Chapter 12
He took her hand and led her through the side door. They entered his eat-in kitchen, and he helped her take her jacket off before directing her toward the living room.
She shrieked. “Colors!”
True to his word, he had ordered pillows, blankets, and something he presumed to be accent art in her favorite turquoise and pink colors to contrast with the cool gray of his furnishings.
He could feel himself starting to beam as she danced around his living room, cooing and running her hand across the pillows with the velveteen edges. “Omg. No more OR sterile vibes. It pops. Depth. Contrast.”
He caught her hands and spun her around. “You are easy to please, buttercup. Wait till you see the master suite.”
She twisted her lips teasingly. “You painted the walls so it was something less neutral and put up fairy lights?”
“How about I got a fluffy comforter and matching towels with pillowcases and your very own pink electric toothbrush?”
She squealed, and her enthusiastic kiss was definitely worth every penny he had spent. “The bad daddy has done good, and he’ll be getting an epic blow job tonight from his good girl.”
She made like she was going to drag him to the bedroom, but he stopped her. “Simone made me promise I would feed you. So, there’s food. Which I cooked.”
“Really? You cooked? I mean, I—I didn’t know you cooked. Not that you couldn’t. There’s been lots of take-out and delivery.”
He brought her back to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and began removing dishes from his fridge.
“While my repertoire isn’t huge, last night, I did my best. Tonight, at Casa del Mar, you will feast on picadillo a la habanera con pollo, blackeye pea salad, and fresh mango paired with a bottle of white wine. ”
Clarissa’s eyes were huge watching him place the aluminum foil-covered pan to reheat in his oven. “Wow. Sounds amazing, even though you lost me in the Spanish.”
“It's chicken, shredded, slow cooked with potato, tomatoes, wine, bell peppers, onion, and garlic served over rice. Casa del Mar is me.” He turned the oven to three hundred, channeling his mother. The dish literally meant shredded meat of Havanna.
“Casa del Mar? My very rusty high school Spanish suggests that’s house of the sea. Except there’s no seafood.” Clarissa, without being asked, got out plates and wine glasses.
“Right. House of the sea or ‘marine’ as in Dr. Marin.” He explained his name.
“Guess I’d better brush up on those skills in my free time.” She sounded defeated.
This wasn’t going how he’d planned the moment. He put his arms around her. “Lissa, when I was a resident, I was deployed and ate MREs, which is a step up from the hospital cafeteria food you survive on. Indulge me to pamper you with all four food groups.”
She relaxed into his arms. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“It’s the opposite. I might be your first boyfriend, but you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to cook for,” he confessed. He’d made her the quintessential Cuban comfort food, as he’d imagined what he’d have wanted as a resident on the harder days.
Clarissa took a nip of his shoulder. “Fine. I’ve won the world. Tamed a cranky hot daddy anesthesia chief, who redecorated and is feeding me nice healthy food, including dessert.”
He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Oh, mango isn’t what we’re having for dessert.“
“Okay, Casa del Mar’s menu includes a serving of naughty sex.” She lay her hand on the top button of his dress shirt.
He dodged her hand and used a corkscrew on the bottle of wine. “I promised to feed you first. We don’t have to have sex every minute we’re together.”
She held up the cups for him to fill. “We could if you wanted. I’d be down with that.”
“Patience. Good things come to those who wait.” Her general deliciousness wasn’t going to derail him from feeding her a real meal. “Food first.”
She took a few sips from her glass as he plated their salads and mangos. “Definitely won the world.”
“Eat.” He handed her a fork and contented himself with holding her other hand.
Instead of eating, she rested her head on his shoulder. Her breathing became steady, assuring him his efforts were paying off.
He could imagine them doing this every night after a long day at the hospital. Sure, whipped and domesticated was fine with him.
Tranquil. Calm.
“Do you think you want to be a submissive for me?” she asked abruptly.
So much for calm. That made him sit straight up. “What?”
She was quite red at his reaction. “Um, when I talked to Lillian about the band, I think maybe her cop fiancé is submissive to her.”
Not what he had expected to hear. “And you determined that by—?”
“She called him a bad boy and made him go stand in the corner,” Clarissa averted her eyes to focus on her wine. “Are you interested in doing that with me?”
In most cases, he wasn’t, as it didn’t appeal to his inherent machismo. Then again, if Clarissa was correct, Mr. Cop Fiancé wasn’t threatened. He’d guess Paramedic Amber and Dr. Salke would be down to try it too.
Besides, central to his enjoyment of Clarissa was being present for every moment of her sexual discovery. His cock tightened in agreement, loving the idea of exploring any kink she wanted.
He’d better reassure her because she was two seconds from withdrawing completely from him.
“Of course. I’m into anything that lets us play together.” He tickled her chin, encouraging her to expand on her ideas. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
Clarissa was biting her lip, one of her tells of both excitement and uncertainty. “Well, I’m not sure. I like it when you hold me down and stuff. Is that what I should do? Ropes? Paddles? A gag? Will you need a safe word?”
Roan traced his fingers up her sleeve, reminding her of how much larger he was than she. The contrast of his coarse hair on his forearms against her slender arm was striking. “I won’t need one. Don’t worry. We can start slow. You don’t have to become a dominatrix.”
“Right. No pressure.” She downed her glass of wine and set her jaw. “I’m ready.” And didn’t move.
Well, his sweet buttercup would need instruction in this, too.
Just what he liked. Even in this, he’d be guiding her, and the throb of his dick got louder.
He debated how it would be best to fulfill her desire in the least threatening and most encouraging way. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch for a moment?”
“The couch,” she echoed and went over to the living room, sitting primly with her hands folded among the new pillows. The twisting of her fingers gave away her indecision. “What do I do now? Should I yell at you, throw things at you, spank you?”
“Start simple.” He waited, his blood heating as his pulse climbed. His good girl was radiating his favorite combination of innocence and hunger. “Give me an order.”
“Come over and eat me out?” she tried.
Her command was delivered with the strength of a paper cup trying to hold back the ocean. Roan kept his face straight. “How about ‘crawl to me’?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, crawl to me.”
He walked to the carpet and got on his hands and knees, moving toward her at a slow pace. As he closed in, he kept his gaze on her face, knowing his expression was communicating his desire and hunger.
When he reached her, he sat back on his heels without touching her, less than a foot away.
Her breathing sped up and she gripped a pillow tightly. He understood what she saw, a starved male choosing to obey her because he could.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” she said, her eyes roaming across his posture.
“Because you’re supposed to tell me what you want me to do. I don’t do things without your permission. So, if you want me to touch you, you have to tell me to touch you. You’re in charge.” He kept his body motionless.
She reached out and set her hand on the top of his head. “Okay, I want you to touch me.”
He waited. “Where?”
“Um, just start with my legs.” She bit her lip again in the adorable, uncertain way he obsessed over.
He slowly ran his hands up her ankles, acknowledging in his mind that dominance was probably not a natural position for her.
It was key that he let her play this game while maintaining his control.
The air was heavy with unfulfilled tension as his erection pushed against the confines of his pants.
She might have been trying to be dominant, but it was blending with their usual dynamic.
When he stopped his exploration at the edge of her skirt, she fidgeted. “Am I supposed to tell you to do more—like remove my clothes or remove your clothes?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
She fidgeted again, and he could feel her heart rate speeding up through her skin. “But I want to try things with you. What do other people do? And how?”
He circled his thumb on the inner dimple of her knee. “Think about how I talk to you—command and control over what you can and cannot do. Now imagine you’re allowed to torture me, torment me, and deny me taking pleasure in your body.”
“Oh,” she murmured. He could see her pupils dilating, her chest rising more quickly, and her nipples tightening through her dress. “I’m listening. More.”
Such a dangerous word. More with her was never enough.
“You can tell me to eat out your sweet, sweet pussy until you’ve had three orgasms. You could spank me, whip me, tease my cock—but I’m not allowed to come until you give me permission.
I’m not allowed to put my cock in you until I’ve been a very good boy for you.
You can make me beg if that’s what you want. ”
Her fingers were tight in his hair. “But you already do that. You lay me down on this couch and use me, give me orgasms, pleasure me.”
He nodded, sliding his hand a little farther up her legs.
“Same action, but then you’re begging me to take you.
You’re still getting your pleasure, still getting your orgasms—but I’m in charge of how you get them.
The anticipation of taking my pleasure in you as you follow my commands still has the same end point.
Same action, different emotion behind it. ”
She let go of his hair, her chest heaving. “Okay. I don’t think I’m interested in you being submissive to me. I want you to use me—to take me. I like that you’re bigger, stronger, older, muscular—all the bad-daddy Roan that I can take.”
“God, you’re killing me.” Their desires lined up so well, it was always a battle to maintain control and not fall on her like a wild animal.
“How?” She was flushed and asking a question she likely understood at a cellular level, yet still prolonging the game.
“I told you—I love watching you taste all this temptation, and I’m trying to give you the space to experiment, even though I want to pound you into that couch right now. Any other ideas you’d like to try instead?”
She played with one of her pigtails. “Maybe an actual game? I like art and photography. Is there such a thing as Sex Pictionary?”
He began to laugh. She swatted his shoulder, and he caught her hand. “My lack of artistic ability won’t do much for the right mood.”
She scrunched up her face again, thinking. “Sex charades is probably out. Especially when it’s only two people. I guess you can’t really have teams—unless it’s like a couples game. We should play it at my birthday party.”
He shot that one down. “Absolutely not. I do not want your friends to see you miming getting spanked or how you spread your legs when I eat you out.”
She twisted her ankles together. “I can’t imagine sexy Monopoly. Strip poker is so passé.”
“We could just go eat dinner, and I’ll give you little touches on and off—letting you know that I’m ravenous.
But I’ll control myself because I need you to eat so you can have energy for all of those naughty things I’m going to do to you—and those new, fresh sheets that are going to lose their virginity tonight. ”
“You drive a hard bargain.” She thought for another second. “Have you ever played Taboo?”
He shook his head. “Doesn't ring a bell.”
“Come on, it's a game where you aren't allowed to say the words on the list. If you do, you get the buzzer.” She said it in a way that he suspected she didn't realize how naughty it sounded.
“A buzzer? Like a vibrator?”
“No. It's a game I played in college. A good, clean, card game.” She whacked him on the shoulder. “You have a card with a list of forbidden words.”
“At your convent college?” Roan raised his hands. “You're the one who brought up the buzzer.”
“Not that kind of buzzer!” She tried to hit him again, and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
“Why don't we eat dinner, and over a glass of wine, you can tell me how you're making this nice clean game of no naughty words into a sexy game.”