ROMAN #3
I want her rough with me. I want her desperate enough to forget every rule she learned in this house.
I keep her open and eat her like I have been owed this since the corridor, since the piano, since the lunch where she sat across from me pretending all this heat was disgust.
She’s so wet it’s almost obscene. My tongue slides through her folds again and again, and every time I touch that tight little bundle of nerves at the top, her hips jerk helplessly.
“God,” she gasps. “Oh my God.”
I glance up once.
She’s looking down at me with that expression women get right before pleasure takes their pride apart. Shocked by it. Ruined by it. Beautiful.
I slide two fingers into her.
She cries out harder this time, thighs shaking, one heel hooking against the piano bench to keep from slipping. I pump my fingers slowly, watching her face, then curl them just enough to find the spot that makes her whole body seize.
There.
I keep pressing there while my mouth works her clit.
She falls apart almost immediately.
Her orgasm hits fast and hard, her back arching, mouth open, hands in my hair as if she doesn’t know whether to hold me there or drag me away. I hold her exactly where I want her and make her ride it out on my tongue until she’s whimpering and trying to close her legs.
I let up only enough to breathe.
She looks wrecked. Perfectly wrecked.
I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and kiss her before she can come back to herself. She tastes herself on me and moans into my mouth, and that’s enough to make my cock strain painfully against my trousers.
I push her sweater up over her waist.
She helps this time, impatient now, arms lifting, fingers fumbling at the hem as if she wants less distance between us and doesn’t care how she gets it. I get the fabric above her breasts, then drag her bra cups down until both breasts spill free into my hands.
Christ. My mouth drops to one nipple immediately.
She gasps and clutches at my shoulders as I suck her deep, my tongue flattening over the tight peak before I bite down just enough to make her hips jump. My hand closes around the other breast, heavy and soft and full enough to make me groan against her skin.
“Roman,” she says again, voice ruined now, all warning gone.
I switch sides and do it again, sucking hard, licking, using my teeth just enough to keep her on edge.
She’s panting by the time I lift my head.
Her sweater is bunched under her arms. Her skirt is around her hips. She’s spread on the piano with her thighs open and her nipples wet from my mouth.
And she’s still looking at me like she wants more.
Which is good, because I’m nowhere near done.
I push two fingers back inside her and watch her face change.
“Still want me?” I ask.
She gives me a look that would be killing if she were capable of speaking coherently.
I curl my fingers again.
She moans instead.
“That’s what I thought.”
Her hands slide down to my belt, clumsy now, urgent. I let her fumble at it for a second before I catch her wrists and pin them behind her against the piano.
She gasps at the position.
“You don’t get to touch me yet,” I say.
“Roman, that’s cruel.”
“Yes.”
I keep my fingers moving inside her, slow and deep, while my thumb finds her clit. The combination makes her body writhe under me. Her legs spread wider. Her breasts lift with every broken breath. She looks like a woman being taken apart in a room where she should be practicing scales.
The thought is filthy enough to make me harder.
I kiss her once, hard enough to bruise, then let her wrists go only to turn her face and make her look at me.
“One more time,” I say.
She’s already close. I can see it.
“Tell me you don’t want this.”
Her eyes are glassy. Furious. Lost.
“I hate you,” she says weakly.
I push my fingers deeper and rub her clit harder. “That’s not what I asked.”
She comes with my name in her mouth.
Harder this time. Longer. Her whole body tightens and shakes, and she nearly slides off the piano if I’m not there to catch her. I hold her upright while she breaks, watching every second of it, feeling the pulse of her around my fingers.
When it’s over, she sags against me, trembling, breath hot against my neck.
I bury my face in her hair for one second too long.
Then I step back.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to fuck her on the piano exactly the way I want to, and I don’t trust either of us not to make enough noise to bring the whole house down on us.
She looks at me in dazed disbelief.
I pull her sweater down over her breasts, smooth her skirt, and retrieve her ruined panties from the carpet.
The sight of them on my hand makes me want to start all over again.
Instead, I tuck them into my pocket.
Her eyes narrow just a little. “Roman.”
“You’re not getting them back.”
“That’s not normal.”
“Neither are we.”
That wipes out whatever she meant to say next.
She’s still shaking when I unlock the door. Still flushed. Still wet from my mouth.
And when I look at her one last time before opening it, I know with cold certainty that the war outside this room has nothing on the one I’ve just restarted inside it.