The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (8 page)

I thought I was tired when I decided to leave the picnic,
but now that Gibson was with me, I felt reenergized. The annoyance of Paulina’s
demands dissolved into so much nothingness. Gibson’s nearness wiping out all
other concerns. He was an enticement. I longed to touch him, wanted him to
touch me. I was ever on the verge, but never saw it through.

Seeing him talking with that other woman earlier had given
me a sense of what might be, and that possibility was unthinkable. I couldn’t
stand the idea of Gibson being with someone else. He belonged with me.

“Um.” I stumbled around for the right words. “What you did
for me the other day, it meant a lot to me, and I didn’t thank you enough for
it.”

“You thanked me plenty. I only want to see you happy.”

“I know.” And I thought, if you want that, then kiss me
right now and I’ll be beyond happy. No such luck. For everything that Gibson
was, he wasn’t a mind reader. Probably just as well.

When we arrived at the cottage, he followed me inside and
into my workroom to deposit my supplies. He looked around the room with an
approving eye, studied a few of the sketches I had pinned to the wall on a big
cork board.

“I like this one the best,” he said, tapping a sketch of
Xavier fishing off the dock. “You captured his serenity.”

“Thanks.”

“Well —” he began.

Fearing he was going to say that he was leaving, I asked,
“Can I draw you? Will you sit for me?”

A frown flickered across his features. I expected a negative
answer, but then his face smoothed. “If you’d like.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. He didn’t know it, but I
already had a number of sketches of him that I’d done on the sly over the
weeks. I’d finished at least four of him that day alone while he went about
tending the pit, chatting with guests, refereeing a badminton match.

That didn’t mean, however, that I wasn’t looking forward to the
chance to study him at leisure, to not have to hide my attention. I led him
over to a stool, got him settled, then moved an easel into position and grabbed
up a large pad of paper along with my other supplies.

My pencil skimmed over the page as I tried to capture the
essence of the handsome man sitting patiently in my studio. I sensed his
discomfort with the situation. He didn’t enjoy being the center of attention,
even when the audience was only one, only me.

There was a time when I would have thought his aversion was
a cute quirk, no big deal. Now, with issues of my own in this area, I couldn’t
downplay it. I understood that he was doing something he didn’t want to do,
that he was doing it for me, and so I didn’t prolong the process. I worked with
speed, but not haste.

His hands rested on his knees and I noted the tension in his
shoulders, in the strong line of his jaw. His face, though, was smooth and
impassive, and it took some work to see through the enigmatic mask to the man
underneath.

Gibson’s dark eyes and hair were a perfect contrast to the
pristine white of his open-collared shirt and pants. I wanted to kiss the
triangle of tanned flesh that showed in the neck of his shirt, then kiss my way
up his neck to his full lips.

Damn, he was too good-looking. I wondered how many women
threw themselves at him on a daily basis. Then I took a harder look at him and
I realized probably not too many women would dare. Gibson Reeves was an
intimidating man, impossible to read, polite to the extreme of creating an
unbreachable wall between himself and others. It would take an immense amount
of confidence to charge that barrier.

And yet, how many times had he reached over that wall to me?

I sketched in silence, focused on the angle of his neck, the
planes of his cheeks, the fall of his hair. If I couldn’t touch him with my
hands, I could touch him with my eyes, let my pencil stroke his shoulders, line
the sensitive lobe of his ear.

His eyes, wide, dark and mysterious. What was he thinking as
he stared off past me? I couldn’t get those eyes right. Twice I had to rub them
out and begin again.

He reaches out to you, I thought. Do you reach out to him?

I had, yes, more than once. But not of late. I’d been
afraid, more afraid of a negative answer than weary of uncertainty. As I
attempted once more to capture the gleam in his eyes, something shifted inside
me. I couldn’t stand aside forever, always watching, hanging back, as I’d done
every day since Michael betrayed me. Every day.

Even here, in the safety zone of the estate. At the picnic.
I haunted the edges. Watching. Timid. Afraid of being seen. Recognized.

It had to be enough. At some point, I had to step forward.
Maybe now?

Chapter 7

I took a deep breath. If I were going to do it, now was the
moment, when I had him here, with me, alone.

I lowered my pencil and steeled myself for potential
disappointment. “Do you think you can ever want me again, Gibson?” I asked, my
voice surprisingly steady and firm. “Want me the way you did before everything
happened?”

His gaze shifted to me and he appeared startled, but not
surprised. He didn’t answer right away and my heart thudded several heavy beats
in my chest as I waited.

When his answer came, his voice was even and sure. “I’ve
always wanted you. You know that.”

As soon as he said it, I realized it was true. I should have
known it. But fear hid the truth from me. He wanted me and always had.

And yet.

“Yes,” I said, “but, the way it was before, we were heading
somewhere, weren’t we? It was more than just sex, I thought.”

“Much more.”

“So where was it heading? I mean, a relationship right?”

“That was my hope.”

“It
was
your hope. But that has to have changed,
because I’m not the same.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t follow.”

I willed myself to say it simply and firmly, no backpedaling
allowed. “Anyone who sees me now, anyone who watched those videos, they’ll
think differently of me. They couldn’t help it. You must think differently, not
see me as the same woman I was before.”

He stood up and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

I lay down my pencil, and went to him. He took my hand and
led me out of the studio and into the largest of the living rooms in the
cottage. He stopped in front of the big oval mirror that hung on a wall,
positioning me in front of him.

He looked over my shoulder and met my gaze in the mirror.
“Do you remember when I had you look at yourself naked and tell me what you
liked about your body and what you didn’t?”

I nodded. I could never forget that.

“It’s my turn now,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I see. And
this isn’t about your body. Surely, I’ve made it clear that there’s nothing
about your body that I don’t like.”

He had, but I still got a small thrill hearing him say it.

“You were right,” he continued, “about being different now.
I see it in you. Sadness. Insecurity. Hesitancy. And fear. It’s different from
what I saw before.”

His hand rested on my shoulder and I stared at it in the
mirror. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this kind of honesty. No. There it was again.
The fear. Hell.

“Okay, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, am I someone
you can be with, in public, be proud of? I was in a porno. I’m ... dirtied,” I
said.

Gibson’s brows lowered and his hands tightened on my
shoulders. “You’re not dirtied. I don’t know why you would think that. If you
believe that I’m ashamed of you, you’re mistaken. I’ve always been proud to be
with you. Anyone would be.”

“But the videos. You’re an important man. You can’t have
someone like me around with a secret like that. It could hurt.”

“What could it hurt? I don’t care what people think. I never
have. It’s one of the best things about having money, Nonnie, and it’s
something you’ll learn, the longer you’re with me.”

I shook my head. “No. This is big. What if we were out
together and someone took our picture and printed it and they found out about
me. There it would be for everyone to see. Gibson Reeves dating a porno
actress. It would be terrible. It could hurt your business.”

“No. Nothing gets printed that I don’t allow. And even if
something got past me, was printed, and they dared to call you names, it could
never touch my business.”

“You know what I mean. Investors. Business deals could fall
through.”

“My only investors are Paulina and Xavier, and they have no
control in Roundtree. If a deal falls through, I’ve got a hundred more waiting
to take its place. I employ an entire department of people who do nothing but
manage public relations for Roundtree and me personally. The public at large
knows precisely what we want them to know and nothing else. Period.”

“You sound like you can’t be taken by surprise.”

He paused and thought for a second. “I could be, but there’s
nothing that can’t be fixed or altered. And beyond that, at the end of the day,
the only truth that matters is I don’t care what people think about me. I don’t
have to. You don’t have to. That’s it. The truth.”

I understood I had much to learn about the impact of immense
wealth; there could be no point of reference in my life for such knowledge.
When I thought about Gibson’s money, I thought of it in terms of what I owed
him, of all that he had provided for me in the course of the past month. I was
woefully ignorant, and only now was beginning to realize the extent of it.

“Wherever or however you got this idea that you’d be an
embarrassment to me or somehow detrimental to me, I want you to forget it,” he
said.

I’d gotten the idea from Michael. He planted the idea in my
head on that terrible day at my apartment. When would I stop letting Michael
control me? I had to find a way to strip away his residual power over me. But
not tonight.

Tonight was about Gibson, and what he saw in me

I turned to face him. “Why haven’t you touched me or kissed
me since everything happened?”

“At first, it was guilt. But after what happened at your
apartment the day we moved you to the estate, I thought it best to wait until
you approached me again. You needed time to figure out what you wanted, without
pressure from me. Especially no sexual pressure.”

I lay my palms against his chest, smoothed his shirt over
his firm flesh. “Well, you failed with that. I dream about you every night.”

He breathed in deeply, his hands closed around my waist.
“Every night?”

“Every single one. And you always stop right when it’s
getting good.”

“That’s rude of me.”

“I know.”

“If it’s any consolation, I can’t see you without wanting
you.”

I licked my lips, drawing his gaze to my mouth. “I want you
so much.”

He looked into my eyes, his expression intent. “No more fits
and starts for us, Nonnie. I need to know you’re ready to move on, to begin the
process of getting past what happened. We can’t start anything, you and me,
until you’re prepared for that, for the future.”

“I think I am. I want to be.”

“I’ll help. I don’t expect you to be completely healed. But
you’ve got to be committed to that healing.”

I felt heat rolling outward from him like a wave, a heat
that matched my own. “I’ll say whatever you want, do whatever you want. I don’t
have any pride left to protect. It’s shredded to pieces.”

“That’s not true. You —”

“Shut up, Gibson. Kiss me. You know you want to.”

“I do, but first —”

“Kiss me.”

He looked at my lips. “I will. But —”

“Kiss me, dammit.”

He groaned. “Say that you’ll try. Promise.”

“I promise I’ll try.” I even meant it at that point. “Now —”

He released my waist and his hands rose to frame my face. “Shut
up. I’m going to kiss you.”

I would have said, “It’s about time,” but he gave no chance
to say it. He leaned forward and kissed me, his lips slanting soft and warm
against mine, both tender and firm at once. I inhaled his breath, wanted to
take him inside me, to claim some part of him. Mine. He was mine.

I wrapped my arms around him, pressed myself against him. I
had longed for this, and I felt alive in every part of me. His tongue played at
the edges of my mouth, then I opened for him and he slipped inside me. Yes, the
taking, the giving. It was what I needed.

I clutched at his back, trying to pull him nearer, but he
was as close as he could get. His hands fell away from my face and quickly
cupped my ass. Then he lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my
arms around his neck.

He carried me like that, out of the room and down the hall.
All the while he kissed me with a gentle sweetness that would have buckled my
knees had he not been carrying me. He took me into the master bedroom, my
bedroom, and he didn’t stop until he stood next to the big bed, where for far
too many nights, I had slept and dreamt of him. Now he was here. With me. At
last.

His grip under my thighs loosened, and my legs slowly
dropped. I slid my way down his body until my feet touched the floor. It wasn’t
yet dark outside, but it was nearing sunset, so the room was gently lit by the
remaining shafts of sunlight which filtered through the filmy curtains.

My room smelled mostly of me, of my perfume, my soaps and
lotions, my fabric softener. Florals with hints of citrus. Now, though, cutting
through the femininity, here was a different scent. The spicy scent of man, my
man, his otherness that I craved, almost searched out when my dreams left me
with unfulfilled yearnings.

He pulled his lips away from mine as his hands found their
way to the ties of my blouse. We both watched his agile fingers quickly undo
the ties, then pull the peasant blouse down below my breasts, the elastic in
the deep scoop neckline stretching to accommodate.

He leaned down and kissed the tops of my breasts while I
worked on getting my arms out of the sleeves of the blouse. Then he reached
behind me and made quick work of my bra. In moments, it was tossed aside, and
my shirt was pulled over my head, gone sailing after my bra.

He cradled and stroked my breasts, licked the areolae,
kissed my nipples. Sweet. Gentle. Loving. I sighed, shivered and blindly sought
the buttons of his shirt.

He groaned. “God, you don’t know what you do to me.”

Maybe I didn’t, but I knew what he did to me, and the
thunderous beating of my heart and the tightness in my lower belly told me that
if this man wasn’t inside of me soon, I might go half crazy. I yanked at his
buttons and somehow managed to undo them, to pull his shirt off and drop it to
the floor.

I caressed the smooth warmth of his skin, the hard plane of
his stomach, the muscled ridges of his shoulder blades, the sinews of his
shoulders.

He kissed his way down under my breasts, and his fingertips
spread fire down my chest and stomach as they slid under the waistband of my
skirt. He lowered himself until he knelt before me, and pressed his cheek
against my stomach as I tangled fingers in his dark hair.

With a smooth motion, he pulled down on the skirt, and the
elastic waist slid easily over my hips, down my thighs and calves to pool
around my feet. He wasted no time and sent my panties right behind.

His hot lips and breath played across my stomach, his tongue
flicking small licks that jolted my nerves, teasing a path to my pussy. I
inhaled sharply, shuddered as he drew ever closer to my clitoris, to this
center of what I needed.

Then he rose up, and while I groaned at the loss, he pulled
off the bedcovers then gave me a little push onto the mattress. I fell back and
scrambled into the center of the bed as he crawled over me, straddling me,
stalking his oh-so-willing prey.

I spread my legs and he crawled between them, pushing a knee
firmly against my pussy and settling himself over me. His hands pressed into
the mattress on either side of my shoulders, and he looked down into my face
with a wicked grin.

He rotated his knee against me, and I lifted my hips,
meeting him. He lowered most of his weight onto one elbow, then his free hand
reached down between my legs, cupped my pussy. My entire body twitched and I
arched against him.

My response made him grin wider. He gently wiggled his
fingers, the slightest pressure on my puffy labia, toying with my slit, his
palm resting lightly on my mound. I pushed up against him, straining for more action,
but for every inch I pushed forward, he pulled back. The tease continued.
Relentless.

I blew out a gust of air. “Please,” I said.

“Please what?”

My fingers dug into his shoulders. “You know what.”

He leaned down, licked across my lower lip. “I do. But I
love to hear you say it.”

My pulse throbbed in my neck. “Please do more.”

“More what?”

“Oh, God, Gibson. Stop teasing me. Take me already.”

His chuckle was long and low, with a darkness to it that
made me shiver. “Is this what you want?”

He pushed a finger inside my slit, gathered up the moisture
there then slowly twisted his finger inside my pussy.

Glorious, glorious yes. “Yes. That’s what I want.”

He slid his finger in and out of me with tantalizing
leisure. I clamped my muscles down around him, but I wanted ...

“More, please,” I said, and was glad it didn’t sound as
whiny as I feared it might.

“Not yet. First things first.”

His thumb pressed against my clit and I gave a little gasp.
He circled the edges of this most sensitive spot and brushed over it,
feather-like.

Once again, I pushed my hips against him, but again he
retreated as I rose. His finger moved in and out of me, combining with the
movements of his thumbs and becoming a torturous not-quite-there sensation.

Gibson’s eyes never strayed from me. He watched the tremors
in my lips, the hitching rise and fall of my chest, and my eyes. Always my
eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

My voice came out in panting bursts. “No-you-don’t.”

“You’re thinking about pushing my thumb out of the way and
taking over the task yourself.”

Damn. I nearly smiled. “Okay-you-do-know.”

“You can go ahead and do it, but I’ll take my finger out of
your pussy if you do.”

I groaned. “Fine. I won’t then.”

“Good girl.”

“But will you tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“What do I have to do to get your pants off and get you to
fuck me for real?”

He laughed then, a rumbling sensation that passed from his
torso to mine. “Excellent question.” He kissed me, a soft brush of his lips
over mine. His finger continued sliding in and out of me, his thumb tormenting
my clit.