his assistant applied some makeup on my face. I don’t know how you women stand it. I felt like a clown.” Finished with her, I toss the rag to the side. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to be able to sleep in this mess. . . however, I don’t know that I can make the bed,” I admit with not a little chagrin.

She rises and then pushes me away. “Do you have a change of sheets?”

“Yes, in the closet somewhere.”

She marches toward the bathroom, throwing on all the lights. I understand. She wants to see the evidence of the brawl. I’d want the same, so I swallow any impatience as she turns and inspects me. The light reveals what the darkness—and I—have hidden. The cut above my eye is beginning to swell and turn yellow and purple. Tomorrow it will be black and blue. The bruise above my cheekbone is light and looks only slightly darker than if I were flushed, which only happens when I’m in a heightened state of arousal.

My trunk took the most abuse. I’ve got darkening bruises on my ribs and upper thighs. Tiny looks anguished. “How could you make love to me while you were all beat up?”

“Truthfully, I couldn’t feel it. The urge to be inside you overrode any other sensory input.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You should never have touched me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because if I had, you wouldn’t have let me touch you,” I answer with a touch of asperity.

Throwing up her hands, she turns and rummages around in the closet until she finds a spare set of sheets. I follow her meekly into the bedroom. “You could have mentioned something when you arrived for dinner.”

“I didn’t see a moment when I could interject ‘Hey, got mugged down on Hudson Street’ into the conversation.”

“Down by your office?” She pauses in the act of shaking out the bottom sheet.

“In the alley next to my building.”

“This is my fault, isn’t it?”

In two quick strides, I’m around the bed and have her in my arms. “How could this possibly be your fault?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shit, Tiny. Maybe Richard Howe figured out I’m trying to ruin him. If anything, I should be sorry for bringing you into this mess.”

At the mention of Howe’s name, her body stiffens. “I hate that man.”

“Me too, but it’s late and we both have shit to do tomorrow. Let’s make this damn bed because we’ve had a long day and I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.” I nip at her neck.

“Fine,” she says grumpily. “When should we go to see Mom?”

“With Hedder? Never.”

“But Ian, he asked. I know he’s bad news, but I don’t think a graveside visit is going to do much harm. You’re overreacting.”

I bite down on my tongue and swallow my first harsh response, which is that she’s being far too benevolent.

“Your beloved mother died just a few weeks ago. It’s difficult to make rational decisions right now. I know. I’ve been there.” I run my hand through her hair, smoothing the strands along my chest. “You want to be with people who cared for her, who’ll bring her alive for you. I made a lot of terrible choices after my mom died. I wish someone had been there for me.”

She thinks about this. “Malcolm will go with us. Or at least that’s what Mitch said.”

My patience snaps. “Oh, great. Your drug dealing, pimp stepbrother will go with your con artist stepfather. That’s not a disaster in the making.”

“Let’s not forget how we met,” she replies tartly.

“We met on the street between 7th and 52nd.”

“Not the second time.”

“Right, he sent you to me,” I point out.

“He didn’t know what you needed,” she argues.

I want to shake her. Is she being deliberately obtuse? “I went to him because he runs a high class escort service, and he sent you to me. He tried to fucking sell you.” I’m outraged on her behalf. Just the thought of Malcolm treating her like a whore makes me want to drive to Queens so I can break him in half. My hold on her turns rigid in an effort not to hurt her while I fantasize about pounding Malcolm until his face is bloody and unrecognizable.

“Then I should be just as afraid of you,” she retorts.

“I turned you down,” I shoot back. “I asked you to dinner. I wanted to date you, not buy you.”

“What’s all of this, then? My clothes? This home? The driver?” She waves her arms around, trying to gesture at everything.

“It’s me
loving
you,” I roar.

Her chest is heaving. I collapse on the pillows behind me, my arms spread in complete surrender. “Bunny, I fucking love you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Do you really think they’d hurt me?” She scuttles up against the headboard and folds her knees under her chin. I hear the pain in her voice, the loneliness that I can’t chase away—not even with all the money in the world. It makes me feel helpless and angry, but I know she doesn’t need that now or ever. I shouldn’t ever raise my voice to her. I lay my palm next to her thigh, hoping she’ll touch it and give me a sign of forgiveness.

“Not intentionally.” She doesn’t want to believe what little family she has left would be so cruel to her, but these are not good men. One tried to prostitute her out without her knowing, and the other returned to try to profit from her mother’s death.

“You can’t wrap me up in bubble wrap. I’m not going to sit here in the warehouse and eat chocolates all day.”

“I’ve not ever asked you to do that.” But I’m going to protect her with everything in me, even if it pisses her off.

“Hmmph,” she snorts. “I’m capable of taking care of myself. I was doing it fine before you came along.”

Is the implication that she would also be fine if I left? Because that isn’t happening.

“I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore,” I say, gathering the weak reins of my self-control.

Her hand drifts down and lightly touches my palm. I remain motionless, allowing her to sort through her feelings. Her index finger traces the lines of my palm, an erotic feeling if there ever was one. I shift slightly as the blood starts collecting in my groin. She can crank my engine with a feather-light touch. Doesn’t she realize how much power she has in her smallest finger? I’d crawl across glass to make her happy, and I’d endure a thousand nights of cold shoulders and a sexless bed if it would keep her safe.