Chapter 27 #2
Roman’s eyes smoldered, dark with a storm of lust and devotion. “Oh, my wicked beauty,” he growled. “I’m going to give you every orgasm you deserve. But for now—” his hands traced down my spine, teasing the curve of my ass— “let me wash you. Then, I’m taking you upstairs and fucking you properly.”
Our gazes locked, the air between us thick, molten.
“What if I can’t wait?” I confessed.
Roman’s low, sinful chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Olivia, you look like you’ll faint when you step out of this water.” His fingers swept along my waist, his grip possessive, commanding. “Let me help you. Let me take care of all your needs, amore.”
Our eyes drifted down, both of us fixating on his throbbing cock, bobbing between us in the water.
The need to feel him, to take him in my mouth, to own him, was unbearable.
I curled my fingers around him, feeling the thick weight of him, the pulsing heat, the rigid hunger.
Roman’s lips parted, his breath catching—
Then, with a wicked smirk, he pried my fingers away, bringing them to his lips.
“Not yet.”
A growl of frustration tore from my throat, but he only chuckled, leading me to the stone bench lining the pool.
He sat behind me, pulling me between his legs, his chest pressing flush against my back, his cock teasing the curve of my lower spine.
“Relax, amore.”
I did.
Because the moment his hands moved over my skin, I knew I was his to ruin.
Reaching out of the water, he retrieved a creamy, fragrant bar of soap.
“The count told me this luxury soap comes from Florence,” Roman murmured, rubbing it between his palms until it lathered. “He claims virgins make it, but I think that’s just his way of justifying the price.”
His low chuckle vibrated against my back.
I let out a breathy laugh. “And what is it made of?”
Roman’s hands glided over my shoulders, arms, and ribs, the rich, foamy lather spreading across my skin.
“Olive oil. No lye. Scented with sage, marjoram, chamomile, rosemary, and orange peel.”
His voice had dropped lower, rougher, like he was drunk on the feel of me.
I sighed, pressing back against him, feeling his arousal against my spine. “It smells fantastic.”
“You smell fantastic,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along the curve of my neck.
His hands explored every inch of me, rubbing the soap over my breasts, my stomach, and between my thighs, moving in strokes that made my breath come hard and fast.
My thighs quivered.
“Roman.”
His chuckle was dark, sinful. “Shhh, let me worship you.”
He worked the lather into my hair, massaging my scalp, his fingers tangling in my wet strands before rinsing me with warm water.
By the time he was done, my skin tingled, my body aching, burning.
His hands drifted to my belly, his fingers splaying possessively across my lower stomach.
His lips brushed my ear.
“I discovered new ways to please you in the twenty-first century,” he teased.
I smirked. “Did you? What did you do? Go to a strip club?”
Roman stilled. “A what?”
I laughed. “A place where men go to watch women undress onstage.”
I swore I could feel his blush behind me.
“No, amore, nothing like that.” His arms tightened around me, pulling me firmly against his chest. “Why would I want to look at anyone but you?”
My heart melted.
“Then how did you learn?”
His lips curled against my throat. “I read a book. In your apartment. Beneath your bed.”
My stomach dropped.
Oh, God.
The Dirty Little Secrets book.
The one I’d bought to spice up Tristan’s and my sex life.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a flush creeping up my neck. “Roman, that is too much information.”
But Roman only grinned, his hands trailing lower, teasing the aching heat between my thighs, his touch possessive.
“Then let me show you instead.” His voice was gravel and sin, sending a decadent shiver down my spine.
His fingers slid through my slick folds, parting me, stroking the wet, swollen flesh with expert torment.
My breath hitched, my thighs quivering as his fingers worked me open, tracing tight, teasing circles over my hypersensitive clit.
“I read about different positions,” he continued, his voice like molten honey, dragging me higher, deeper into the abyss of pleasure.
“Things like Butterfly and Reverse Cowgirl—though I fail to see how a woman who tends cows is inherently arousing.”
A breathless, choked laugh escaped me, but a desperate moan quickly replaced it as he pressed harder, deeper, his fingers playing my body like a finely tuned instrument.
His touch was fire and promise, stroking, spreading me wider, finding the perfect rhythm between tantalizing tease and ruthless demand.
His voice dropped to a dark whisper, lips ghosting over my ear, his free hand sliding up to cup my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
“Uncloaking the Clitoris,” he rasped, his fingers dipping lower, coaxing my swollen, desperate flesh from its hiding place.
I shattered, my nails digging into his powerful thighs, my body bowing into his touch, a cry tearing from my throat as pleasure coiled unbearably tight inside me.
Roman groaned, watching me fall apart, savoring every gasp, every tremor, every delicious arch of my body.
The water splashed around us, but all I could feel was him, his hands driving me to madness, his mouth trailing heat along my jaw, down my neck, grazing my pulse with the sharp edge of his teeth.
“You’re dripping for me, amore,” he growled, sliding his fingers deeper, his thumb circling my tortured clit, teasing, pressing, pushing me dangerously close to oblivion.
“Come for me.”
His command was dark silk, and my body obeyed without hesitation.
I splintered, a strangled moan ripping from my lips as blinding pleasure engulfed me, my walls clenching hard around nothing, my orgasm crashing through me in pulsing waves.
Roman’s low, wicked chuckle vibrated against my throat.
“You are so fucking beautiful when you come, my love.”
My head lolled back against his shoulder, my body still trembling, still lost in the throes of bliss.
I struggled to find words, my voice husky, wrecked, dripping with satisfaction and desire.
“And you… are a master at ‘uncloaking my clit.’”
Roman let out a dark, satisfied laugh. His hands gripped my waist possessively, and his mouth slanted over mine in a searing, claiming kiss.
Without breaking contact, he scooped me effortlessly into his arms, rising as water cascaded over us, trailing down my bare skin in glistening rivulets.
My thighs instinctively clenched around his waist, feeling the thick, rigid length of him pressed against my stomach, teasing, taunting what was to come.
He ripped his lips from mine, his stormy blue eyes molten with desire, his voice a sinful promise against my ear.
“That was just a warm-up exercise.”
I let out a breathless, eager laugh, dragging my nails down his chest, over his abs, lower…
My fingers curled around his cock, feeling the thick, pulsing heat of him, stroking once, teasing, just to hear the ragged, guttural growl that ripped from his throat.
Roman’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on my waist as if he were fighting the urge to push me down to my knees and have me worship him properly.
I grinned wickedly, my voice pure seduction, dripping with promise.
“Then let’s put your knowledge to the test, scholar.”
A hiss of breath escaped him, but before I could torture him further, he snatched my wrist, bringing my fingers to his lips, his teeth grazing my knuckles.
“Tease me again, and I’ll ruin you, amore.”
My thighs clenched at the threat in his voice, a deep, aching heat unfurling low in my belly.
But he only chuckled darkly, releasing me before reaching for the rough muslin cloths near the doorway.
We dried off in a haze of lingering touches, the fabric gliding against heated skin a torment. Roman took his time, dragging the cloth over my breasts, down my stomach, between my thighs, his smirk wicked and knowing when my breath hitched.
Once we were dry, we donned the soft linen dressing gowns left for us, the fabric cool against our flushed skin.
Without a word, Roman took my hand, leading me through the quiet corridors, our bare feet padding softly against the stone floor as we tiptoed up the grand staircase, not wanting to wake the count.
When we reached the bedroom, I let out a sigh of pleasure.
The room was lavish yet intimate, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. The massive bed, draped in wine-colored velvet, looked like sin and luxury woven together.
Beatrice had turned down the covers, the sheets cool and inviting, a silent invitation for the next part of our evening’s indulgence.
But the moment I slid beneath the sumptuous bedding, my body melting against the plush feather pillows, exhaustion claimed me.
Roman followed, sliding in beside me. His warmth wrapped around me like a shield, and his scent was woodsmoke, desire, and home.
For a moment, I expected him to pick up where we left off, to part my thighs and remind me of all the things he’d learned—
But when his strong arms curled around me, pulling me tight against his chest, my body finally surrendered to sleep.
And with his heartbeat against my back, his breath steady against my neck, I drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.
***
I awoke to the feel of a fingertip brushing my lips, something sweet and sticky coating them. Tasting warm, rich honey, I licked my lips and let out a soft, content hum.
My eyelids fluttered open, and there he was—Roman, propped up on his elbow, the glow of the sunset casting a soft, golden hue across his bare chest, the hard muscles of his torso catching the light just right.
Between us sat a plate overflowing with meats, fresh fruit, a loaf of crusty bread, cheeses, and a small jar of honey.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmured, his voice like a warm caress. His lips curved into that devastating smile that always made my pulse quicken. “Beatrice brought us food.”