Chapter 20 #4
I inspected every room, with him opening the doors for me, and me walking in and looking under every bed, through every closet, behind every shower curtain. They were all designed similarly, with king-size beds, work desks, side tables, and lush carpets.
“You ready for the last room, Samaira?” he asked, walking to the end of the hallway. An eight-foot-high, dark wood door loomed in front of us.
Slowly, he opened the room, and without him having to tell me, I knew it was his bedroom.
It looked like a lived-in space. The walls were a rich black color.
You’d think that black color on walls would make a room drab and weary.
But his room looked lethal and cozy. The slight pops of color came from the green plants and the polished-wood work desk in the corner.
Another wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling black bookshelves, brimming with books and vinyl records.
Warm yellow and orange lights brought warmth to the dark space.
His bed sheets were charcoal gray, with black pillowcases and a black comforter.
And the ceiling over his bed was covered in a large mirror.
My gaze flashed to his, and the man simply placed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. My mind flooded me with the thoughts of all of his pale, golden skin stark naked on the dark sheets, the mirror on the ceiling capturing all of his glorious beauty as he jerked himself off.
Fuck that mirror.
Just great. Now I’m jealous of a fucking mirror.
I turned around and found him leaning against his bedroom door, his eyes tracking my every move. “Can I enter my room, Tigress?”
I loved it when he called me Tigress . It made me feel powerful and, at the same time, somehow cherished and admired. It made me want to show off my strength to him, made me want to lick him and bask under his attention.
His question reminded me of why I stood in his room. I checked his closet, which exuded wealth with its neatly lined rack of suits and about a hundred shirts and pants.
His bathroom was the size of my bedroom, with a glass partition separating the shower space. A large clawfoot tub was placed along another glass wall, looking down upon the endless stretch of the city, but I was not tempted to get into it at all.
Not finding any intruder in the washroom, I walked into the room and nodded at Dominic. “All clear. ”
He stepped inside the bedroom, and I realized how close I stood to his bed.
If he wanted—if I wanted—he could easily cover the distance in five steps and push me down.
This man did something to me, something so primal and carnal, it made me lose all my sense of self.
He made me feel raw and flayed open, needy and desperate for his touch, hungry for a single taste.
He made me feel strong and powerful with just the way he glanced at me but also made me shy and downright giddy when he smiled at me with those dimples.
I was a riot of a hundred emotions, trying to get them under control but constantly failing.
My throat went dry as he took a step closer, the scorching heat in his eyes sending hot sparks of electric pleasure coursing through my body.
Sharp arousal surged through my core, making me lightheaded for a second as I felt the sticky wetness glide through my folds.
My core throbbed as he took another step closer to me, and I just had to rub my fucking legs together to assuage the ache. “I should go.”
Knowing there were no intruders in his place, I really had nothing to do.
He kept walking toward me, his steps measured, his eyes rooting me to the spot, my heart hammering against my ribs.
He removed his hands from his pockets and slowly, so I could stop him, took my hand in his.
I looked down at the softness with which his fingers wrapped around mine, the rise and fall of his chest giving away the fact that he was just as affected by my touch as I was by his.
Softly, he put a finger to my chin and pushed it up so my eyes met his. “Have you fulfilled your duty of being my bodyguard for the evening?”
Blood raced through my veins, my heart pumping faster as his words washed over me.
He looked at me with so much desire, so much hunger, so much need , words escaped me.
So I nodded, lost in his delicious scent, in his dark, hooded eyes, in the way his nostrils flared as he bent his head slightly and breathed me in.
Keeping his finger under my chin, he growled low in his throat. “Good girl. Now, it’s my turn.”
My pussy pulsed with an ache so sharp that wetness coated my thighs. I tightened my hand into fists to stop my fingers from pushing between my legs. “Your turn for what?” My voice was a whisper, my words falling over his lips.
I didn’t know how it was possible, but he moved even closer into my body so his chest brushed against my nipples, shooting sparks of biting pleasure to my already aching core.
He brushed his soft lips along mine, his thumb delicately tracing my jaw as he rumbled, “My turn to fulfill the duty of a man dying to taste his woman. My duty to worship her. To pleasure her. To have her sit on his face until she’s coming down his throat. ”
My brain instantly fried and short-circuited, sending every signal down south as he brushed his thumb along my lip. “Would you let me fulfill my duty, Maira?”
My neck arched involuntarily, need so sharp flooding my body, my knees weakened. I had to clutch his shirt to stay upright. Instead of the fuck yes, yes please, trying to escape my throat, the words that actually came out of my throat were, “Nobody calls me that.”
His hand wrapped around the side of my neck, his thumb pushing into the silver ring of my choker, pulling a whimper out of my lips. He bent his head lower and ran his nose along my jaw. “Good. Only I get to call you that. Now, Maira, baby, you’re killing me here. Say yes. Let me worship you.”
With one word, with three letters, I turned a deaf ear to my brain and listened to my heart, my body, and my soul. “Yes.”