“Ohmigod,” I cry out, his rough touch and crass words doing the craziest things to me.
“Would you?” he asks, his finger still unmoving inside me, like it’s some kind of cruel punishment. I try to buck forward, try to drive him in deeper, damn near ready to lose my mind, but he grips my hips and holds me still, a knowing grin on his face.
“I would totally hate it,” I say.
“How much?” he asks.
“I guess I don’t really know. I guess you might have to do it before I can put a measurement on it.”
“Hell,” he growls, his mouth skimming my body as he sinks to his knees. He grips the elastic on my cotton sleep shorts and drags them down, just enough to expose my sex. He inhales me deeply, then exhales and my muscles contract as his hot, shuddering breath strokes my clit. He stares at my sex with heat and hunger, and he wets his lips as he parts me with his finger.
“Jesus Christ, Peyton.” Tortured eyes glance up at me. “So damn perfect,” he says, and I vibrate beneath his admiration. “This sweet little pussy...” He shakes his head as he strokes along the length of me. I practically orgasm and when he glances up at me again, it’s clear he knows how desperate I am for it. “Have you been touched before?”
“Barely.”
“Why?” he asks.
Oh, because you’re the only man I ever really wanted to touch me. “The truth is, Roman, my one and only time was with a sloppy college boy who didn’t know his way around my body.” I take in Roman’s dark eyes and everything tells me he’s a man who knows just how to stroke all the spots that will bring me pleasure. “Guys never really paid attention to me, and that was okay by me because I didn’t really want to be touched after that experience,” I add honestly. It’s true—guys didn’t want me and I didn’t want to be touched, unless it was by this man. I keep that bit of information to myself.
His eyes lock on mine. “You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.”
“To see how much you hate it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll touch you, Peyton.” His fingers sweep over my damp curls. “I’ll touch this sweet little pussy until you’re screaming my name in orgasm, but I have a condition.”
“What?” I ask as he moves his finger a tiny inch. I whimper and put my hands on his shoulder as my flesh tightens.
“I don’t want you to just tell me how much you hate it. I want you to show me, too.”
Fire licks through me. The man wants me to open up for him, bloom under his touch. “I can do that,” I say.
“Good girl,” he says, and I’m rewarded with the rest of his finger. He slides it all the way into my body, and I whimper.
“One more thing, and we need to make this clear.”
“What?” I ask, pretty sure I’d agree to running through fire naked to get him to keep going.
“This is all I can give you.”
“Trust me, Roman. I don’t want more. No kids or family for me. I am not a girl you have to worry about,” I say, eager to settle his worries. I am not going down any road—or aisle—with him, and don’t want anything in return.
I try to widen my legs, but my shorts hug them tightly together, and damned if that doesn’t come with its own excitement. As lust floods my body, something niggles at me. “I need one thing from you,” I whimper.
“Just one.” He ever so lightly moves his finger inside me, tease that he is.
“Maybe more,” I say, my body on hyperdrive, but we’re about to cross a line that neither of us can come back from. Yes, I’m seducing him. In the end, however, I don’t want to be with him if it’s something he’ll never forgive himself for. “Promise me this. No regrets, Roman.”
“Peyton.” His hot breath washes over my tingling flesh. “I’ve struggled enough. Keeping my distance from you has been pure torture.” My pulse jumps at the admission. An agonized groan catches in his throat. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says, his control snapping like a tightwire.
“Can’t?”
“Don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to, either,” I say, and touch his face. “Okay, no regrets. After I sign the contract, we go back to the way things were. A clean slate, okay?”
“Deal.”
“You know, though. You know what I think I’d really hate,” I say.
“No, what?”
“I would probably really hate it if you shoved me to my knees and put your cock in my mouth.”
“Sweet hell,” he grumbles under his breath. “We’re going to find out, right after I devour this barely touched pussy of yours and watch you hate every damn second of it.”
Yes, please.
He slides his wet tongue over me, and I let loose a loud moan, my fingers digging into his shoulder. “Oh, yeah,” I murmur. “I hate that so much.”
His chuckle races over my skin, and my entire body quivers. I move my hips to ride his tongue and this time he lets me. His thick, slick finger slides in and out of me, and I shut my eyes as pleasure dances along my nerve endings.
He flattens his tongue and swipes it over my clit, long leisurely strokes, every movement unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to simply give pleasure. I whimper and move and grind against his mouth. I’m shameless, I know. But goddammit, the man has a magical tongue. A second finger joins the first, stretching me in the most glorious ways. I moan in response, showing him just how much I hate it.
He draws my clit into his mouth. “Ooh,” I say, a hard tremble working its way through my body. I run my hands through his hair, tug on it as he slides his fingers in and out of me. I lose myself in the sensations, so damn wet and slick as he penetrates me, pounding a little harder, I struggle to hang on, never wanting this moment to end.
With his fingers still inside me, he tugs my shorts down and nudges me backward until I hit the bed. He manipulates my body, moving me around easily until I’m on the mattress, my legs spread wide, my body his for the taking.
“Do you hate this?” he asks, his fingers soaked as he pulls them out.
“God, yes,” I cry out.
“Take your top off,” he demands in a soft voice. “Let me see your tits.”
I quiver at his bluntness and remove my shirt. My pink nipples are hard, and he adjusts his hand to apply his palm to my clit as he lifts his head to take one hard bud into his mouth.
“Roman,” I cry out as his fingers resume their pounding and he sucks on me. My muscles clench around his fingers, the glorious things he’s doing to me shutting down my brain until all I can do is feel: his fingers pounding, his palm rubbing and his mouth devouring my nipple. I call his name again and judging by the way his muscles clench, it’s easy to tell he likes the sound of it on my lips. “I hate this,” I say, and he bites down on my nipple, pain and pleasure mingle, bleed into one, and I lift my hips, sensations zeroing in on my sex as my body explodes.