32. Bars and Bras #2
"Your back is a work of art. Did you know that?" Then, if that wasn't bad enough, Romi licked a stripe up my back to my neck until my toes curled and every hair on my arm stood up.
She kneeled behind me, legs pressed against mine, her weight draping over my back, breath hot at my nape.
Wet against my lower back. Romi's teeth grazed my skin, then her lips, then her tongue—she took her time, learning the exact map of what I liked under her mouth.
Her hands slid over the curve of my ass and spread me open.
For a second, she hesitated. Changed the angle of her fingers. "Is this alr—"
"Yes. Please." I reached back, took her wrist, and guided her fingers where and how I wanted them.
Romi ran her fingers along my slit until I squirmed. Parted my thighs for her.
"Like this," I said, voice low. "Slow at first. Feel how I open for you."
Romi's breath skittered. She pressed two fingers inside me, tentative, and I tightened around her on purpose so she'd feel it. I moaned when she slid inside.
"There," I murmured. "Now curl them. Fuck—yes. Right there. That's the spot."
She made a soft, awed sound and did as I told her. Her fingers found it again on the second try, pressing down, and I fisted the sheets. Held on.
"God, you're shaking already," she whispered, half-laughing, half-wondering.
"Because you're listening," I managed. "Now keep your hand like that and fuck me deeper. Don't rush. I want to feel every inch I'm taking."
She hooked her arm under my waist, lifted my hips, and moved. Careful. Focused. Following instructions. I reached between my own thighs and rubbed my clit in tight circles, showing her the pace I needed without words.
When I pushed back, she pinned me again, and I let her. My voice came out raw. "Harder now. Not full strength—save that. Just…deeper. Spread your fingers like you're trying to get me to open."
Romi inhaled sharply and obeyed. Her rhythm changed. Each thrust grew bolder, more precise, memorizing what made my breath catch. I was soaked around her fingers, the wet slip of it loud in the quiet room.
"Don't let me come yet," I told her, even as my fingers sped up, leaving tiny shocks against my clit. "Make me work for it. Make me beg."
She groaned like the words themselves were fucking her. Her pace faltered for half a second, then she found it again, fucking me with purpose now. Instructing me with her body the way I'd just instructed her with mine.
I tried to stay in control. Tried to keep giving directions. But when she curled her fingers on every thrust and started grinding the heel of her hand against me, the words stopped forming. Her breath against my back made me shudder. My nipples stiffened with each drag of them over the sheets.
She fucked me harder. I couldn't stop my hips from throwing it back to pull her deeper, couldn't stop the noises I made. My hand was moving frantically between my legs now, chasing the edge she was forcing closer and closer. She had me pinned, spread, and she knew it.
The orgasm rushed so fast it almost scared me, impossible to contain. My thighs trembled. I felt it coming—too big, too soon—and I tried to pull away for half a second to breathe through it, but Romi's arm tightened around my waist.
"I feel how bad you need it," she breathed, in the softest voice. "Let it out."
That broke me.
"Romi—" I whined.
I came hard. It ripped through me in long, shuddering waves, clenching around her fingers so tightly she moaned.
I kept rubbing my clit through it, helpless, body jerking with every pulse.
Romi didn't stop. She slowed down enough to fuck me through it, drawing it out until I was shaking and gasping her name into the sheets.
I was vaguely aware of wetness at my eyes.
Not sweat, either. Not from pain, but from finally having her, all her attention, all that focus she usually weaponized now trained on making me come for her.
When I collapsed forward, she followed me down, still inside, still gentle, kissing the back of my neck like she was thanking me for letting her see it.
I was still twitching around her fingers when she pulled out gently.
No one had ever topped me before. Not even Skye. Didn't trust her enough to let her try.
"Speaking of sex demons," I said, rolling onto my back, trying to chase away my thoughts. "Because who gave you the right? You're too quick of a study for me."
She laughed softly, breathless, and kissed my shoulder.
"I had a good teacher." Romi's hand closed firm around my jaw, tilting my face up as she crashed her mouth into mine. Hungry, bruising, kissing me like she wanted to leave a mark I'd feel for days.
I was so high on her I didn't catch the shift in my own brain—the shock of letting her fuck me, fully, was fighting with the other, secret urge that'd been crawling around my brain since backstage in the tunnel. When she rolled her eyes at me.
Us locking eyes in that tunnel was straight up fight-me or fuck-me energy that didn't have anywhere to go until now.
Both of us always after the upper hand, always a little greedy, but neither of us ever letting go all the way.
It was a game, and right now I needed to take her in a way she'd never let anyone else.
I wanted to be inside her so bad it made me dizzy.
She noticed. She always did. Romi had this sixth sense for control, the way a cat knows when to pounce and when to flop over and pretend she's harmless.
But this time, I caught her. She squeezed her thighs together, slick and hungry, but her eyes flicked down, too. Then away. The curiosity was back.
"What's that look about?"
I slipped my hand between us, palming her heat, feeling how soaked she was.
I thumbed her clit, slow and lazy, and she gasped, hips bucking down into me.
I could've stayed there touching her, but I wanted more.
Wanted to be the only woman to ever touch her like this, to make her understand why she'd been running from me all this time.
"I want to—" I stopped, the words catching in my throat. "Can I be inside you?"
The words hung there. I heard them echo, all low and vulnerable, way rawer than I'd intended.
Romi understood. She froze, not the polite kind, but the kind where all the math in her head recalibrated at once. Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. She searched my face, but there was nothing to find except me, wanting her.
She bit her lip. Not quite a smile but not a no either. "You want to fuck me?"
I nodded, silent. Because I didn't want to fuck her as much as I needed to make any other bitch who intrigued her fade to static.
She held my gaze, equal measures challenge and invitation. "Yeah," she said, and then, softer, "Yeah, okay." Testing out the taste of surrender on her tongue for the first time.
I rolled us, gentle but insistent, so she was on her back, and I kneeled beside the bed to fumble in my nightstand. The drawer popped open with a clatter, and I felt her watching me the whole time, not hurrying the moment one bit.
I found the harnessless, black silicone piece I kept for nights like this. Took it out of its pouch and held it up, not for show. I wanted to check her temperature.
Before I pressed it between my legs, I met her gaze. "So you know," I said, voice steady, "it vibrates. But I'll only turn it on if you ask nicely. Just say the word." I watched her face for any flicker of doubt, making sure she could see this was hers to control.
She didn't blink. If anything, I saw her chin lift, that mix of challenge and curiosity burning brighter.
I pressed the smooth end between my legs, rocked it into place, felt the give and pressure of it fill me. Caught her eyes while I slipped it inside me. Then I looked at her one more time, waiting to see if the Queen would ever let herself be taken by someone else's want.
Before I slid the business end of the strap into her, Romi put a palm flat to my chest and pushed me on my back.
She climbed on top, knees on either side of my hips, the length of her hair curtaining our faces in the low yellow spill from the hall.
For a second, she just hovered, gaze unreadable.
Then she lowered herself slowly until the tip found her, and she opened around it, a long exhale the only sound between us.
Didn't move an inch at first, letting her get used to it until she hissed and ground her hips down.
We both groaned when she sank down all the way on it.
I let her set the rhythm, hips rolling forward, taking me in slow, then slower still, like she was daring herself not to break.
Every time she moved, she made these almost-silent noises—soft half-gasps, sharp little hitches in her breath.
Every nerve in my body burned up, all the way down to my toes.
"That's my girl," I told her, and her eyes went lustful. "You take me so good."
It was like watching her learn a new language, one syllable at a time—this slow-glide hunger, the way she let herself take and take, never asking if it was too much.
"You're so fucking perfect," I whispered.
I bucked up to meet her, hands anchored to her thighs, and felt the toy's weight shifting inside me, pressure and relief in perfect counter-rhythm with every grind of her hips.
"Just like that, Romi," I said again, and she was all focus and need.
She went slow on purpose, drawing it out, out of refusal to lose her grip on me or herself.
I saw it in the set of her jaw, the careful, even drag of her hips, how she stared into my face as if reading a teleprompter only she could see.
She was holding out, but I could feel the way her muscles trembled every time she took me deeper.