22. Elizabeth
TWENTY-TWO
ELIZABETH
ROMAN IS JUST A MAN.
Flesh. Bones. Beauty.
That's the mantra I've been repeating to myself in order to mentally prepare for entering his building. For daring to be alone with him in his uber-masculine presence. You would imagine that I could control my internal systems when I am in front of this man, but my circulatory system has a mind of its own.
My blood is racing.
My pulse pounding.
And there's a scary ass Alaskan Malamute named Mr. Tibbs staring me down like I'm a piece of chicken (and not in the good way!), while I am sitting in Roman's living room with my mouth closed, my knees shut, and my eyes completely mesmerized by his inked back. This is not the first time that I have seen him without a shirt on, but to say that Roman's body is a feast for the eyes is an understatement. I love looking at him every single time. He's like a Christmas present that has been carefully unwrapped for my viewing pleasure. A treat for the eyes.
Roman is distracted with something when he answers the door in nothing but a pair of snug-fitting, worn jeans that hang low on his waist and a cell phone in his hand. That's probably why he didn't notice how I practically lose my breath, when I look at how his chiseled pecs flex as he motions for me to come in.
But there's something about a man's back, especially this man's back. A broad, strong one with sloped shoulders that looks and probably feels as if it could carry the weight of the world across it. Magnificently adorned with an intricate and patterned tattoo that covers the entire span of it. I've never seen anything like it in my life, and it is on full display as he moves his way around his professionally designed stainless steel kitchen, brewing some sort of latte concoction. Something with chocolate, espresso, milk and a dash of rum or some sort of alcohol. Something which is probably going to taste just as delicious as he looks.
From what I know about Roman so far, I realize that with certain things; he goes about them with a great deal of calculation. He wouldn't be making this drink if he hadn't perfected the recipe. He wouldn't have asked me to come here if he didn't have a very specific reason, and it's certainly not to take a look at his computer.
Like I told myself earlier, this is a terrible idea. I'm not sure why I still came here. I ended up having a good time chatting with Jagger earlier at Java. It was easy. He doesn't intimidate me the way Roman does. He doesn't challenge every frackin' thing I say the way that Roman does. Our conversation wasn't filled with uncomfortable sexual tension or him dragging me to the back and shoving his fingers in my vagina.
We talked about his upcoming swim trials, my app, his little sister, and my cat back home. I only asked him one thing about Ethan, even though I promised Sloan I wouldn't. I just couldn't help it. Although it's obvious that we are definitely done, I'll always be curious about just how deep Ethan was into drugs and exactly what kind of trouble he brought upon my doorstep that night. I also wanted to get an idea of just how completely far my head was buried underneath the sand.
"I don't know much, Elizabeth. I just know that he's been doing drugs and was selling drugs on campus for at least a year. His parents knew about it, at least about the using, but they didn't want to wreck his swimming eligibility by putting him in rehab in the middle of the season."
"Did you know about any of this before the assault at my place, Jagger?"
He sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you. I knew a little about what Ethan was into. Everybody did, but I had no idea he was involved with dealers like that."
When I thought back to certain conversations between Ethan and I, certain nights out, there were definitely red flags. Every time I thought something was off between us, it was probably because he was high, and I just didn't know what being high looked like. I didn't even start really drinking wine until well after I turned twenty-one.
"Do you think they'll come after me again ... those men?"
Jagger picks up one of my hands gently. "No, they weren't after you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They followed him to your house, but they didn't target you specifically. Plus, they got their pound of flesh already. They wanted to teach Ethan a lesson and they did. It's over. Don't worry,” he says sweetly.
A soft ballad plays through a Bluetooth speaker in Roman's living room, which snaps me back to reality.
"I think you'll like this, Duchess."
Roman turns and hands me a cream-colored mug with gold around the rim. It's hot to the touch. I sip it carefully, so I won't burn my tongue. It's absolutely delicious, like I knew it would be. I still don't say much of anything, because there's a heart wrenching song playing through his sound system that I find myself listening attentively to. I'm not familiar with the group, but they are provocatively singing about seduction, passion, and pain.
"How is it?" Roman asks as he sits down carefully next to me with a matching mug of his own. "As good as
Java's?"
When he relaxes on the couch next to me, Mr. Tibbs finally relaxes and goes to lie down in what seems to be his special corner of the room. Thank God.
"Better. It's delicious."
He nods with satisfaction, takes a sip from his mug, then carefully places it down on the coffee table. I can't help but stare at his hands when he does. They're big and strong like the rest of Roman, and they're very close to the hem of my flouncy skirt, so I press my knees together even tighter. He's being too polite. Too nice. I don't trust it. I don't trust myself.
"I want to know something, Duchess."
He holds my eyes steady with his own.
I swallow hard.
"What is it?"
"This."
He takes his hand and glides it slowly under my skirt and between my legs while never taking his eyes off of me.
"Open,” he commands softly, and I obey.
His fingers gently rub across the seam of the lace trim of my bikini panties several times and then as my eyelids grow heavy, they carefully slide the crotch of my panties to the side.
By this point my eyes are closed for probably several reasons. One being that I can't believe that I'm allowing him to do this ... again. Another being that it feels so good that I wish he'd never stop.
Suddenly his fingers stop moving, and like a switch my lids flick open.
"First, I need you to hand me the mug," he instructs me in a very thick voice. So I place it on the side table as he nods in approval.
"Second, I need you to keep your eyes wide open and on me."
I swallow slowly, as if there's a thick piece of caramel candy sliding down my throat.
"Third–" Then his fingers start methodically moving again up and around but never directly against my clit. "You're soaking wet."
I instinctively clamp my legs shut. He stops moving his fingers again and smiles.
"It's ok. I was just checking, Duchess."
The smug bastard slides the crotch of my panties back in its rightful position and gives the top of my pussy two soft pats before sliding my skirt back in place. If it's even humanly possible, I got even wetter and my throat tighter.
He stands up and holds his hand out to mine. "Let's dance."
What. The. Frack.
I don't even know how I can possibly dance to an emotionally charged song like this after what just happened. He's playing head games with me. I may not be the most experienced player on the block, but I know when I'm outmatched.
"I don't dance." I keep my arms tight to my sides.
"We danced at my father's party."
"That was different."
"You swayed those hips like a pro in The Lotus before everything went down."
It just dawns on me. "Was that you in the corner?" I ask with a whisper. "Watching me that night?"
He smiles and grabs my hand to pull me up.
"This is one of my favorite songs." Is all he says in response. "Come on."
"Well, was it you?"
He exhales slowly in frustration with me. "I told you I spotted you the moment you entered the club, did I not?"
When he grabs my waist and stares down at me, I reluctantly raise my arms and stretch them around his neck. Clasping my hands together. He pulls me in a little further to him and I smell chocolate, coffee and him. So I do the only thing a girl could do in this position who's losing herself to distraction. I rest the side of my face against his naked chest and sway to the hypnotic melody of the song and the singer.
I've never felt so warm, and so wanted. Like I'm exactly in the place where I'm supposed to be.
Actually, I'm in a shitload of trouble.
When the song ends, Roman takes a seat on his sofa and pulls me down next to him. With one arm around my shoulder, he uses the other to pick up the remote and turn the flat screen on.
"Not much on in the middle of a Saturday. Want to order a movie?"
He's fingering some of my hair with his free hand.
"I'm supposed to be taking a look at your desktop, remember?"
"We've got plenty of time for that. Finish your latte."
He leans across me and hands me my mug. The maneuver is obvious. The entire span of his bare torso is in front of my face. If his objective is to tempt me enough to want to lick his chest, he's damn close to mission accomplished.
"Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
He chuckles.
"Pick a movie or else we'll do an activity of my choosing."
"I want to talk instead,” I say.
"About?"
"I need some dating advice."
Roman unwraps his arm from around my shoulder and lifts my chin up to look directly in his eyes.
"For dating who?"
I nervously clear my throat. "After coffee today, Jagger asked me out on a date. I said yes but then he said he'd call me to firm up an exact date and time."
"You said yes,” he repeats in an icy tone. "Elizabeth, I just had my hand inbetween your legs not longer than five minutes ago."
"I like him. He's ... easy."
"And what am I, Elizabeth?"
"You're…my cousin."
"I'm your what?"
Roman starts to slide his hand back underneath my skirt and along the inside of my thigh.
"Your what?" he asks again.
His fingers skillfully slide under the side of my panties and then he rips them apart with a single firm tug.
"Roman, please." I beg prayerfully.
"Your. What.” He repeats in a husky voice that's filled with promise of more to come.
He slides one of his fingers inside me, and I inhale harshly from the sudden but welcome intrusion.
I hate how wet I am.
I hate that he knows how my body responds so willingly to his voice and his touch.
There is no hiding between us. I'm unable to feign discomfort at the fact that we're cousins, because my body betrays me every frackin' time. My body is doing all the talking and it's saying, "who gives a shit."
"What's my name, Duchess?"
"Roman, I–"
"Uh-uh. That's not what you call me." I think for a minute. Oh...
"Masterson."
"That's right, baby. My dick gets so hard when you call me Masterson. When you call out my name in a few minutes, that's the name I better hear."
I close my eyes as he gives me that visual. Me calling out his name. And I get even wetter.
"Open those beautiful fucking eyes, Duchess. I want them on me. I want to watch them tear up when I make you fall apart for me again. Eyes. On. Me."
He slides a second finger in. Pumping them rhythmically in and out of my core with the deep precision of a pro. How he talks to me, what he's doing to me, it's all so ridiculously addictive. I want more. I need more.
"Please–"
"Shhh, Duchess. When it's time for you to beg, I'll tell you baby."
Then he stops completely.
I watch him with bated breath as he gets down on the floor on his knees directly in front of me and stares at me with great intensity before he speaks again. I can feel my heartbeat all the way up in the middle of my throat.
"Ask me what I plan on doing with your body,
Duchess."
My breaths are shallow. "What do you mean–"
"I gave you clear direction. Take it. I said to ask me what I plan on doing with your body."
Oh God.
"Whaaa ... what do you plan on doing with my body, Masterson?"
He smiles wickedly.
"I'm going to have you lift up this pretty skirt all the way to your waist, and you're lucky I don't tear this fucking thing to shreds, because I know you wore it specifically for the swimmer. Nevertheless, you're going to lift that skirt up high for me. Then ask me what comes next, Duchess."
Both of his hands are under my skirt now. Kneading my thighs and the crease of where my thighs meet my hips. Thumbs rubbing all around the outside of my labia. It feels a bit like torture and a lot like heaven. When I open my mouth to respond, nothing but soft moans escape.
"Ask me, Duchess." He says again as my massage becomes firmer and deeper, just like the bass in his voice.
"What are you going to do next?" I manage to get out.
"I'm going to spread your legs wide while you stretch your arms across the back of the sofa and you're going to keep them there. Now ask me what's next, Masterson."
"What's next?" I gasp as my head falls back as he starts to softly kiss the inside of my knees. I know it's just a matter of time before he starts working his way up. Roman seems to really enjoy being between my legs, but not more than I like him being there. I'm aching for him. I need to come.
He stops all movement again, and I would yell out of utter aggravation if I didn't think it would inspire him to do something far worse. I think he's taking great pleasure in this game of denying me.
"You forgot the last part of that question, Duchess."
Wait what?! Oh...
"Masterson." I smile.
Of course. He loves it when I call him by his last name.
"You're fucking up, Duchess. Start over from the beginning."
This time he grabs both of my nipples through my shirt and rolls them tightly between his thumbs and pointer fingers. A most delicious distraction that takes the orgasm that was already slowly building and rolling it straight front and center. I'm about to come hard.
That's when his hands and body back completely away from me.
I want to cry and then kick him straight in the gut for stopping.
"I have one rule, Duchess. Your orgasms belong to me. You'll come when I tell you to come."
I take a second to get control of my breathing as the immediate need to come subsides.
"Lets try this shit again. What do I want to hear?"
"What are you going to do next with my body, Masterson?" I ask in the most business-like tone I can muster.
"That's what I wanted to hear. You're learning. Next I'm going to get a good hold of that beautiful ass of yours, lift you high while you hold on tight, and eat what's mine."
At this point, I'm trying my damnedest to hold off the orgasm that is roaring back like a lioness. No, like a damn dragon. I don't know what his kinky ass might do if I come before he says so. Still kneeling on the floor; he moves close to me again and settles in between my legs.
"Lift your pretty yellow skirt up to your waist, baby."
I can't believe that I'm following his orders, that I'm really doing this, but I can't imagine doing anything else at this moment. I want this. I want him.
"Now spread your knees wide and don't close them again, or I'm going to have to spank that pretty ass."
It's taking everything for me not to allow my head to fall back on the couch. The sensations that are bombarding me are overwhelming. Looking at a man dead in his eyes while you're spread completely open is not an easy task or for the faint of heart. I'm exposed in a way that makes me both excited and uncomfortable. Both are emotions that seem to please Roman.
"Give me my pussy now."
I grip the sofa a little harder. Every dirty word and command he gives me is pushing me farther and farther to the edge of an orgasmic abyss. He uses both of his rough hands to scoop me underneath my ass, lifting me higher for easy access, and then he wastes no time getting to work.
Licking me continually from front to back.
"Beautiful," he says reverently against my pussy.
He stops after a few strokes to rest (I think) and uses his thumb to rub my clit back and forth several times. When my hips start to move in tandem with his handling of me, I can feel a smile spread across his lips.
"That's it, baby. Fuck me back."
I can feel the orgasm winding inside me tightly like a coil. I know that it's going to be a powerful one, because Roman obviously likes to tease and draw the orgasms out. He starts then stops tongue fucking me over and over, and it feels like a roller coaster ride, with hills and valleys but all completely exhilarating. A thrill ride.
But I can't hold on any longer.
Tears start to pool as I try to delay the inevitable.
"Please–" I beg.
I clench my fists into the back of the sofa as I'm about to release, and right before I scream bloody murder, Roman stops and smacks my pussy swift and hard with the flat palm of his hand.
Immediately, I explode.
"Fuck!" I scream.
I see fireworks in front of me and bursts of sunlight in my peripheral vision, and my heart is racing a mile a minute. My arms flop to my sides as I'm loose as a noodle and panting heavily. I buck a little as a few aftershocks run through me. Roman allows me a moment to come down, but for no more than a moment. He flips me over so I'm on my knees and leaning over the edge of the sofa. I don't see this one coming, but hear and feel it as he gives me another whack, but this time across the ass.
"Next time you wait until I say you can come, Duchess.
Nod if you understand."
I nod yes. Still breathless. Still blissful.
"Sit back on your heels and raise your arms, baby." I hesitate for a moment.
"I just want to take your shirt off, so I can kiss your back."
It takes every bit of strength I have, but I raise my arms as Roman slowly peels my tank top above my head. Then he unsnaps my bra and lets that fall on the floor behind the sofa. My breasts feel heavier than normal and my nipples as hard as stone as he slides his huge hands around the front of me and tenderly massages them. He continues his massage as he talks to me.
"You smell so fucking good, Duchess. You feel so good," he says while tenderly kissing me in the center of my back. "I just want to bury my dick so far inside you, that you'll never want easy again. You'll always want hard."
At this point, I'm moaning like some wounded animal. I need more relief. I need him inside me. I know this is him forcing my hand. Making me choose between him and Jagger, as if there is really a choice, but I don't want to think about that right now. I don't want to consider the ramifications of my actions. I just want penetration.
"What do you want, Duchess? You want it easy or hard?"
"Hard." I moan telling him what he wants to hear, so that I can get what I need.
"Say again?"
"HARD,” I retort angrily.
He chuckles. "Right answer, baby."
I hear Roman's zipper coming down, and then what I think is a foil packet being ripped open. I turn my head and watch as he slides a condom on the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life.
"Wait, Roman–"
He whacks my ass.
"Who’s, Roman?" he asks sarcastically.
"I just don't know if I can handle that."
He turns me around to face him while still continuing to massage my breasts, my shoulders, my back. I can't help but lean into him as he talks. It feels so damn good.
"You've had sex before right?"
"Yes." I say emphatically.
"A lot?"
"Not exactly."
"What about with the coke head?"
I roll my eyes. "Once."
I can't read his face right now, but he seems ... pleased.
"I'm going to sit down and you're going to straddle me. Then I'm going to suck those beautiful tits of yours while you slowly take your time sitting down on my dick. You control the tempo and the depth this time. The only rule I have is simple. Don't come until I give you permission,
Duchess. All your orgasms belong to me. All of them."
"That's not easy."
"Nothing good ever is baby."
"Okay,” I whisper nervously.
I've never ridden someone, although I know they do it a lot in movies. I'm hoping I can figure it out, or at least fake it. The few times my high school boyfriend Roger and I found time to have sex, it was strictly missionary style and lasted ten minutes tops.
Roman lifts me up with brute strength and sits on the couch while he simultaneously straddles me across his lap. His penis is so hard that it looks brutally angry. Like it’s ready to punish me for making it wait so long. I can't imagine how it's going to fit inside of me.
"It's going to be fine, baby. I'm a pro at this."
Somehow that doesn't really make me feel any better. Until he does three things.
First, he closes his warm mouth around one of my nipples. Sucking, then licking, then kissing, and then he does it all over again to the other breast. The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing my nipples makes my hips move with a mind of their own. As my hips gyrate, Roman takes his right hand and very lightly slaps each side of my butt. A tap on the left cheek. Then a tap on the right. Back and forth. And as if all of this wasn't enough, he then takes the thumb of his left hand and lightly rubs my clit.
"Masterson,” I say with adoration.
"You're getting nice and wet for me, baby. That's a good girl. I'm not going to stop what I'm doing. You just start lowering yourself down,” he says coaxing me. "Go slow."
Things get tricky right from the start as I lower myself on his blunt tip. He is thick and wide and I can feel myself being unnaturally pulled and stretched.
"A little lower, Duchess."
The slaps on my ass grow a little firmer and a little louder. Which immediately sends a gush in between my legs, so I am able to slide down a little further.
"That feels so fucking good. A little further baby." He says with a mouth full of my nipple.
With deep concentration and my eyes tightly shut, I continue to ease my way down and am almost full to the hilt when I feel a hard smack on my butt.
"Eyes on me, Duchess."
He's a genius because that smack was just the little push I needed to come completely down.
Oh. My. God.
I feel full and stretched beyond measure, but it also feels utterly amazing.
He uses both of his hands to knead my ass cheeks, which helps my hips build a rhythmic rocking momentum.
Forward and back.
Forward and back.
After a few minutes, we find a mutual cadence. As I work my hips forward, he pulls me back down, and I feel as if I'm having an out-of-body experience as he strokes me over and over. I'm doing it. I'm riding him. And now I'm also starting to feel that familiar tension build down below. The tension I've only felt when Roman is about to give me one of the most delicious orgasms ever.
This is another first for me. I've never come while having sex, and I think it's about to happen. Now Roman is using his hands to speed things up and bouncing me gently up and down. Up and down. I'm still looking at him. I'm totally concentrating on his face. I'm trying to stay focused and not come.
It's intense and it ain't working.
"You better not be coming, Duchess." He warns with the sexiest grin on his face.
He needs to shut up. The more he talks, the more I'm about to frackin' come. Everything that comes out of his mouth right now is making me crazy. I'm seeing that this is part of his game. He wants me to fail.
"You better ask for permission, Duchess,” he says fervently.
I don't know what to say. I barely say anything during sex, much less know how to start asking for shit.
He smacks my ass, and I gasp.
"You know what's coming if you don't ask permission, baby. Last chance."
It's too late.
The jackass was talking too much. Everything he says is a turn on, so I scream loud enough for his neighbors to hear, and the orgasm is so frackin' powerful that I feel a rush of adrenaline straight to my head and it almost knocks me dead on my ass.
Nope, I’m dead.
Death by orgasm.
"I have one rule,” he rumbles after catching his own breath.
I know, I know.
"And you broke it."
He quickly lifts me up and lays me across his legs on my stomach. He gives me a throw pillow to rest my head on, since my bottom half is on his lap. I notice that his dick is still rock hard and still sheathed in the condom. I can't believe he didn't come yet. Wow.
"Now for your punishment, Duchess."
"What are you some half ass Dom–"
One of his massive hands comes down like a hammer on my left ass cheek and I yelp.
"Ow!"
He doesn't say sorry or ask me if I'm ok, but just continues smacking on me. On the right cheek, then the left. Right. Left. Each one hurting a bit more than the last. I count seven slaps on each cheek when he finally stops to abruptly slide a finger deep inside of me. I don't think I can tolerate another orgasm. I'm pretty sure I'll pass out. Yet somehow I think that's the point. Part of the punishment.
I'm definitely learning. Roman is kinky and dominant and delicious.
"I knew you'd be wet," he mumbles. "Perfection."
Just when he lulls me into full-blown horniness again, here comes another smack.
Whack!
"Masterson–" I whine in between tears and ecstasy.
No response from him. He just continues with another seven smacks on each cheek, then another round of finger fucking. My bottom is burning, but the fingers inside me seem to level the pain out with an equally pleasurable sensation.
At this point I'm screaming, but I'm not sure for what.
To stop or to keep going?
Finally, when the next slap comes, I come hard.
It's brutal.
It comes in waves this time and it makes my pussy pulse over and over.
I'm spent.
Afterwards, I curl in a fetal position on Roman's lap, curl my arms around his waist, and close my eyelids. I know I shouldn't, but this was the closest thing to euphoria that I've ever experienced, and I want to be close to him. That is, until I feel Mr. Tibbs' cold blue eyes staring up at my warm brown ones. I know it sounds nutty, but there's something about the way he's watching me that makes me start to feel self-conscious. Like he's judging me.
"You okay, Duchess?"
I rustle around.
"Yep, just probably should get going home."
"Home?"
"Yeah."
I can't bear to look him in the eyes.
"It's the middle of the afternoon. Why the hell are you leaving?"
I pick up my bra and tank top, ignoring his question, and politely ask him where the bathroom is.
"Where the FUCK are you going? Don't make me ask you again!" He roars violently.
I don't mean to, but I inadvertently flinch from the loud volume of his protest. When I do, he takes a long look at me from head to toe and stares at me in a way I've never seen before. Like he's just realized what we've done and is scared shitless by it too.
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I didn't mean to frighten you. The bathroom is straight back and the last door on the left. When you're ready I'll take you home."
After I shut myself away in Roman's bathroom, I snap my bra back on and fix my clothes. I take a really long look at myself in the mirror and almost gasp. My makeup is completely smeared, my hair is all over the place, and I look like I've been thoroughly fucked ... by my cousin.
I've hit an all-time low. I cry. All I can do now is try my best to rinse my face with some water, hand soap and toilet tissue and promise myself that this will never happen again.
"I'm ready to go," is all I say once I've gotten myself together and out of the bathroom. I think he notices that I've been crying but he says nothing.
We simply leave his apartment and ride home in the Rover in complete and utter silence.