The Submissive's Last Word (The Power to Please #4) (20 page)

I loved him.

A few hours later, after a short nap and a leisurely shower,
we sat side by side in bed, munching on some cookies from my nightstand stash.

Gibson brushed at the crumbs on his chest. “I never eat in
bed. I hate crumbs in the sheets.”

“That’s okay. We’ll get them all out when we’re done.”

“You can never get them all out.”

“Aw, are you like the prince and the pea? Super sensitive,
your highness?”

“I don’t see why you have all that food up here. We could
have gone to the kitchen.”

“Yes,” I said, “but isn’t it more fun to eat in bed?”

He reached over and picked a few crumbs off the top of my
breast. “It does have one advantage.”

His touch sent my nipple into an insta-hard state. He didn’t
fail to notice. He grinned and took a big bite of his cookie, finishing it off.

Cocky male. Had to admit it looked good on him. I nibbled on
the last of my own cookie and enjoyed being watched.

“Seriously, I have wondered why you have all this food up
here,” he said.

“It’s kind of stupid.”

“I won’t think you’re stupid. Tell me.”

“It’s because I don’t like walking to the kitchen by myself
at night. It’s a long way and it’s kind of creepy at night. Like I said, it’s
stupid.”

He looked at me with a serious expression. “It’s not stupid.
You shouldn’t be afraid in your own home. What can I do to make it feel safe to
you?”

“Nothing. I just need to get used to this big place.”

“I forget how new it is for you because you seem to take
everything in stride. Is anything else bothering you?”

The first thing that sprung to mind was Gibson’s continued,
odd night-time workouts, but I didn’t say it. “I can’t get used to other people
washing my underwear.”

He laughed. “I can see how that would be a hard one. What
else?”

“It’s weird not doing my own grocery shopping. But don’t get
me wrong, I don’t miss it. Kind of like scrubbing toilets. I don’t miss that,
either.”

He laughed again. “So you’re adjusting, then, for the most
part.”

“I am. How about you? Are you adjusting to having me
underfoot all the time?”

His gaze fell softly on me, and his expression was fond and
tender. “Definitely.”

I leaned over and kissed him, enjoying the sweet taste of
the cookies on his lips, and the sweetness that was naturally his.

We snuggled then, and made out, no rush or hurry, no
destination in mind. Just kissing and touching and enjoying being with one
another, enjoying the leisure of unlimited time to explore, taste and savor one
another.

Eventually, I recognized his arousal, his hard cock ready for
me again. And it made me want it again.

I whispered into his ear, letting my warm breath tease him.
“I want you to take me again. Fuck my ass, Gibson.”

His hand cupped my ass cheek. “You’re sore.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. So no.”

“I’m fine. It won’t harm me, will it?”

“No. But it’ll hurt worse than before.”

I pulled back from him, looked into his frowning face. “I
told you. I don’t care if it hurts. It will still be good.”

“Nonnie, you wouldn’t get any pleasure out of it.”

“Yes I would. Don’t try to tell me that you don’t want to.”
I pushed his hand between my ass cheeks. “I know you do.”

He pulled his hand away and sat up straight. “That’s
irrelevant. I know better than you, and you’re in no shape right now for me to
use you again.”

I tried a sexy smile and ran my fingers down his chest.
“You’re wrong about what’s irrelevant. What it’s like for me doesn’t matter.
I’m telling you that I want to do this. For you.”

“It’s not necessary. You’ve given me more than enough.”

“Do it again.”

“No.”

“Come on. Imagine. I want you to use me hard again. Hard and
fast. I can take —”

He grabbed my hand which I’d slipped down to dick level.
“No. It’s not going to happen. Stop it, now.”

I frowned, yanked at my hand. What had begun as playfulness,
on my part at any rate, was rapidly changing into something else. “Why?”

“Because I said no.”

“Why? It should be up to me.”

“It’s not, though.”

“I’m the one who’d be dealing with the pain, so it damned
well should be up to me.”

“And yet it’s not.”

I sat back on my haunches, studied his implacable
expression. “You’re pissing me off.”

“I sorry to hear it, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“So let me get this straight. You’d like to fuck my ass
again, and I want you to fuck me, but you won’t, because I probably won’t be
able to come. Have I got it right?”

“That’s basically it.”

“But I don’t care if I come.”

“I care. If you can’t come, then it’s too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Too much for you.”

I truly didn’t understand what his problem was. “I’m the one
who says when something is too much for me.”

“Not necessarily.”

“You make no sense.”

He inhaled deeply. “Look. Let’s just go to sleep. I don’t
know about you, but I think the moment has passed anyway.”

“No. I want to know what you mean when you say that I’m not
the judge of what I can and can’t take.”

“Nonnie,” he said, his features softening, “please don’t
turn this into a big argument. Just accept that I know what’s best. You don’t
have much experience and should —”

“Oh, I’m getting a pretty good idea that this isn’t about my
experience level, Gibson. I’m getting the feeling that this is about something
else entirely.”

“You’re blowing it out of proportion.”

“I’m not. You’re acting like I’m a twit with no sense.”

“I don’t think you’re a twit.”

I got out of bed and stalked off to the bathroom where I
poured myself a glass of water. I took my time drinking, trying to get my
temper under control and put my thoughts in order. When I returned to the bed,
Gibson was still sitting as I’d left him, his face the old enigmatic mask I
hadn’t seen in a long while.

I stood beside the bed. “You believe you’re protecting me.”

“I know I am.”

“From myself.”

“If necessary.”

He was shut down tight. It would take a mighty effort to
tear off that mask in order to make my point. And suddenly, I felt tired, and
sad, and not altogether up to the effort it would entail. My shoulders sagged.

What had gone so wrong to turn one of the best nights of my
life into this mess? I didn’t want to fight with Gibson, ever. I only wanted to
give him what he wanted. And tonight, he wanted me to deny him.

So then, I would grant him his wish. For tonight. But only
because it was late, and I was confused, wasn’t sure how to make sense of this.
And only because I’d realized tonight that I loved him. Deeply, truly loved
him.

I sat down next to him on the bed, stroked my fingers down
his rigid cheek. “Okay, Gibson. If that’s what you want. Let’s go to sleep.”

And I thought I’d made the right choice when I saw the mask
fall away to reveal his relief at my acquiescence.

He took my hand, kissed the tips of my fingers. “Come here.”

I let him turn off the lights, then pull me down and rest my
head on his chest, my arm slung over his stomach, the blankets loose over our
forms. I felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing, heard the gentle thumping
of his heart.

But I didn’t fall asleep for a long while. I don’t believe
he did either, though neither of us spoke again.

The next day was Saturday and I spent a good portion of it
in my studio, alone, sketching and thinking about what happened the night
before. I prized my studio, the bright light pouring in the big windows, the
big, open space of it. This was the only place in the mansion that was all
mine, and I would have treasured it for that fact even had there been nothing
else to recommend it.

Gibson and I didn’t speak much at breakfast, or at lunch,
mostly just talking of simple matters, like the news in the paper, or what our
plans were for the day. It was an unacknowledged awkwardness that had never
been between us before.

I sensed it was my fault, that Gibson would have been
perfectly happy sweeping it all aside and proceeding as if we hadn’t had a near
blowout argument. The stiffness began with me, and he was only reacting, I
felt, to the signals I was sending out.

And I was most definitely stiff. The more I thought about
the things he said the night before, the more concerned I became.

I sketched a pile of dead leaves, rocks, vines and evergreen
branches I had scavenged from the estate and had arranged in the center of the
studio. The chaotic nature of it attracted me, left my mind free to simply draw
what it saw, the haphazard lines with no meaning, or reason.

And in the meanwhile, I relived the conversation with
Gibson.

He believed he was protecting me. From myself.

I wasn’t a child. I knew what I wanted, what I could handle.
It was one thing to protect me from others, but from myself? The more I thought
about it, the more insulted I became, the more I wanted to track him down and
give him hell.

But I loved him, and that softened my response, made me
consider an option I might have otherwise missed.

Maybe he didn’t understand what I was capable of. He
mentioned my inexperience. And though it seemed to me like I had plenty of
experience now, I recognized that he might not see it the way I did.

He never understood about what happened with Michael in that
shower. And I never told him about what came later. He didn’t realize that it
was incredibly erotic for me, particularly in the days which followed.

I craved to have that experience with Gibson, to have him
take from me selfishly, entirely serving his own needs and barely registering
my own. I longed for him to think of himself, and I understood on a deep level
that it would be an incredible experience, would eclipse what I felt with
Michael. I would soar from it, probably during the act itself, but most
assuredly afterward.

I thought about the times I’d seen that certain look in
Gibson’s eye, the dangerous one, the predator, and I trembled at the memory. I
considered how every time I saw it, it didn’t last, how he shut it down, nearly
immediately.

He didn’t understand. That had to be it. I needed to manage
my emotions, stop being annoyed and offended and recognize that this was all a
big misunderstanding.

If I explained it, then he’d get it. And he’d quit insulting
me with his overprotectiveness.

And maybe he’d let the predator come out and play.

For that reward, I could let go of practically any anger.

Charity served our dinner then left us alone. I looked down
at the lobster salad on my plate. She had made this for me tonight, I knew,
because I had complimented her on the dish once.

Now, the lobster seemed too rich, too much. I had a passing
longing for one of the old frozen low-cal dinners I used to eat when I lived
alone in my apartment. Maybe I would buy a few. Surely I could find some unused
space in one of the huge freezers in the kitchen.

I poked at the greens of the salad. I glanced over at
Gibson. He was intently studying his wine glass, swirling the liquid round and
round.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“About what?”

“Last night of course.”

“I thought that was settled.”

“You’re lying.”

He sighed, set down his glass. “I should have said that I
hoped it was settled.”

“Well it’s not. I need to talk about it. Get things
straightened out.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands over his
stomach. “Then by all means ... talk.”

I ignored what I perceived as placating behavior. “You
shouldn’t leave a fight unsettled. We need to work it out.”

“I wasn’t aware we’d had a fight.”

“Fine then. A disagreement. Or maybe a misunderstanding. One
thing’s for sure, you don’t understand me.”

“Explain.”

“Okay.” I tossed my napkin over my salad. “You don’t know
what I can do. What I can take for you. What I want to take for you.”

“I know what you want, but I think you’re overreaching.”

“You’re wrong. I think you’re babying me because of what
happened with Michael. You think I’m still fragile or something. I’m not. You
don’t have to treat me like I’m breakable.”

“I know you’re strong, Nonnie. I simply disagree about what
you’re ready for.”

“And I disagree that you have any idea of what my limits
are, what I’m capable of doing for you.”

“It’s not necessary that you go to herculean lengths. I’m
perfectly satisfied with our sex life as it is.”

I tamped down my growing frustration, picked up my wine
glass and took a few sips while I ordered my thoughts. “I’m not complaining,
Gibson. I’m simply saying there could be more, that there should be more. Last
night, for instance, you didn’t need to check yourself. You could have taken me
again. I would have been fine.”

“We’ve already been over that ground.”

“I know, but you’re not listening to me. I’m not a child
that you have to protect from itself. I’m a fully-grown woman who knows what
she wants. I’m trying hard not to be offended by your overbearing attitude.”

“I’m your dominant, Nonnie. It’s my role to protect you, to
be overbearing if necessary.”

“Then stop being my dominant for a minute and just be my
partner. Open your mind and listen to what I’m saying.”

“I can’t stop being your dominant. But I am listening. I’m
just not changing my opinion the way you want.”

I gritted my teeth. “You’re perfectly satisfied with our sex
life the way it is.”

“I am.”

“You wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”