My cock strained painfully against my suit pants, demanding attention I refused to give it. No matter how desperately I wanted release, I wouldn't take care of myself in my office like some desperate teenager. Not when I had every intention ofgoing home to bury myself inside the woman currently putting on this exquisite show.
On screen, Cecelia's movements became more frantic, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pushed herself closer to the edge. I leaned toward the phone, utterly captivated by her pleasure, by the vulnerability and power she displayed simultaneously. She was giving herself over to this completely, knowing I was watching.
When she came, her whole body tensed before her back arched off the couch. For a moment, she was perfectly still, suspended in that exquisite space between tension and release. Then she collapsed back against the cushions, her chest heaving with rapid breaths.
I thought the show was over, but Cecelia had one more surprise in store. Maintaining unwavering eye contact with the camera, she slowly brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean.
The sight nearly broke me.
“Fuck,” I swore again as my cock throbbed insistently. I could end this torture now, free myself from these restricting pants, and find relief with the memory of her performance fresh in my mind.
But no. That wasn't what I wanted.
I wanted her. Under me, over me, around me. I wanted to taste the lingering traces of her pleasure, wanted to feel her body yield to mine, to watch her face as she came apart again—this time with my cock buried deep inside her.
I stood, adjusting myself as best I could, and reached for my jacket. The Goldman account could wait. My father's threats could wait. Everything could fucking wait.
I was going home to fuck my wife.
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 aforce 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 handsgripped my waist with bruising intensity as he laved his tongue over the sensitive peak before sucking it back into his mouth.
