The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(98)

“My God,” I whisper before I can stop myself. So much for playing it cool. Until this moment, I thought I could play cool with the best of them. It’s the only way I’ve survived in my line of work; I’ve perfected it down to a science. All signs of being cool are gone now, blown completely to smithereens, and I can do nothing but stare at the massive cock between his legs. It’s at least ten inches, maybe longer, but that’s not what scares me. It’s wide. I don’t think there’s any way possible one of my hands could encircle it.

Roman laughs. “See something you like, pet?”

I lick my lips because they are so parched it feels as if I’ve not had anything to drink in months. Ever since the dance earlier today, I’ve been on edge. No. Let’s call a spade a spade. I’m horny. I have never been horny in my life. It’s another reason I can be so calm and cool. My life is chaos and there’s no time for personal needs. The few men I’ve been with have been pleasant, even good, but nothing I missed when I crawled in bed by myself at night.

“You’ll split me apart,” I tell him because apparently being horny means your filters are gone and you blurt things out without thinking.

Roman, for his part, throws his head back in the first show of full-fledged laughter that I’ve seen. Like this, he’s sexier. His body is relaxed and he doesn’t seem as distant or unreachable. Of course, it could be because with each movement of his body, his cock dances against him, tempting me even further.

“Not hardly, pet. But for now, that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” I ask, watching as a thin line of clear liquid runs from the dark head of his cock and along the shaft, painting one of the large veins that bulges against the skin. My tongue comes out, wanting to taste it, to bring it into my mouth and drink it.

“No, you’re not getting my cock right now.” Angels are probably crying in heaven. I can hear them and I join them with my protesting whimper. “Shh, pet. You will get it … in due time. When you’ve earned it. For now I have a different game in mind.”

When I’ve earned it? Everything in me protests, but I shut it down. Complete control.

“What game?” I ask, unable to move my eyes from his cock. It’s hypnotizing me, the way it’s moving back and forth, taunting me with its size.

“Do you know what one of my favorite things is, Ana?”

“What?” I ask, wondering how he expects me to carry on a coherent conversation like this.

“Watching a woman completely lost in her orgasm. Watching every moment as it comes crashing down on her and seeing the exact moment that she loses touch with reality and finally lets go.”

Those words bring my eyes back to him. Perhaps I should have done that sooner, because he has something in his hand. It’s glittery and purple and has these thin straps attached to it.

“What is that?”

“Something that will make you feel really good, sweet, sweet Ana,” he says softly, putting a knee on the bed. I watch as he attaches one of the straps around my waist. His hand moves down to caress my *. “I love that you are bare and so beautiful. Such a delicate pink. I’m going to take real good care of this *, pet.” He forgot the word “wet” because I’m definitely that, and at his words, I just get wetter. There’s no time to be embarrassed because Roman’s finger slides between the lips and strokes against my swollen clit. My hips jerk off the bed, my hands pulling against the restraint without success.

“Yes, please,” I moan as he glides over it again. My body feels as if it is on fire. I don’t think it will take much to set me off. I jerk though when I feel the cold silicone slide against my * and push up against my clit, stretching it into place. “What’s that?”

“This is called a butterfly, sweet Ana. Have you ever played with one before?”

I try to concentrate on his words and on the excitement I felt earlier and stop the panic inside of me. “What?” I gasp, but he stills my protest with a gentle kiss against my stomach. It’s tender and sweet and completely different from what is going on between us.

He leaves the bed and I notice a chair behind where he was standing before. I was so engrossed in him, I didn’t notice it earlier. I do now because he sits in it, naked as the day he was born, though obviously there’s a lot more to him now. He seems like this is just another day for him. Maybe it is. Right now, he appears to not have a care in the world, as if he doesn’t have me tied to the bed—

All thoughts end as I feel a soft vibration begin fluttering against my *. It’s soft, barely more than a ghost touch, a tease, just enough to get my attention. I swallow hard, my body heated and my breath short. The blood is thrumming through my veins and echoing so loud in my ears that I’m sure Roman can hear it. He shows no sign of it. He sits there in silence. In fact, the only sound in the room is my ragged breathing and the quiet hum of the vibrator. I can do nothing but watch him. Time has ceased to have meaning. I know it’s been awhile. Twenty minutes? Thirty? It could have been even more and nothing new happens. Except…

The small stimulation is starting to get to me. I can feel the changes in my body: the tightening in my breasts, the creamy wetness I can feel dripping from my * … it all slowly directs me to an edge I know I will eventually fall over. There’s nothing I can do to stop it—or to come. I would definitely take that choice. My hands pull against the bindings, but it doesn’t let me move. With each passing moment, my need increases. My body twists and turns, trying to find what it needs, but nothing I’m doing helps.