The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(136)

“You’re home late. I thought we had to be at the dinner by now?" I ask Roman when he walks through the door. He stops to look at me and it takes years of training to keep from squirming. I know he’s taking in my outfit and hair. I’m wearing dress pants, black, with a white lace and silk top. It shows nothing, not even cleavage. My hair, I’ve twisted and secured at my nape, and though I know I look good, I look nothing like Roman instructed. I wait to see if he says anything. I’m almost disappointed when he doesn’t. “We’re going to be late,” I add, waiting for the explosion.

“I’ll shower and be out in twenty,” he says, which is damn anticlimactic. I’ve been keyed up for an hour wondering what he would say or do. I almost talked myself out of my rebellion two or three times. Now it seems I worried over nothing. I follow him to the bedroom and pick up his discarded trail of clothes.

I notice there’s a stain on his shirt just as he heads to the shower. “Roman? Did you cut yourself? There’s blood on your shirt.”

“It’s not mine,” he says ominously over the roaring water in the shower. I decide to let it go and not think about it. Lord knows I have enough on my plate.

True to his word, Roman is out of the shower and in the limousine headed to the dinner in thirty minutes. Yet the ride over is really quiet. He’s said very little and I’m picking up a weird vibe from him. Even worse, he’s not given me so much as a simple kiss on the cheek since he got back, and that’s very different from the way he usually is with me.

“Is everything okay, Roman?” I ask when I can’t stand the silence any longer. We’ve been at the party for an hour. I’ve been introduced, inspected, and dissected since we got here. The men have leered and the women have been trying to kill me with looks. I’m a nervous wreck and I just want out of here. The fact that Roman has kept a hand on me the entire time, either by putting his arm around me or keeping one at the small of my back, is the only reason I haven’t run away. All this, however, and he’s still barely said more than four complete sentences to me. He leads me over to the corner of the ballroom we’re in. We’re the only couple in here and I find I can breathe easy for the first time since we got in the damn vehicle to get here.

“What could be wrong, pet?”

“You’re quiet,” I tell him as he pulls us to the corner and leans against it as if he owns the place. Hell, maybe he does. “Roman, maybe we should go home. You don’t seem to be in the mood to be here, and I…”

“Stand in front of me, Ana, with your back to the others,” he orders, interrupting me.

“What?”

“You heard me. Do it, Ana.”

“What are you doing?” I ask, when he roughly pulls me so I’m standing between his legs.

“That’s easy, pet. I’m going to play with my favorite toy,” he tells me, his hand going to undo the button on my slacks.

“Roman, we’re in the middle of a business party. They’ll see!”

“Not if you’re careful. Now, if you draw attention to us… probably.”

“We can’t do this,” I tell him, even as my breathing speeds up and I look forward to his touch.

“It is happening. I think you forgot who has control,” he whispers into my ear, and chills run down my body as my heart speeds up. I should hate him when he talks like that. I should hate that he treats me as if I am his property. It shouldn’t excite me the way it does. My body shouldn’t betray me and become aroused until the point of pain, needing what only Roman can give me.

“I didn’t forget. You would never let me forget,” I tell him, and even to my ears, I sound like a petulant child.

“Interesting, because I could have sworn I told you to wear a particular dress tonight, and yet here you are in pants.”

“The dress was too revealing. It showed everything I had.”

“That’s the problem. It’s mine to reveal. Mine to control and mine to reward. I wanted every man in here to envy what is mine. To look, knowing they could never touch. I like it, Ana. I like knowing the sad f*cks are home jacking off by their on hand and hating it because I have what they really want. I’m the one sunk balls-deep inside of her, making her scream. You took that away from me, pet. Now you have to pay the consequences.”

“Roman…” I gasp his name as his hand slides into my loosened pants and cups my *, squeezing it.

“So warm and hot. This is my * now, Ana. Mine. It craves what I can give it,” he growls in my ear as his fingers dive inside of me without warning. Jesus. How many did he thrust inside of me? More than one. Three, maybe? I can’t be sure. The one thing I do know is that he’s right. My * is so wet that it made his fingers thrust inside my channel easily. With each glide, and the teasing of his thumb against my clit, my desire increases, making me crave his cock. He’s right. My body is his to control and it does need him. I hate myself because he has that control over me. I hate him because it’s only my body he wants, not me… not my heart.

“One thing I should tell you, pet.”

“What?” I ask and it sounds more like a moan.

“I’m going to finger-f*ck you, just like this, for ten more minutes. The only catch is, you can’t come until I tell you.”