Power Play (The Billionaire's Club: New Orleans) (7 page)

“Actually, it’s bourbon praline pie. I’d planned on cooking chicken marsala.”

“Sounds good.” He set the bags on the kitchen island. “Of course, whatever you cook will be fine with me. Home-cooked meals are a rarity.”

“Then I’m glad I could do this for you,” she said, opening the under-sink cabinet for a vase. “You don’t have to be on your best behavior with me, though. Relax.”

She arranged the blooms while Raphael busied himself with putting the perishables in her fridge. He’d brought her peonies again, beautiful fiery red and pale white, her favorites. That he’d remembered touched her in ways she couldn’t believe. Everything he’d done in the last week had touched her.

As he touched her now, moving up to her from behind, sliding an arm around her waist as he dropped kisses onto the nape of her neck. She braced herself with both hands against the counter as she was once again held prisoner by his sensual skill.

“You’ve seen me at my worst, Macy,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “Now I want to show you how good I can be.”

Before she could process his intent, he’d untied the sash at her waist and pulled the front
of her wrap dress open, then off her shoulders, leaving her trapped in the sleeves and between the hard edge of the counter and the harder ridge of his arousal. She shivered, realizing he’d shed his jacket at some point. The smooth cloth of his shirt brushed across her bare shoulders, the sensation filling her with a sweet longing.

He drew in a ragged breath against the back of her neck. “Don’t move.”

He stepped back, allowing her dress to drop until it draped at her hips, only the sleeves gathered at her wrists saving the dress from falling to the floor. Then he pulled the dress completely off, leaving her wearing her bra and panties, garters and stockings and her heels.

“God, Macy,” he groaned, reverence enriching his tone. “You have no idea what seeing you like this does to me.”

“Wh-what does it do to you?” she managed to ask, though she had a pretty good idea. She could feel a heavy ache in her core, the moisture leaking into the silk of her thong. Surely he was just as affected as she was? Surely he wanted and needed this as badly as she did—more than her next breath, she wanted his lips on hers, his hands on her body, his cock surging inside her.

He pressed against her again, his arousal large and insistent against the crease of her buttocks. “You know,” he said, his voice rough, dark. “You know what you’ve always done to me.”

His free hand slid around her waist, but instead of drawing her back against him, he pushed his agile fingers into her panties to find the throbbing bud of her clit.

“Yes,” he hissed as she moaned. “That’s what I want—you, hot and wet and ready for me.”

“But dinner—”

“Can wait.” He dipped his fingers into her wanting folds and she nearly buckled from the sudden, overwhelming pleasure. She gripped the edge of the counter as he pressed into her from behind. She could feel his erection, feel the hardness rubbing against the all-but-bare cleft of her behind in a ghostly imitation of what they both wanted. What she knew she needed.

It had been so long, too long since she’d had this, since she’d felt this. Moaning, she pushed back against him, then jerked forward as his talented fingers circled her clit.

“You need this, don’t you?” he whispered, uncannily able to read her. “No matter what you say, no matter what lies you try to tell me or tell yourself, your body will always tell me the truth. For tonight at least, your body and your pleasure belong to me.”

An automatic denial flooded her throat. As if he sensed it coming, he bit down on her earlobe, a light nip that she felt all the way to her toes. She gasped, and a gush of liquid heat flooded her center, drenching his fingers.

His dark chuckle acknowledged what they both knew. He always knew what she wanted, what she needed when it came to sex. There was no point in denying the truth, not with his fingers stroking into her soaking pussy, ramping her pleasure higher and higher toward pure mindlessness.

“Macy. Tell me that you want this. Tell me that you want me.”

He already knew, so why ask? He needed the words, she realized. He needed to hear her acknowledge this huge, unstoppable force between them, the fire that had never gone out, the passion that time and distance hadn’t extinguished.

“Yes.” She gasped, her pussy clenching down on his fingers. “Yes, Raphael, I want this. I want you.”

“Good girl.” He pulled his fingers from her channel, causing her to whimper in protest.
“You deserve a reward.”

He spun her around, claiming her mouth in a brutal kiss that convinced her unequivocally that he wanted this as much as she did. His hands slid down her sides to her hips as he lifted her onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms encircling his shoulders to draw him closer. It was his turn to shudder as she pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat, collarbone, those gorgeous, sinful lips. He responded by thrusting his hips forward, rubbing his hardness against her silk-covered entrance in a delicious friction that only made her want more.

When she reached for his shirt to pull it free from his waistband, he pulled away. “Don’t.”

“Not yet, my beautiful Macy.” He reached for the thin string of her panties, grinning when he realized she’d put them on over her garters. “Oh, babe. You’re so fucking hot.”

He slowly pulled her panties down her legs, his gaze pinned to hers as he spread her thighs. “You should see how beautiful you are,” he breathed. “Your hair spilling over your shoulders like a flaming waterfall, your breasts pushed up by that bra. I love the way your skin flushes when you’re on the brink of coming. I love how responsive you are to me and the pleasure I give you.”

She watched in stunned amazement as he lifted her panties to his face and inhaled deeply. “Your scent drives me crazy,” he confessed, his voice both dreamy and raw. “You’d left behind a pair of panties when you left. I kept them, and your pillow, for as long as I could.”

“Raphael.” How could he have her on the brink of coming and tears at the same time?

He tucked her panties into his pocket, all the while holding her captive with his gaze. The need in his expression stole her breath, made her light-headed. “You know me, Macy. You know the me that matters. The me that burns for you. The me that craves you with every fiber of my
being.”

Tears stung her eyes, her heart and body overflowing because of him, for him. “Raphael.”

“You have no idea the power you have over me, Macy. You’re my food, my drug. My everything.” Holding her thighs open, he leaned forward to give her an intimate kiss. The first warm stroke of his tongue over her super-sensitive flesh had her keening from the exquisite shock of sensation.

Raphael groaned deeply, pulling her ass to the edge of the counter, balancing her precariously so that he had better access to all her intimate parts. Barely mindful of her stilettos, Macy carefully balanced her feet on his shoulders, as open as she could be for him. It was more than enough as he plundered her drenched folds with his lips and teeth and tongue, making darting sweeps to her smaller puckered opening before returning to lap her folds and teasingly circling her clit.

He was a master, a maestro who thoroughly enjoyed his work as he drew musical moans and percussive pants from her finely tuned body. She cried out again, her hands flailing wildly as she sought contact with something, anything to help her stay grounded. Her fingers sank into the thickness of his unruly hair as her legs spread wider of their own volition. Her hips rose and fell involuntarily as she shamelessly lifted her core to his mouth in a greedy quest for more, for everything. The contrast of cool granite and hot tongue ignited her desire, catapulting her up to the pinnacle of pleasure.

Raphael demonstrated that he hadn’t forgotten a thing about her body, bringing her down with light strokes of his tongue before drawing her up again. All at once he grabbed her wrists, pinning her hands to her sides as he thrust deep inside her with firm strokes of his tongue. The sensation of being bound, held captive by his will and his sensual demand sent her over the edge.
She came hard, bowing off the counter, his name torn from her throat on a keening cry.

Raphael scooped Macy up and searched for her bedroom. Luckily there weren’t many doors to choose from, and he quickly found the master.

Gently, he settled her onto the bed, then began to remove her remaining clothes. He slipped off her shoes, then took his time unclipping her stockings from the garters. Slowly he rolled her stockings down each shapely leg, stopping every so often to press little licking kisses to her skin.

Her eyes fluttered open as he reached for the metal fasteners that held the front of teal-colored brocaded bra closed. “You’re pure magic,” she told him, sighing with evident relief as he freed her breasts from the confining material.

“Not magic, just inspired.” For the first time in eight years, he gazed down at her nude body. She was breathtaking. Mesmerized, he reached out to glide his fingertips over her, not daring more than the light touch. The pale rose of her nipples, small bullet points topping the darker rose of her areolas, the generous handfuls of her breasts. Her pale soft skin, sloping from her ribs down to the gentle swell of her belly and the gorgeous curves of her hips. Macy had an hourglass figure, a bombshell form, the physique of a goddess.

Her hands fluttered at her sides, as if she fought the urge to cover herself. “Say something.”

“You’ve scrambled my brain, sweet Macy,” he said honestly. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.” He brushed his thumb across one distended nipple. “So very beautiful. I can hardly wait for the second round.”

“I want you, Raffie,” she said plainly. “I want you inside me, so you can feel as good as I do right now. But you’ve worn me out. I don’t know if I have the energy to do more than lie here right now. I think I might need a minute or forty to recover.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he told her, pleased that she wanted to please him, even as wrung out as she was. “Right now all I want you to do is lie there. I’ll take care of us both.”

* * *

Macy’s breath caught as she watched Raphael remove his tie and shed his shirt and undershirt, stripping away the civilized man of industry, revealing the hardened body of a warrior. The corded muscles of his arms, the indentation of his abs. It may have been an injury and a couple of years since he’d been in a fight, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him.

“Your nipples just got harder,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I think someone really likes what she sees.”

“Yes,” she tried to say, but the word wouldn’t escape the want thickening in her throat. She swallowed, moistened her lips, tried again. “I’m sure other women have told you how gorgeous you are.”

“The only woman that matters is you.” He trailed his fingers up her ribcage, up the valley between her breasts. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, her breath coming in short gasps as he stroked over her collarbone, up her neck to her lips.

She wanted to say something important, profound, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she pressed her face against his hand, physically naked and emotionally bare. Her earlier sense of calm faded, replaced by a growing hunger. Desire and something deeper gripped her in a vise, a
pressure that threatened to shatter her.

He leaned over her, giving her a nearly chaste kiss. The sweetness of the kiss was eclipsed by his nimble fingers on her nipples, giving them a pinch on the razor’s edge of pain. She cried out, every sense heightened, her nerve endings stretched tight.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Tears spiked her lashes, blurring her vision. “I need you Raphael. Please, I need you so bad.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a moment she feared that she’d revealed too much in her tone. That need—her need for him, his for her—had put distance between them before, eight long years of distance. Now that he was back, now that they had this, she didn’t want to push him away again.

She lifted her hips. “I need you inside me,” she said, hoping he’d believe she’d meant that all along.

He opened his eyes, the stark hunger in his gaze stunning her. The hunger mixed with a strange vulnerability she only recognized because she’d seen it before with him, in him. She reached for him, tangling her fingers with his. “Raphael, please. Don’t make us wait anymore. It’s too much.”

He pulled several condom packets out of his pocket before shedding the rest of his clothing. He turned back to her and she got her first good look at this older, more intense Raphael, got a good look at just how much he wanted her.

“Uhm … are you bigger there too?”

He chuckled, the sound strained as he joined her on the bed. “We’ll fit together, sweetheart, as well as we always have. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her earlier orgasm had primed her completely. She didn’t think she could be more ready but Raphael proved her wrong as he joined her on the bed. He began to with slow, drugging kisses, starting at her forehead and leaving no patch of skin unclaimed by his mouth. Behind her ears, her chin, the hollow of her throat, the bend of her elbow, the webbing between her fingers—with each kiss he exorcised the spirits of lovers past until only he remained, filling up all her empty spaces and binding her to him forever.

By the time he rolled a condom on, her entire body hummed with the need to have him inside her. Her hips rose involuntarily, her movements limited but inexorable. She wanted him inside her.

Now.

He fit the tip of his erection to her entrance. “Wrap your legs around me, Mace,” he ordered, then pushed into her.

She stopped breathing as he filled her in one long, slow, toe-curling glide. He threw back his head, the tendons of his neck standing out, his body rigid as her sheath welcomed him. “God, Macy,” he groaned. “Good, so damn good. Missed you so damn much.”

She felt the mattress dip as he dug his knees into bedding, his hands planted on either side of her head. Desire ignited an inferno inside her as she watched him dance between being restraint and being unchained, between holding on and letting go, calling a similar response from her. She surrendered to it, surrendered to Raphael, to his mastery and his skill and his care, knowing that he’d catch her when she fell.