Chapter 28
Cece
Icollapsed back against the couch, lungs burning as I fought to catch my breath.
The aftermath of my orgasm still pulsed through me in little electric aftershocks that made my toes curl against the cool leather.
That had been... educational. I'd never performed for a camera before, never deliberately put on a show knowing Rafe was watching from his office miles away.
The power of it, of knowing exactly what I was doing to him while he sat helpless in some sterile boardroom, sent another delicious shiver rippling through me.
With a satisfied smile, I reached for the discarded t-shirt and pulled it back over my head.
The soft cotton slid across my still-sensitive nipples, and I bit my lip at the sensation.
I wondered if Rafe was sitting at his desk right now, hard and aching, unable to do anything about it.
The thought made me feel both powerful and strangely tender.
Poor baby. Though part of me hoped he was squirming through whatever important meeting he was in while his mind replayed images of me spread out on our couch, pleasuring myself for his eyes only.
Our couch. Our home. The words still felt strange sometimes, like clothing that hadn't quite broken in yet. But they were feeling more comfortable every day, especially after everything we’d shared.
Throat suddenly feeling parched from my earlier exertions, I pushed up from the couch and padded toward the kitchen.
The emptiness of the penthouse hummed around me—a different kind of silence now that I'd sent Edward and Lucia home for the day.
I'd wanted privacy for my little show, and while I wasn't entirely comfortable ordering Rafe's staff around, they'd seemed only too happy to take the unexpected time off.
The kitchen gleamed with its usual pristine perfection as I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, twisted the cap and took several long gulps.
The cold liquid slid down my throat, soothing and refreshing after the heat of my performance.
I leaned against the counter, smiling to myself as I imagined Rafe's reaction.
Would he call me? Send a filthy text? Or would he simply stew in his frustration until he got home tonight?
I pushed off from the counter and headed back toward the living room, intending to curl up with a book. Maybe take a shower before Rafe got home. Plan what I might wear—or not wear—to greet him after the way I'd teased him.
I'd just stepped back into the living room when the breath froze in my lungs.
Rafe stood there, his massive frame blocking the entry to the hallway, suit jacket discarded, tie loosened, and a look on his face that made my knees instantly weak. His eyes were nearly black and that muscle in his jaw—the one that jumped when he was restraining himself—was working overtime.
"Rafe," I managed, heart suddenly hammering against my ribs. "What are you doing home? I thought—"
I didn't get to finish. In three long strides, he crossed the room, grabbed my upper arms and hauled me against his body with a force that stole whatever words I'd been about to say. His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and demanding and so fucking desperate.
This wasn't a kiss. This was consumption. Possession. His lips moved against mine with bruising intensity, tongue sweeping inside to claim every part of me he could reach. I melted into him, my body responding instantly to his hunger, matching it with my own as my hands found purchase in his hair.
His hands moved from my arms to my face, to my hair, fingers tangling in the messy bun until it came loose in his grasp. Fisting the strands, he yanked my head back to expose my throat. The slight sting of it sent a jolt straight between my legs.
"Do you have any idea," he growled against the sensitive skin of my neck, "what you just did to me?"
I gasped as his teeth scraped over my pulse point. "I—I thought you might enjoy the show."
"Enjoy?" His laugh was dark and dangerous. "Cecelia, I left Orologio Media in the middle of the fucking day because I couldn't think about anything but getting home to you."
His mouth continued its assault on my neck, biting and sucking with an intensity that would definitely leave marks. The thought of walking around tomorrow branded by him only made me press closer.
"Mi stai facendo impazzire," he muttered between kisses, the Italian rolling off his tongue in a way that made my toes curl.
"Tu sei perfetta. Così bella. Così mia." Then he nipped particularly hard at the junction of my neck and shoulder and whispered against my skin, "You're driving me in-fucking-sane. "
His hands slid down to the hem of my shirt and tugged it upward with a roughness that made me gasp.
The cool air hit my naked body for only a second before his mouth was on my breast, teeth closing around my nipple with enough pressure to make me cry out.
The sound seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped my waist with bruising intensity as he laved his tongue over the sensitive peak before sucking it back into his mouth.
My back arched instinctively, pressing myself more fully into his mouth as pleasure-pain spiraled through me. One large hand came up to cup my other breast, fingers rolling and pinching the nipple with the perfect amount of pressure.
"Rafe," I gasped, clutching at his shoulders for support as my knees threatened to give out. "Oh Rafe, that feels—"
"You’re so fucking beautiful, Cecelia," he murmured, switching his attention to my other breast. His teeth scraped over my nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
I was already wet again, already aching for him despite having just gotten myself off minutes before.
The way he touched me, the intensity in his eyes, the barely restrained violence of his need, it was intoxicating.
Without warning, he spun us around and marched me backward until my calves hit the couch.
He pushed me down onto the leather, and I sank onto it with a soft "oof" of surprise.
Before I could gather my thoughts, he knelt between my legs and pushed my thighs apart with a deliberate slowness that made my breath catch.
"Rafe, what are you—"
"Giving myself what I've been dreaming about all morning." His voice was a low rumble that I felt more than heard. His gaze was fixed between my legs. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to taste you?"
My response died in my throat as he lowered his head without further preamble, his mouth hot and insistent against my pussy. I cried out, back arching off the couch at the first swipe of his tongue. He growled his approval and the vibration sent fresh waves of pleasure racing through me.
There was nothing gentle about the way he devoured me.
His tongue worked with determined purpose, licking broad stripes from my entrance to my clit before focusing on that sensitive spot with relentless attention.
Hands gripping my thighs, he kept me spread wide for his assault while his thumbs occasionally slid through my wetness to tease at my entrance.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against my flesh, the words themselves a caress that made me shudder. "So wet for me. So fucking perfect."
I writhed beneath him, hands fisting in his hair, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensation.
He responded by digging his fingers into my thighs hard enough to leave marks and sucking my clit between his lips with a renewed focus that had me seeing stars.
When he slid two fingers inside me and curved them just right, I nearly came off the couch entirely.
I felt the pressure building rapidly, that familiar tightening low in my belly signaling an approaching orgasm.
But something made me want to prolong this moment, to stay suspended in this exquisite pleasure for as long as possible.
I tried to control my breathing, to focus on anything but the coiling heat threatening to explode through me.
Rafe wasn't having it. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, dark with a predatory hunger that made my heart skip. He must have sensed my restraint because his fingers curled more firmly inside me, pressing hard against my g-spot as his tongue flattened against my clit.
"Don't you dare hold back from me," he growled, the words vibrating against my sensitive skin. "Not after what you just put me through."
Still fighting the inevitable, I whimpered. "I just… I don't want it to end yet."
His response was to gently but firmly sink his teeth into my clit, just enough pressure to send a shock of pleasure-pain rocketing through my system. "Give it to me," he demanded. "I've fucking earned it."
That did it. The combination of his words, his teeth, his fingers still working inside me—it shattered whatever fragile control I'd been clinging to.
Pleasure exploded through my system in waves that stole my breath and my voice.
My body convulsed around his fingers, thighs trembling against his shoulders as he continued licking and sucking, drawing out every last aftershock until I was a boneless, quivering mess on the couch.
"That's it," he murmured, pressing gentle kisses to my inner thighs as I floated in the aftermath. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me."
Through the haze of pleasure, I became aware of his weight shifting, of his warmth pulling away.
I forced my heavy eyelids open to see him rising to his full height and tower over me with an expression that was equal parts satisfaction and hunger.
His white dress shirt was wrinkled, his hair a mess from my fingers.
As I watched, still catching my breath, his hands moved to his belt buckle.
"I'm not done with you yet," he said, eyes never leaving my face as his fingers worked the leather free. "Not even close."