29. Isabel
My mom was always of the opinion that true love opened you up to a world of possibilities, and that if you failed to see those possibilities, then it was never really true love in the first place.
Since I had no other choice today but to finally admit to myself that I was hopelessly in love with Roman, I needed to think about this thing called love with a clear and rational mind.
Thus I patiently (or maybe not so patiently) waited for Roman to relieve me (at least for a little while) of this endless cyclone of desire because there was no thinking clearly while he was buried inside me, whispering all these sweet nothings and looking at me like I was his whole world.
It took him to give me two breathtaking orgasms before I was ready to ask myself some tough questions.
So while Roman was getting the champagne we left behind in our haste to reach the bed, I considered the first question: If God forbid his so-called complication was a serious issue, how bad did it need to be before I decided to abandon this whole affair?
Not that this was a fair question, because there was no way to judge when I didn’t know what it was. Presumably it had to do with keeping the bloodline rich or pure or some billionaire family bullshit like that. But it still needed to be addressed.
As I thought about it, I refused to watch Roman through the glass bedroom wall as he walked naked to the living room, because that was not conducive to my ability to make life-altering choices.
But then I did take a lightning-quick peek, and Roman smiled knowingly when he caught me watching him. And with that, all the urgent questions I had for myself were unceremoniously dumped on the back burner. I vowed to consider these issues again later on, when my mind wasn’t cluttered with all the blinding affection I had for this man.
Roman came back and slid in beside me. He handed me a glass of champagne and gave me a kiss that awakened some dormant tendril of lust that had been lying in wait for our next rendezvous. “So honey badger,” he said, “have you considered the hotel dessert menu proposal?”
“I have,” I answered, sprinkling drops of champagne on Roman’s stomach and licking them off. I smiled as he groaned softly. “Would you like me to tell you about it?” I asked.
“Yes I would,” he said, giving me that grin he knew brought out the brazen side of me.
I sat upright in a more professional pose. After all this was kind of a job interview. If one also forgot for a second that I was naked as the day I was born. Or that just a few minutes ago the man now interviewing me had been rocking my world. Twice.
“So, here’s the thing I noticed on your dessert menu… It hardly ever changes,” I stated as competently as I could. “The first thing I’ll propose is making it more seasonal. Winter is time for lava cake, crème brulé, and crêpes with salted butter caramel, all fairly easy to do. It simply doesn’t matter what socioeconomic status a person is. When it comes to food it doesn’t have to be complicated to satisfy the taste buds. Spring you’re looking at macarons, raspberry br?lée and chocolate mousse…and so on. And I will also do a video of how each of these desserts is prepared, showing the simple steps I use—”
Roman’s fingers skimmed the soft skin on my inner thighs “Will you be the one making these videos, my sweet?”
“Are you asking as my boss or my lover?”
“Which one will get me a copy of those videos?”
“So, I guess we’re done talking about my proposal.”
“No, we’re not. I’m definitely interested in what you’re cooking up for summer and autumn. Where will you be shooting these videos?”
“I was thinking the main kitchen. I’ll ask Emily if that’s okay. As long as Mrs. Sheldon doesn’t ask a thousand questions.”
A dash of annoyance gathered in Roman’s gaze as it swept deliberately over me. He removed his fingers from my thigh. “Isabel…”
“Roman…” I lobbed back.
“You need absolutely no one’s permission to do anything in this house,” he said evenly. “Besides, you have a state-of-the-art kitchen right here in this apartment, where you can do exactly as you please.”
His hand trailed from the nape of my neck down to my belly, where his fingers were met with a field of goosebumps. I won’t lie, it was difficult to keep my attention focused on the matter at hand, so naturally I shifted to defiance mode.
“If I started galivanting around your kitchen in your apartment, I’d be announcing to the entire staff that I’m sleeping with the boss. I don’t think so.”
A grim shadow of frustration clouded Roman’s features. “You know the thing I love most about you, is also the thing that frustrates me the most.
“And what is that, exactly?”
“Your incredible reluctance to take the path of least resistance.”
I took a sip of my champagne. “Roman, I’ve done nothing but take the path of least resistance with you. But if it’s resistance you need, I’ll gladly give you all the resistance you want.”
He breathed out a chuckle, a challenge spiking in his eyes. “Is that so? Of course it also depends what you mean by resistance.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”
Our gazes held. And I sipped more champagne. Roman’s mouth pursed before breaking out in a charming smile. “I rudely interrupted your proposal. Please continue.”
I leaned over him, my mouth tracing the ridges of his abdomen. “Or, and this is just a suggestion,” I said, “we could continue with what will increase your profit margin for the fourth quarter when we are less distracted by sins of the flesh.”
Roman threw his head back and laughed. “But if anyone can make profit margins sound exciting, it’s you.”
His hand molded to my waist, his thumb ghosting over my skin. “But let me just say this, your proposal sounds perfect so far. And I don’t say that lightly. The videos are a brilliant idea.”
This earned him a sweet kiss. “Thank you. Let’s go to the kitchen. I think it’s time for your cake. I was a little tipsy when I baked it, so who knows how it came out.”
My feet had barely touched the floor before Roman made his discontent known. “Would this be after you went out last night?”
Curiosity crinkled my brow. “And you know this how?” And then it clicked. “Emily told you.”
A layer of frost flourished in his eyes as they bore into mine. “Where did you go, honey badger, if I may ask?”
Call this what you want but it was dangerously close to becoming a battle of wills.
My gaze narrowed, and I bit my lip. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be irritated. “I went to the opening of a ritzy new restaurant called Silver Spoon with Meg, because her fuckbuddy works at the bar and he invited us. But then he put the wrong name on the list and we were almost thrown out the door.
Then poof, out of the blue that posh couple from the other night at Le Petit Chateau made an appearance and announced to the hostess that I was your girlfriend. Which not only got Meg and me into the restaurant but also got us a ton of free alcohol that we took full advantage of. And let’s not forget the very expensive free dinner she and I polished off until we could see our faces in those gleaming white plates. So basically I just had a good time with my best friend if that’s okay with you. Not that I owe you an explanation last time I checked.”
A smile melted the frost in his gaze. “So, no Russian?” he asked, relief shading his voice.
I rolled my eyes and slipped off the bed, ignoring the stunning views as if I’d been living there for years. I padded toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the cake.”
“Come back here,” Roman growled. I heard his feet hit the floor and then he was chasing after me.
“No!” I laughed as I ran to the kitchen, where he caught up with me and pressed me against the counter, his mouth hovering over mine. “Don’t you dare run away from me, honey badger. Ever. I’ll catch up and then you’ll be sorry.”
All his words did was fan my already smoldering blood back to flames. “And why would I be sorry?”
“Because I will simply fuck you until you beg me stop,” he whispered, a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his beautiful mouth.
“I’m beginning to think you’re really into this begging thing,” I said breathlessly. “I can beg. I mean if that’s your thing.”
“Well if it’s not yours, I would hate to impose,” he said.
“I never said it’s not my thing.”
His gaze traveled over me as if silently daring me to resist him. “And yet you still have to beg,” he said. The tip of his tongue traced the outlines of my mouth. “For the record, I may not hate you begging.”
He pressed closer, his gaze never leaving mine, and gently pushed a finger inside me, grazing the magic spot.
*Well well well,” I muttered, squirming. “Look who’s laying the groundwork for his lovely cock.
He closed his eyes with a sigh. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Then it’s a pity you don’t speak French.”
“I plan to learn, just so I can understand every damn word you say when I’m inside of you. Because chances are it’s beyond decadent.”
“Decadent is one way to put it. Filthy is another.”
“Oh God,” he groaned.
“But I’ll teach you basic French if you want.”
“I cannot tell you how much I’d love that,” he said between kisses as his fingers drove me insane.
By now heat flickered viciously between my thighs, punishing me with relentless need. My voice was barely there. “For the moment I’ll just tell you in English that next time you fuck me, maybe I’ll beg you to stop. And perhaps, just perhaps you will refuse to stop, no matter how much I beg. And maybe I try to push you off, but you pin me down and continue to fuck me until I can’t help but come.”
Roman’s eyes had become dark blue pools of desire; the tender, loving man gone into hiding. An incredulous chuckle crashed against his lips. “The lovely nymph has a slight taste for dominance. Now you tell me. Jesus Christ.”
“Is it wrong?” I asked, more than curious where this sudden need was coming from. “I’m a little new to this.”
He tilted his head. “On the contrary, my sweet. As long as it’s in a safe environment, the possibilities are endless. That means we have to get you a safe word, which is a code word you use. For instance, if I should tie you up and at any point you don’t feel comfortable, you use the safe word, and whatever is happening stops immediately…”
“I know what a safe word is. And mine will be profiteroles.”
“Of course it’s profiteroles, because why not,” Roman said, biting a smile. “Your breathing is picking up, my sweet. Why is that?”
“Something about being tied up… Why the hell does that sound so sexy?”
“It does sound amazing, doesn’t it?”
“Have you tied anyone up before?”
“I have. Didn’t do much for me. But I’ll bet tying you up will drive me up the fucking wall.” His fingers entangled my hair and his mouth found mine. His kiss was languorous and deep. As if he was claiming me from the inside out.
“As long as I get my turn too,” I murmured into his mouth. He replied with a primal grunt.
For the second time that day he scraped me up and carried me to his bed where he not-so-gently threw me down. He disappeared into his dressing room and emerged with a bespoke silk tie.
Now if one wants to be tied up with anything, a bespoke silk tie would do just fine. Preferably a neutral color like muted silver, with what other than the small Belmont crest at the tip.
“Nice tie,” I said coyly.
“It’s not going to be so nice to you in a moment,” he replied, going so extra hard for commanding that I almost—almost—laughed.
He stood over me, contemplating me with a feral look. “Let me just be clear on one thing. I’m not terribly knowledgeable in this field and—”
“Roman shut up and just tie me up already please,” I demanded coquettishly.
He crawled over me, his eyes ablaze. “You have such a mouth on you, my sweet. It’s making me want to do things to you.”
I squirmed with delight. Roman pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. “If you want me to do this, you’re going to have to be still.”
“Sooooo, we’re not going with resistance here.”
“Not yet. You’re so impatient. Let’s do one thing at a time.”
Tying my wrist with the fancy tie seemed to be slightly more difficult than Roman anticipated, because he cursed under his breath. I tried to suppress my laughter, but a faint giggle slipped out.
“Are you having trouble?” I said.
“Are you laughing, honey badger?”
“I am because you should see your face.”
“Close your eyes. I’m supposed to be an intimidating bastard holding you captive under suspicious circumstances.”
That had me curling with laughter. “I thought you’d done this before.”
“It was a long time ago and the woman had handcuffs. Those come with a key. I said keep still.”
“I can’t stay still when I laugh.”
“Then stop laughing for God’s sake,” he said, laughing.
He finally managed to tie my wrists, and in an effort to gain back his macho composure, he spread my legs with his knees and lorded over me. “Now where were we?” he asked.
I arched my body toward him, pretending to struggle against my restraints. He seemed to like that. A lot.
There were no kisses, no caressing my cheeks, no soft whispers about the wonders of Isabel. When he drove his finger inside me to pamper that sensitive spot once more, he groaned. “You are so very very wet. What a bad girl you are.” And then he entered me, showing me no grace.
This was not Roman the cultivated heir to empire; this was Roman, merciless and uncensored. It took my arousal to a whole new, and if I might add, wonderful level.
“Get off me?” I yelled meekly, trying to fight him off with my legs but as hard as I tried, it was difficult to resist or play hard to get with all these spectacular feelings flooding my insides. “Oh God… Oh God…”
But then Roman muttered to me quietly, using the demanding tone of a priest damning his flock. “I have had enough of your disobedience. So here’s how this is going to work. No more refusing to stay here at Belmont Manor. From now on you are going to be in my bed every night, and you’re going to be there when I wake up. You will be at my beck and call, and you will like it. Is that clear?”
The wave of pleasure building inside me stalled, if only for a split second. “Your beck and call? What? Are you serious?”
His eyes pierced mine, his smile borderline predatory. “Oh I’m serious, my sweet. If it’s easier we can just buy everything you need. You’ll never have to leave again.”
“Roman,” I breathed. “Wait. No!”
“You may say no, but your body is saying a resounding yes.”
Now I was getting a little pissed off. I tried to free my wrists, but his hand clamped down, keeping the tie intact. I needed to think, and I couldn’t think with him inside me like this, every thrust bringing me closer to this orgasm that was threatening to quiet the inside voice that warned my independence was in peril.
And oh God, the exquisite rush left me breathless and completely at its mercy. I was helpless against Roman’s strength and my pitiful fight died in a whimper under his fierce touch.
“You need to stop this,” I begged hoarsely. “Let’s talk about it first!”
“Stop what my sweet,” Roman asked casually, his mouth drowning out my plea. “If you really want me to stop then you know what to say.”
It took me a second but I realized Roman was setting me up. He knew exactly which buttons of mine to push. But now the battle between wholly pissed off and untamed desire was a thing, and too delicious to stop.
“And do you know what else you’re going to do, Isabel?” he whispered in my ear. “You’re going to come with me.”
“No, I won’t,” I lied.
“Yes, you will,” he said while he continued with hard, deep strokes. “Yes. You. Will.”
“I’m not your goddamn sweet,” I managed while panting and writhing, my body begging for more.
His mouth trailed down to my breasts. “Oh yes. You. Are.” And this time there was no sign of tenderness, only his teeth pinching my nipples, then his warm tongue dragging over them to mellow out the sting.
My eyes closed against these wicked new pleasures clawing through me. Roman knew the moment when that wave crested, muttering into my mouth. “Come with me.”
And I did, the raw sound of my release and Roman’s name sliding off my lips and echoing off the walls. Roman watched me, holding back a few excruciating seconds before he succumbed to his own blistering release, pulsing into me as he whispered my name.
We lay in a pool of breathless bliss for an eternal moment before Roman untied me and gently wiped the mist from my face, kissing my wrists until the pink marks faded. Waiting for the thrill to simmer down. “Did you have fun, honey badger?”
My chest tightened at his gentle tone. “I did. And I mean it was amazing. And now I’m curious why I liked it so much.”
“I don’t think you should put too much thought into it,” he said. “You’re a strong woman, and sometimes it’s good to let go of that strength. And having fun while doing it is a plus.”
I combed my fingers through his hair. “And you, Roman? Do you ever want to let go?”
“Why don’t I let you think about that and one day find out for yourself?”
“Ooh, you make me feel all tingly again. Didn’t you say we’ll be napping too this afternoon?”
He folded me into him. “We’ll nap. But first I want to have my cake…and eat it too.”
I laughed into his chest. “You missed your calling. You should have been a stand-up comedian.”
“Well, thank you,” he said with mock dignity. “I’m new at this making-jokes thing, so your patience while I do some audience testing will be appreciated.”
Which made me laugh even more.
Roman let out an exasperated groan. “You need to stop laughing, please. That laugh of yours has done more damage to my self-control than you can ever imagine.”
“How can I make it up to you,” I said, coiling out of his arms. “I know, I’ll get the cake. And then you can eat it too.”
The sound of his laughter followed me as I strolled to the kitchen, walking on air. And if I could bottle the incredible euphoria I felt, I could own the whole world.
So we had cake. And we let the buttercream frosting take our imagination exactly where we both wanted it to go. Eventually we fell asleep in a tangled heap of love, to the sound of the roaring North Atlantic--sole witness to our bliss.
It was a miracle I woke up a couple of hours later. I needed to get to dance rehearsal with Sergei because heaven help me if I was late for that. Roman was still fast asleep and it was a toss-up as to whether I should wake him or not. He seemed so relaxed.
I checked my phone and knew the Navigator was already waiting. I got dressed, grabbed my picnic basket and rushed out the door, hoping I could find my way to the main entrance without getting lost in this maze of a house.
My new driver was waiting with a deadpan scowl. George told me this morning he was off on a getaway with his wife and to expect someone new to drive me back and forth for three days. What George didn’t tell me was that The Terminator was taking the wheel.
There was the small problem of leaving my coat behind in Henry’s room, but the driver didn’t look like he’d be singing off the rooftops were I to rush back in and get my coat. So I left it.
I scooted into the Navigator’s back seat, fighting off a giddy smile and feeling like the Scarlet Woman, the one who unashamedly seduced the lord of the manor and didn’t regret a single thing.
We’d barely reached the end of the drive and the big black gates when my phone dinged with a text.