Lovegame(24)

“I do want you!”

“Correction, you did want me. Now you just want to f*ck and get it over with so you can send me on my way. But that’s not how this works.”

Her voice is pure diva when she answers, “It works however I say it works.”

I laugh. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

She gasps in outrage, struggles against my hold. But I’m not ready to let go of her hands just yet. I do lift up on her stomach though, stroking a hand across her breast, where I pause just long enough to pinch her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

She gasps, licks her lips. Arches her back invitingly. “Of course I do.”

“Oh yeah? Then why aren’t I inside you right now?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She raises a brow, somehow manages to look down her nose at me despite the fact that I’m the one on top. And is every inch the queen while doing it.

It only turns me on more. “Got any ideas yet?”

“No.” She strains against my hands, tries to buck me off. “And I don’t care. I’ve lost interest.”

“Have you? Really?” I press my lips against the pulse point on her neck, relishing the way it stutters and jumps. I stay there for a moment, sucking a bruise into her tender skin before licking my way up the slender column of her throat.

She moans, but her eyes are narrow when they glare into mine, her cheeks hot and flushed. “Either f*ck me or let me go.”

“Funny,” I say, easing back just enough to adjust her hands and flip her over, “how you still seem to think you’re the one in control here.”

That sets her off just like I knew it would and she tries to buck against me. But she’s facedown on the table now, her hands clasped loosely behind her back and her legs spread-eagled so that I can rest between them without hurting her.

“Aren’t I?” She slides backward just enough to press her ass right up against my dick.

Fuck. It feels good—she feels good and I barely resist the urge to groan, to thrust against her. But if I do, she’ll think she’s won and that is not how this is going to go down.

So I keep it together, fighting down my own need as I shift to straddle her thighs so that I can rub my cock back and forth along the crack of that gorgeous, world-famous ass. At the same time, I bring my hand down on her ass in a move that’s half slap, half caress.

She jumps, gasps. But she doesn’t try to fight me, so I bring my hand down on her ass a second time. “Baby, you are a lot of things right now, but in control definitely isn’t one of them.”

I spank her one more time before sliding my hand around the curve of her hip and then between her stomach and the table. Her skin is smooth and warm, her body soft in all the right places, and I use a couple of fingers to circle her navel before stroking my way down her abdomen to her mons, her clit, her *.

I rub against her clit once, twice, before moving down to stroke along her slit. She’s hot and wet—so much wetter than she’d been even a couple of minutes ago—and it proves to me that I’m doing something right. Proves to me that while Veronica may want a gentle lapdog of a lover, what she needs is something else entirely.

The thought turns me on, but that’s no surprise when everything about this woman turns me on. There’s a part of me that knows I should back off, knows I should be concerned about professional objectivity. But the article will be done in a couple of days, so that isn’t a problem. As for the rest…as for the rest, she’s only ever been a very peripheral part of my research and f*cking her won’t change that. It won’t skew what I know, won’t make me think any differently than I already do.

Besides, any man who can actually walk away from a naked and very aroused Veronica Romero is obviously a better man than I am.

I tighten my hold on her wrists with one hand, use the fingers of the other to pinch her clit hard enough to have her hips bucking against the table and her breath slamming out of her in a rush. I like the response a lot, like even more the way she shivers just a little, which is why I do it again. And again. Then, before she has a chance to recover, I thrust two fingers deep inside of her and scissor them gently.

She moans, her hips jacking up against my hand in an effort to take me deeper. Fuck. She feels good. For a second I forget about the game we’re playing, forget about whatever secrets she’s hiding, and lose myself in the tight, hot clasp of her around my fingers. But then she twists her wrists in my grasp, her nails digging into the back of my hand as she urges me deeper, deeper, deeper.

I give it to her for one second, two, before I remember what I’m doing—remember how this is supposed to go. When I do, I let go of her wrists just long enough to deliver another, sharper smack to the fleshy part of her ass at the same time I pull out of her in a rush.

“What? No!” She keens a little, arches back against me.

Starts to reach for me.

I grab her wrists before she can connect, pull her arms straight and tight so that her hands rest against the small of her back. Then I roll off of her, ignoring both her desperate protests and my throbbing dick as I use my other hand to spread her legs wider even as I pull her up to her knees.

With her upper body still flush against the table and her ass in the air—legs spread wide open—her * is on full display. And she is gorgeous.