Chapter Fourteen #2
As with everything he says, he means it, and I know too that it wouldn’t bother him if there were some I didn’t like. But I do like them, all of them, and I want him to know that. So I stop wafting and come to a stop in front of him.
‘I love them,’ I say honestly. ‘I love all of them.’ Then I go on, because I want him to know this, too.
‘My brother’s presents were all things for a little girl, a teenager, or a sister.
Not a woman.’ I shift one leg to the side, allowing the green silk of the gown to slide away, the slit in the dress extending up to my hip.
‘This, for example, is very definitely for a woman.’
Rafael’s dark gaze drops to my thigh and his expression turns hungry. ‘Good,’ he says, then glances up at me again. ‘Because that’s what you are. A sexy, beautiful, strong woman.’
I’m not used to being looked at the way he’s looking at me, but I like it. It makes me feel all of those things that he told me I am, sexy and beautiful and most of all strong. Because I want to be strong, especially after spending so many years feeling so weak.
Suddenly, I want to give him something too—I don’t want to be the only one who receives—except I have nothing to give him.
His gaze sharpens as if he can read my every thought. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’ve given me all these beautiful things. But I don’t have anything to give you,’ I say slowly.
‘I don’t need anything.’ His gaze darkens, intensifies. ‘I have everything I need right here.’
He means me, I know it, and abruptly, I know what to give him.
‘Tell me,’ I say, holding his gaze. ‘Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Anything you want, anything at all. It’ll be my Christmas gift to you.’
He stares at me, the black flames in his eyes rising higher. ‘Dragonfly…’
I don’t move and I don’t look away. ‘I want to, Rafael. Please. Ulysses never asked anything of me, because he thought I was too broken, too fragile. But…you said I was strong and I want to be treated as if I am.’ I take a step closer to where he’s sitting on the couch, the green silk billowing around my legs.
‘So. Tell me. What do you want for Christmas, Rafael Santangelo?’
The darkness in his eyes shifts then blazes. ‘Put on some of that scarlet lipstick,’ he murmurs, gesturing to the small gold box sitting by the couch.
I’m a little puzzled by the request, but I obey. There’s a tiny mirror that comes with the lipstick tube, so I’m able to apply it without issue. The colour is fire-engine red and it makes my mouth look full and pouty.
‘Good,’ he says approvingly as I put the lipstick down. ‘Now, take off your underwear, but keep the gown on.’
I reach beneath the hem and slide my knickers down my legs and then step out of them. His gaze follows every movement and once my underwear is off, he orders, ‘Kneel.’ And points to the spot on the rug in front of where he’s sitting.
My heart beats faster, because I know what he wants now, and I’m desperate to give it to him, so I kneel in front of him.
‘Undo my jeans,’ he demands.
My fingers shake as I do his bidding, desire and anticipation making my mouth go dry. He’s hard behind the denim and I can feel the pressure building between my own thighs in anticipation.
‘Take my cock out.’ His voice is deeper, almost a purr. ‘Then take it in your mouth. I want to see those red lips wrapped around it.’
The hot words fall like sparks on my skin, igniting me, and I’m breathing fast as I lean forward, reaching into his jeans. He’s hot and so hard, and his skin is like silk, and when I put my hands on him, I feel the muscles in his thighs tense.
He wants this so badly, I can see it in his eyes, his expression searing as he watches. So I meet his gaze and I hold it as I open my mouth and wrap my lips around him, exactly as he wanted.
He hisses in pleasure, his hands sliding into my hair and gathering it in his fists. ‘Suck me, dragonfly,’ he growls. ‘Make me see stars with your mouth.’
And I want to. I want to make him see stars, see God himself.
Send him to heaven and back, knowing that it was me who gave him that.
Me who gave him such pleasure. So I do what he tells me, tasting him, exploring him with my tongue, nipping him with my teeth, and working him with my mouth.
Then I watch the savage pleasure that ripples over his face, thrilling to the intensity of it, my own pleasure building higher and higher the more he’s affected by me and what I’m doing to him.
He murmurs something then, a vicious word in Italian, and I’m startled as he pulls my head away.
‘What are you—?’ I begin.
But he’s already hauling me up into his arms, shoving the green silk of my gown out of the way as he sits me in his lap, facing him.
Then he looks down at his cock and the red marks on his skin left by my lipstick, and he shifts me, spreading me open delicately, then pushing inside me in one deep stroke.
‘Like this,’ he says roughly as I gasp aloud. ‘I want you like this.’
Then he’s pulling my mouth down on his, his kiss hungry, savage almost, and definitely demanding. I answer the demand, too, because I want him to want more. I want him to demand it, to let me know he doesn’t see me as fragile. That he truly believes what he says when he tells me I’m strong.
And he does. He give me no quarter and in releasing his own demanding nature, he releases mine.
I kiss him back just as savagely and I’m just as demanding.
I glory in how hard he grips me and in the sharp, deep thrusts of his hips.
I love the feeling of his teeth against my bottom lip and then lower, against the side of my neck and then my collarbones.
He’s demanding, yet he’s the one slipping his hand down between my legs, his fingers on my clit, giving me the extra friction I need like a gentleman, and I’m the one who comes first, crying out his name. Seconds later, he gives one deep thrust before joining me in the flames.