CHAPTER TWO
POV: Roman
My cock jumps at the sight of Harper’s mouth open around nothing, as per my instruction.
I have her with knees pulled apart in my private suite, her wrists bound to the headboard with black silk. She’s breathing like she’s afraid it’ll be taken from her if she’s too loud.
She hasn’t made a sound in three minutes.
I take a fistful of her hair and pull gently, just enough to elicit a soft cry from her. "Let's get you more comfortable, baby girl."
I crouch at the foot of the bed once again, fully clothed. My fingers are wet with her juices, the aftermath of surging in and out of her, just as I know she likes it.
I haven’t touched her with my cock, despite the ache gnawing away at my brain. I won’t let her touch me either. I want her to lose it first.
“You used your little role to tease me, expose your slutty desires, and now I'm going to make it a reality for you.”
I hesitate. I can’t help but admire the way her tits spill out on either side. Her nipples are so hard. I reach out again, drawing patterns on her sensitive throat and down to her chest with a single finger, watching her shudder in breathless anticipation.
I trail my fingers down her arms and one breast, watching her skin bounce as her breathing picks up pace. I tease her nipples by brushing them before pinching them both gently between my fingers, rolling them back and forth until she’s gasping for air.
"You like that, don't you, slut?" I whisper, my voice thick with desire.
I lean down, nipping her ear with my teeth, and she whimpers softly. I trail a hand down the length of her body, goosebumps multiplying in my wake. Her breath hitches as I take my fingers to her thighs at last.
“Don’t close them.”
She tries to obey. Barely manages it.
“I said don’t,” I repeat, sharper now.
“I—sorry—”
“You’re not sorry yet.”
She’s soaked. I haven’t given her permission to come. Not even once. Every time she nears the edge, I pull away. I make her wait.
“Roman, please.”
“You talk when I ask you something. Not before.”
I move closer. Her ankles twitch as I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh—slow, just pressure, nowhere near where she needs it. Then I speak low, just against her skin.
“You came here because you want this,” I say. “You got in the car knowing exactly what this was.”
She nods fast, lips trembling.
“Tell me what you want.”
“To come.”
“Then say it like you mean it.”
“I want to come,” she breathes. “Please.”
I slide one finger over her clit—soft, rhythmic strokes—and her legs jerk. I hold her down with my free hand, wrist pinned to her hipbone.
Harper parts her lips in a sharp gasp, looking up at me. She lets out a soft, breathy moan as I push my hand harder against her. The sound of her needy moans sink into my brain, lowering my self-control.
“I decide when you’re done,” I tell her.
She cries out, and I don’t stop.
I press my mouth inside her at last, tongue working until she gasps. Her whole body tightens. She’s there. And I hold her there for too long.
Her hips stutter. She sobs with pleasure.
Still, I don’t stop sucking and slurping.
She’s shaking now. Her thighs twitch under my grip. I keep my mouth on her, slow and deliberate, until her cries break down into gasps she’s trying—and failing—to swallow.
She doesn’t ask again.
She begs with her body, pushes herself into my mouth, rocking my tongue with her hips. And that’s what I wanted.
I press two fingers against her clit while I hold her hips down and flick against her clit with pressure. Tight, perfect rhythm. Her moans grow even harder.
She’s right on the edge again.
I slow, just to watch her break.
As I do, I catch a glimpse of my handwork, her entrance twitching ever so slightly for more of me.
I draw in a breath, struggling with the need of having my cock buried in those wet pussy lips and tight ass.
“Don’t,” she whimpers, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop again—”
I lean up, my mouth just beside her ear. “You’re not done until I say so.”
She whines, breath catching on every word. “Roman, please…”
I chuckle, licking her wetness off my lips. “You like being used for my entertainment like this?”
She nods. Her cheeks are soaked now. She’s not hiding it.
“Say it.”
“I like it,” she chokes. “I—like how you do it. I can’t—do it like this alone—”
I move back between her thighs and my fingers and tongue go harder this time. She tries to twist, can’t. Her wrists are bound, and she’s exactly where I want her.
I don’t give her the chance to beg again. I make her come. Hard.
Her entire body bows like it’s being dragged upward by the force of it. Her legs jerk. Her mouth’s open, no sound at first. Then a scream. Raw, from the gut.
Still, I don’t stop.
I ride her through the aftershocks with my tongue until she’s crying for real—shoulders shaking, tears streaking her face.
Now I slow down. I lean over her, untying her wrists one at a time. Her hands drop limply to her sides.
She blinks up at me like she’s not sure where she is. Her chest is rising fast, lips parted, chin wet from sweat and tears.
She doesn’t say anything.
She doesn’t need to.
I lie down beside her, fully clothed, and press the inside of my palm to her stomach very lightly.
She turns her head slightly toward me. I don’t look at her.
This wasn’t supposed to feel this close.
I was just going to break her in. Let her learn how to come the right way. My way. But watching her unravel like that—
I don’t feel power. I feel something worse.
Want.
“Don’t speak,” I tell her. She doesn’t. She curls into my side, barely touching. I let her stay there longer than I should.