14. Tate #2
“Fuck,” I utter as I lose control, spilling between our bodies, the friction cresting the wave inside me until I explode.
Roman says something in Russian and it sounds low and fucking beautiful and I hate it, I hate that he has so much power over me and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
He’s so right.
I need him, and I’m useless in the face of it.
No one is ever going to feel this good.
His scent.
His gaze.
His fucking size.
The rain patters down against the car.
Roman drops my hips after I come, and I’m still catching my breath, feeling like I’m floating on air, as he reaches into his rumpled pants for two of the lube packets and a condom that says XXXL on the foil.
He rips them open and coats his cock as I watch as the slickness gleams in the reflected lamplight from outside.
I expect him to flip me over, but he never does.
He loops one arm under my lower back again, angling my body so that he has access to my ass, and he takes two slick fingers, pushing inside of me without warning.
“Holy fuck,” I utter.
It’s tight.
With other guys, it was always so methodical. They’d kiss me once or twice, jerk me off for a minute, then start trying to work me open.
Nobody’s ever made me come before they stuck their fingers in me, and now the idea of that sounds pathetic.
I’m angry at myself for never knowing how insanely good it feels.
“My cock is going to hurt you,” Roman says simply, nodding at me from above. “Are you ready for that?”
“Give it to me and find out.”
He clicks his tongue. “I don’t want to actually break you. I need to keep you in one piece so I can fuck you again. And again. Any time you need it.”
I exhale as he adds a third finger.
“Fuck, that’s a lot,” I whisper.
“Only three fingers.”
“When the hand is your hand, three fingers is a whole lot more than with anyone else.”
He reaches up with his free hand and casually gives one of the black ropes a little tug, and I feel the pleasant pressure on my wrist. I don’t know what type of rope it is, but it’s soft enough not to burn, but rough enough that I never forget it’s there.
He begins a steady rhythm with his fingers, working me open until I swear I feel a twitch in my cock even though I just spent my load a few minutes ago.
The stroke of his fingers in my ass is already so good, soothing, almost, in the hypnotizing way he’s doing it.
And then he revokes all of it in one quick moment.
I moan at the loss, and I feel so empty that I’m no longer afraid of his size.
“Give me your cock,” I murmur.
“We need to work on your patience.”
“Fuck that. I don’t want patience.”
“We have all the time in the world, beauty.”
My heart aches because I love hearing him call me that so goddamn much, and now I’m starting to chub up again, watching him stroke his slicked cock.
But I also know it’s not true.
We may not have that much time.
“Fuck,” I shout way too loud as he lines up his tip with my hole and pushes the first bit of it in.
“I know, baby.”
“Holy Lord, how does anyone…”
“Shh. Patience.”
I growl at that word again but I try to relax my body, letting him do all of the work for me.
His arm looped under my waist helps a lot, getting exactly the right angle for him to spread my legs wide and take me like this.
Even the tip of his cock teasing at my hole is a stretch.
Roman suddenly shifts into the most tender, caring version of him I’ve ever seen. He uses one hand to keep my back propped at the good angle, but his other hand strokes along the side of my body, soft and almost sweet.
His gaze is just as warm.
His lips part a little as he manages to push an inch inside me, and when I groan at the intrusion, he bites his lower lip.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
“You like me, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like the way I hurt you… the way I make you feel good, too.”
I let out a broken exhale. “Yes.”
“Look at you, with my restraints around your wrists. My markings, etched on your skin. Me in you.”
His words cut off as he rapidly shoves another inch into my hole, and my ass screams with pain at the intrusion and I swear I can’t fucking take it right as it starts giving way, relaxing into a hot relief.
He got his cockhead inside me, I realize.
“H…holyfuck,” I babble, my voice coming out wavering.
My cock throbs, starting to actually get hard again, with the immense pressure in my ass.
“See why I said you need patience?”
I let out a sound almost like a sob, but as a stray tear breaks off from one eye, it feels like I’m only crying tears of fucking joy.
“No,” I protest. “I don’t need patience. Give me more of you.”
It’s a bold thing to say when I damn well know I can’t take more for a moment, still adjusting to his ridiculous width.
But I don’t have control over the things that spill out of my mouth right now.
Don’t care, either.
I push my head back against the leather seat in the car, looking up at him like I’m studying the statue of a god.
Every tattoo, with the thick, dark ink shifting over the planes of muscle his body holds. His dark lashes and eyes trained directly on my face, watching for every little motion I make, trying to gauge how much he can give me.
He sees me staring.
He dips low, catching my lips in a frustratingly quick kiss, then hovering an inch above my face.