Chapter Fifteen – Marcella

I can't believe what I've just said and as I stare at him, wondering if he'll reject me again. I don't think I could take it if he does. It isn't like me to take a risk and put my battered heart on the line. But something about this man compels me to break out of my comfort zone and listen to my gut. The fluttering inside of it is telling me if I don't make an attempt to explore my feelings for this man, I'll always regret it.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a strangled mess.

"Yes." I nod and move my other hand to slip on the other side of his strong and chiseled jawline. I've never been more sure of anything because I know he'll take care of me. Yesterday, when I was in his arms, I'd never felt safer.

He stands and moves to the hallway. Through the sliver of the window beside the heavy door, I see him on his phone. After a few tortured moments, he comes back inside.

"Troy's going to take him to lunch at the café, and I asked Carol to clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I'm all yours, Marcella. Do you feel comfortable going to my penthouse? Otherwise, I can get us a suite in the hotel."

As he says that last word, it starts to feel tawdry, and I wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. But where else would we go? He certainly can never see my beat-up trailer. Going to his place makes the most sense because we're already there. Taking in a calming breath, I stand and walk toward him until my hips are flush with his. I'm looking for a reason and searching for a sign. When I feel the pulse of his groin and the heat emanating from him, I reach out and clasp his upper arms.

"Take me upstairs."

His lips press against my forehead. "You don't know how much I want to sweep you up in my arms and carry you to the elevator, but I don't think my employees would appreciate it. They'd wonder if I'd lost my mind and we'd be the subject of gossip for weeks. You don't deserve that. All I want to do is keep you safe and make you happy."

"Just take my hand then." I slip my palm against his. His hands are so huge, and I feel so tiny standing next to him.

My mind races, and I don't know how I reach the elevator on my wobbly legs. Once the doors slide open, revealing his opulent penthouse, I realize there's no going back. I don't even have time to take in more than the hand-scraped white oak floors and the glistening chrome railing leading to a second level before he takes me in his arms and captures my lips in a searing kiss.

He lifts me into his arms. "Bedroom. I'm not taking you in the middle of the living room because I want everything to be right. And in order to do that, I need to go slow. I've got all day, and I intend to use every moment."

I nuzzle into his neck as he takes the steps two at a time. Nixon doesn't slow down until he gently deposits me on the plushest bedding I've ever felt. I didn't know luxury like this even existed. My two hundred count black and white polka dot sheets feel like sandpaper by comparison.

The mattress barely shifts as Nixon lays out on the bed beside me, and his hands seem to be everywhere at once. I feel the button of my jeans being undone and then they slide down my legs until I'm left in my t-shirt and thong. Nixon grabs the sides of my t-shirt with both hands and lifts it up over my head. Part of me wants to cover my body and hide from his hungry gaze, but another part wants to feed his lust by splaying myself out for him. We're lying in his bedroom in broad daylight, and my shyness doesn't have the luxury of darkness to keep it at bay.

"You're so beautiful," he says, reaching behind me to remove my bra in one deft movement. "Your skin, your hair…perfection."

"Mmm," I moan as he captures one of my straining nipples in his mouth, nipping and sucking until my core throbs with need.

When his hand strays down my stomach, I panic for a moment, slamming my hand on his. He chuckles and captures both of my wrists, pulling them over my head. His barely contained strength frightens and excites me all at the same time. I wonder what he's capable of, but I'm afraid I already know. He's capable of hurting me. Breaking my heart.

He's capable of everything.

His grip on my wrists is tight, unyielding. As he tugs them up, it pushes my chest outward, opening me to his gaze and his mouth.

"Trust me and never hide from me." It's a demand. I open my mouth to argue, but he captures my lips in a searing kiss that steals my words before they can see the light of day. Instead of getting angry, I kiss him back. His passion turns my normal response to ash.

"Okay." I'm not sure it's a promise I can keep. I feel like I'm going to explode out of my fevered skin as everything aches, radiating down to the juncture between my thighs. I grind against him, desperate to be closer and chase the sensation of release again.

With my hands still in his vice grip, his fingers drift lower again. Holy Mother of God, he's going to touch me there again. If I had the free use of my own hands, I might use them to cross myself just like my mom used to do before she launched into a melodramatic tirade.

"I want to kiss you here," he says.

I hiss in a breath. It's too raw, too intimate. Rays of sunlight speckled with tiny particles of dust beam in through the floor to ceiling windows, and I focus on their dancing arcs through the daylight.

"The windows…" I struggle to get the words out.

He seems to understand because he lets go of my wrists to clutch a remote control. With the touch of a button, shades lower, and we're left in a subtle glow of soft light. I lower my eyes and watch him. He's like a jaguar, all sleek lines and tactical movements. I half expect him to go into the crouch position and pounce on me, pinning me down.

Before I'm ready, he's back and in complete control. I bite my lip and wait for what's going to happen next. He knows how innocent I am, so he'll surely be gentle with me. My panties hit the floor after one swipe of his large hand.

"Much better," he croons into my ear, stopping only long enough to rain some feather soft kisses along my jawline.

I'm naked.

With a man.

It's not lost on me that I'll no longer be a virgin when I leave this room. With the strength of Nixon's passion, he might consume every inch of me.

I want to touch him too, so I put my fingers into his thick hair and hold on for dear life. He gives a little moan as I massage his scalp. His hair feels like silk underneath my fingers, and he leans into me like a cat that might start purring.

His hand drifts lower again and cups my dripping sex. I can feel my face flush because I know he feels the heat and throbbing wetness radiating from deep within. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop it.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" he whispers, continuing with the torment of his lips on my face and neck.

"Yes, but I've never…"

"Lay back," he commands, and I fall back into the pillowy softness of the down comforter. His mattress feels like a little bit of heaven. Mine is so old that even my slight weight causes it to dip in the middle whenever I crawl into bed. Staying here forever doesn't seem like a bad idea. It's luxury and comfort like I've never known. Add to it the sensations Nixon evokes, and it's a triple threat.

Nixon snakes down my body as I snuggle in deeper. For the first time in my life, I'm going to do it. Receive. I know women are supposed to be the receivers, but it seems all I've ever done is give, give, give. To my parents, my schoolwork, my wastrel brother. I've never been on the receiving of anything so good that I could become addicted.

Addicted to him.

Even though the sensations Nixon causes inside my body tempt me, I can't get attached to them. And I won't. I can never take my eye off the prize. As much as I love working with Linc and the steady paycheck it affords, I've got to get out of Las Vegas if I want to have any hope of making it on my own and stepping into the woman I know I can be. I want to be better and do better. I want to make a difference in the world. And a dangerous man with his demands and pulse-pounding pleasure is a one-way ticket to sidetracked. But for now, I'm going to allow myself one indulgence.

Then I'll leave him in the not so distant past.

It's almost like I can smell his desire. His breath. Wetness floods to my woman's core. I'm splayed out before him, and in a strained moment, I can't take the intensity and clamp my legs together.

"What's wrong?" he asks against the flesh on my stomach.

I cover my face with my hands. "You shouldn't be seeing me like this. It's daylight. It's lewd."

Nixon chuckles, causing a delicious friction on my inner thigh. "This is exactly how I should should see you," he says as his hand trails over my skin, "and touching you." The first lick up my folds just about sends me into orbit. "And tasting you. Mmm…you taste sweet like honey. I think I need more and more." He catches my hips and drags me forward, but stops there. "Look at me, Marcella."

Slowly, I lower my hands from my face and look down my body until our eyes connect. He licks, feasting on my flesh like a wild animal, never breaking eye contact. I find I can't look away either. Something about his gaze his hypnotic, like I'm his snake in the basket and he's the turbaned guy playing the lute. Nixon makes a rumbling sound of pleasure deep in the back of his throat as he licks and nips. I writhe on the bed, fisting the sheets because I need something to do with my hands.

I keen as he spreads me open to reveal the wetness within, then cry out when he presses his thumb against me. An electric shock courses through my body and I'm reaching for something higher. Bigger than me.

"You're mine, Marcella. I'm going to touch you, lick you, and suck you until you scream my name."

My eyes widen because I have no doubt of the truth in his raw words. I just hope I don't shame myself like some kind of loose hussy as I tumble over the edge. He sucks my swollen clit between his lips and begins to work it, stroking, licking, and caressing with his wicked tongue. I begin to lift my hips in time to his movements. It's inherent. I can't stop, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to. Nixon has invaded every cell, every thought, every breath.

Without warning, the pleasure I'd been experiencing multiplies until it becomes a diesel engine of nerves blowing down a track toward a derailment. My hips jerk as wondrous sensations rob me of my will. My very sanity. All my worries of looking ridiculous flee my body to be replaced by a pleasure so great I see stars.

"Nixon."

I have no idea how long I lay there, reclining on the duvet, spent and satiated as Nixon removes his clothing. Then he's over me, his lips on my neck. "I'm going to make you mine."

"Don't you—" I say, but he grabs my hands and holds them above my head.

"Shh… this time is about you, and only you. I'll go slow. Let me take care of you."

He sits back on his heels, and I cast my eyes downward, wanting to see his body, then wished I hadn't. He's long and thick, and panic hits me. Can my petite body take him all without splitting in half? As I watch, he rolls a condom down his length before settling between my legs again. The head of his cock nudges my dripping wet opening, demanding entrance. I clamp my eyes shut, anticipating the pain.

The first few seconds wield only pleasure, a full stretching of my body that sends a shiver of delight up my spine. In that moment, I know what all the fuss is about. All the secretive and clandestine talk back in high school involving prom queens and their football heroes. But then a burst of pain rockets through me as pushes deeper.

Nixon must have been gauging my expression because he stills inside me. "Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod. "There shouldn't be any more pain, Marcella, and I promise to make this feel as good as my fingers and mouth."

I shiver as my body flexes and pulses around him. He's right. The pleasure returns to overtake any pain I'd felt. It's already a distant memory. "You feel good."

"You're like nirvana, Marcella. You're so tight and wet," he says on a moan once he's fully seated inside me. He's still holding my hands above my head, and I want to wrap them around his back and keep him close. I feel like I can't get close enough. But I don't because I've already learned it's best to capitulate to his demands. The time will come for me to explore him and have my own way, but that won't happen today.

"It feels so good," I say on a gasp as he begins to move, rotating his hips as he drives inside me again and again.

Reaching between us, Nixon lets go with one hand and thumbs my clit, taking me ever closer to the cliff. He thrusts again, taking, claiming, and stroking until I don't know where he ends and I begin. I feel like we're one unit, moving together, connected in the deepest way possible.

I feel nothing but an oblivion of pleasure as I explode beneath him. Nixon isn't far behind, his face contorting into a mask of bliss as he shudders through his own release, crying out my name as he finally lets go and I grab the back of his neck.

It's done. I'm Nixon's in a way I never thought possible, and there's no going back.