All He Needs (All or Nothing) (16 page)

“Better?” he whispered.

Kate nodded. Luckily she didn’t have breath to speak
or she might have told him she loved him because she was drugged with bliss, glowing with love and on fire. Everything below her skin was heated, stirring, a tempest in her blood, the feel of him inside her, filling her completely, melting her heart, making her tremble. She looked up to see his eyes fixed on her, clear blue, a worry line between his brows. “You know what to do if I’m hurting you. Right?”

“Yes.” A barely audible whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry as hell I did.”

How could he talk so calmly, like he was ordering a coffee?
“I know,” she said half under her breath, so he had to lean in to hear her.

“I want you”—his nostrils flared—“way too fucking much. Shut me down if—”

She slid her finger over his mouth.

He grinned. “Done talking?”

She nodded, ran her hands down his arms, and softly sighed as he withdrew with a fluid indolence.

Then he paused at the extremity of his backstroke and murmured, light and teasing, “What if I make you wait?”

“Don’t you dare.” She grabbed his hips hard.

He didn’t move; she was slippery wet now, drenched, desperate. “Just for the record,” he said gruffly, “you fuck only me. Right?”

Frantic to feel him, she breathlessly agreed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Only you, Dominic! For God’s sake, Dominic, I don’t want anyone else!”

His monstrous jealousy assuaged by her fierce reply, he
smiled. “That’s what I want to hear, baby.” Pushing back in, unhurried, his mouth on hers, breathing her in, his dick swelling larger and harder as he penetrated more deeply, he came to rest at last where everything becomes meaningless except for the unimaginable pleasure.

Then with masterful patience, he waited motionless inside her as her body pulsed and throbbed around him, as her senses leveraged themselves up to a seething frenzy with the speed and violence he’d come to recognize. His Katherine was never cool and dispassionate, always wildly unbridled. And when he began slowly moving, in and out, smoothly, carefully, watching her keenly for any sign of discomfort, maneuvering his dick with practiced versatility into all the right places, just hard enough to make her sigh or groan, concentrating on her G-spot nerves, meeting her undulating hips with practiced skill, he felt a deep-seated pleasure. As if she belonged here in his private hermitage.

Kate felt as though she were flushed with wonder, filled with joy, every heartbeat vibrating with love, her senses racing toward delirium thanks to Dominic’s sweet, unselfish indulgence. It was his genius and talent to be generous like now… like that—oh God. She sank her nails into his arms as that first unquestionable ripple slid up her throbbing sex; she sucked in her breath, shut her eyes, and went still.

Recognizing the cues, understanding Katherine’s preference for a full-stop climax, he thrust in slowly to the mouth of her womb, heard her gasp, forced himself a fraction deeper, then dropped his head, let his mouth open over hers, and tasted her sweet, keening cry.

Their orgasms rolled through their senses in spectacular,
searing waves, Dominic’s powerful body covering her, gorging her, pumping into her, pinning her to the bed while astonishing, adrenaline-high, nuclear-level climaxes pushed sensation into the stratosphere.

A flame-hot, Dominic-fueled orgasm that left her throat raw and her nerves quivering.

An unimaginable Katherine-induced blast of madness and triumph that left him with a smile on his face.

Dominic did apologize afterward, not grudgingly, but with fond kisses, his body resting lightly on hers, his erection still gently throbbing inside her. “I’m going to control my dick and my temper from now on. I promise.”

Her arms twined around his neck, she smiled up at him. “Just so you know, I get all sexed up when you’re demanding and moody.”

He had a pretty good idea already that she did, considering their time in Hong Kong, but he only said, ultrapolitely, “Thanks for the data point. I’ll keep it in mind. Now, what do you want to do?”

“Really? My choice?”

He hesitated only a second before he said, “Your choice, babe. I owe you.”

She pointed at the bookshelf. “Show me some of the books you liked to read when you were young.”

Having anticipated a sexual request, he did a double take.

She gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence. “I’d like to know. Start with your favorite.”

“Grant’s memoirs.” He slid off the bed and moved toward the shelf. “It’s a fucking good read.” And coming
back to the bed, he described his favorite scenes, the reasons he liked them, how he’d first discovered the books when he was eleven.

She tried not to appear openly adoring, and asked questions with a nominal neutrality. She might have even succeeded in concealing her doting affection because after a time, he turned his head on his pillow, his gaze open and warm, and said, “Tell me about your favorite book.”

He ignored the fact that he’d never asked a woman that question, never even considered a conversation about books relevant to male-female discourse.

When Kate said, “Tolkien’s
Lord of the Rings
,” he smiled and said, “Of course.”

And when she’d finished explaining her love of the story, she sat up and said softly, “Are you okay with me here? Just asking.”

There was a long pause while he stared at her, then he let out a small breath. “I want you with me. I’ll deal with it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

His lips formed a little smile. “Baby, that’s too big a job even for your self-confidence. I don’t know how many therapists have tried and failed.” His eyes glittered suddenly with suppressed rage and he dragged in a long, slow breath.

A crackling static shot through the room, as if forked lightning had hit. All the air seemed to disappear. Kate’s voice was faint. “How many?”

He took another deep breath, raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I lost count.” He paused, then looked at her and smiled. “You’re being incredibly well behaved. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly sane.”

“You’re saner than anyone I know, Dominic,” she said quietly. “Really.”

He looked at her from under the dark fan of his lashes and swallowed. “You sure you want to hear this?”

“I like when you talk to me. I like to hear you talk.”
I like everything about you.

He nodded in resignation or weariness.

She didn’t dare breathe, fearful he’d change his mind and shrug himself back into his inaccessible habitat.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said with a scowl.

She wanted to say there’s nothing you can tell me that will change the way I feel about you.
But she only shook her head. “I won’t.”

“When I was a child,” he began softly, a small frown settling between his brows, “my mother took pleasure in emotionally harassing me for some goddamn reason. I fought back. So she was under the impression I wanted to kill her. Not that I was going to, although… there were definitely times…” he said, his voice trailing off. He took a breath. “Anyway, starting at age six, she sent me to one psychiatrist after another. When they each, in turn, realized she was most of the problem, she’d cancel my appointments and find another shrink. And so on and so on. I can’t tell you how many kind, or incompetent, or downright dangerous therapists I saw, how many thousands of pills I didn’t swallow. You get good at it. I could hold a pill in my mouth for however long it took before I was able to spit it out. Even if I had to open my mouth for them. Even if I had to drink a fucking glass of water in front of them.”

“Jeez. Is that even legal? Giving drugs to a six-year-old? Especially like that?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It is until you get old enough to find a way out. What I learned early on, though, was how to shut down in under three seconds. How to survive in a hostile world. Both have come in handy in my business.” He smiled grimly. “Making lemonade out of lemons, right? And my sister, Melanie, was always there when I got home. She knew how to make me feel better, calm me down.”

Kate’s heart was thumping in her chest. She was speechless.

He gave her a sideways look. “Hey, it’s not so bad. And it was a long time ago. I rarely see either of my parents; the war’s pretty much over. Very little radioactive fallout.” But the faint bitterness in his voice was apparent.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” Something tightened in his jaw, then he raised one of his heart-stopping smiles and held out his hand. “Come on, baby, you’re here, so I don’t think about any of that shit. Tell me one of your stories about growing up with Gramps and Nana. Tell me something good.”

Her hand in his, she began talking, chattering, rambling on, making jokes, telling him about Nana’s vodka still with the detail of a scientist because he seemed interested. Then about Gramps’s gun collection, which had him asking questions. After that, stories about her dog and cat, about summer camps. Wanting to make him happy, wanting him to forget the frightened six-year-old at the psychiatrist, wanting
him to smile and lose that strained look he’d had talking about his childhood.

Before long, the furrow between his brows disappeared and he seemed relaxed, almost content. He half lifted his head on the pillow, then sat up in the graceful flow of muscle that never ceased to electrify her senses, took her by the shoulders, dropped back down, and pulled her into the warmth of his body. “You’re helping me more than you know, Katherine.” There was no sharpness to his voice now, no edge, just a quiet softness. “You’ll have to send me a bill for therapy services,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

She inhaled the scent of him, the sweet musk and cedar, took pleasure in the warmth of his skin under her cheek, the taut, supple muscle beneath the bronzed flesh—a body disciplined by a hard, disciplined mind. And she felt like crying for the little boy who hadn’t swallowed all those pills, for the child victimized by the cruelty of adults who owed him love and failed him. Who hadn’t just failed him but mistreated him.

They slept for a time and when they woke, they indulged their senses in amorous play, then, prompted by a jet-lag lethargy, napped again. Eventually, Dominic coaxed Kate into the shower with promises of sex, then afterward, driven by hunger, he found them robes so they could go downstairs. Dominic, Kate at his side, peered into a commercial-size fridge, contemplating the provisions within. Four of the shelves held covered dishes, each labeled with instructions for heating or not.

Kate pointed at a Saran-wrapped salad that was marked:
Do Not Microwave. “She’s not sure you know not to heat a salad?”

Dominic rolled his eyes. “I did once and Patty’s never forgotten. That I was stoned out of my mind at the time apparently wasn’t excuse enough for her.” He pulled out a dish of enchiladas, one of Mongolian beef, and then the salad. “Take out that rice pudding, will you?” He pointed with the enchilada dish. “You have to taste the best pudding in the world.”

“There’s modest praise,” she teased.

“I kid you not, baby. It’s world class. Patty flew to New York and coaxed the recipe from a chef who’d refused my request. It’s an Afghani recipe with pistachios, cardamom, and some other stuff. Anyway, I’m eternally grateful to Patty. And for those less enthusiastic,” he said with a smile, nodding at a ceramic cookie jar in the shape of Darth Vader, “cookies?” His smile widened. “Silly question. I ordered chocolate milk too. Unless you want a beer or a drink.”

After heating up the dishes in the microwave, they carried their smorgasbord upstairs and spread it out on the bed, along with beer for Dominic and chocolate milk for Kate. Then they fed each other Patty’s best efforts like lovers do.

It was a day of pleasure, of small bewitchments, and of off-the-charts rapture. But Dominic kept an eye on the clock and the time finally arrived when he gave Kate a kiss, climbed out of bed, and said over his shoulder as he walked away, “We have to get dressed for Melanie’s party. I had some clothes delivered for you. So don’t sulk, okay?”

Kate gave him a dirty look anyway—or tried to at
least. She mostly just stared at him, because he was standing splendidly nude across the room at the entrance to his walk-in closet and looking incredibly yummy. Damn, if she was going to make a reasonable case for her independence, she really had to ignore all that stunning maleness.

“You never quit, do you,” she said. Then sighed. “Am I some toy for you to dress? Or are you ashamed to be seen with me in my ordinary clothes?”

He swung around to face her in a torque of sleek, tensile muscle and restive impatience. “Neither. Come
on
, baby” he grumbled. “Didn’t anyone ever give you presents? Maybe we
should
see some crazy therapist so he can tell you to knock it off.”

“Or
she
could tell you to knock it off. Cuz I’m right,” she said, keeping her voice light.

His eyes suddenly creased with amusement.

“What?”

“Therapists don’t use words like
right
and
wrong
. They prefer gray, equivocal words. Repeat-what-you-just-heard-me-say compromises that aren’t really compromises but a form of apathy. Obviously, you’ve never been to one.”

“No. Although I’d like someone to tell
you
that you can’t order people around twenty-four/seven.”

“You may have noticed I’m having a little trouble with you,” he said drily.

She slid down lower on the pillows, made a motorboat sound with her lips, studied her painted toenails. “I’m probably overreacting to your gifts,” she said evenly, still looking at her toes. “So I give up. Happy now?”

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying you’ll wear some
of these clothes? Hey, look at me.” She looked up with calculated slowness so he didn’t think she was giving in on every little thing. “If you must know, you’ve exhausted me into capitulation.”

“I like that word,
capitulation
,” he said with a twitch of his lips.

“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered.

He quickly put up his hands in surrender. “Understood.”