Lovegame(33)

And yet here I am, doing all of that and more with Veronica Romero. And though I know I should probably back off if I want to have any chance of getting the answers I so desperately need, I also know that there’s no chance that I’m going to do that. Not now, when heat and tension and sex pulse so overwhelmingly between us.

“I could scream,” she says as she tugs at the wrist she’s still holding on to. “Security would drag you out of here in a heartbeat.”

“So scream.” It’s a dare and she knows it.

I pause for several long seconds, waiting for her to make good on her threat. On my dare. But she doesn’t. Instead she just stands there, watching me watch her. It’s her own version of a dare, a giant f*ck-you to me and everything I want from her.

I’m not having it, not after everything she’s already pulled.

I twist out of her hold, then pull this hand behind her back as well. I shift my grip so that I’m holding both of her wrists in one hand, then use my other hand to undo the belt of her robe.

She gasps as the red silk falls open, hunching her shoulders inward as if she’s trying to hide herself from my gaze. Or protect herself.

“Don’t!” I order, tugging on her wrists until she’s once again standing straight and exposed in front of me. And then I look my fill—at her creamy skin, her rose-colored nipples. Her waxed bare mons.

She doesn’t try to cover herself again. Doesn’t try to hide from my gaze. Instead she stands there, head high and eyes blazing at my scrutiny.

It’s a good look on her, one that turns me on almost as much as her beautiful body does.

Because I am turned on—and because she knows it—I stroke my thumb back and forth across her bottom lip hard enough to chafe. When she still doesn’t pull away, I push inside her mouth and wait to see what she’ll do.

There’s a part of me that expects her to bite me—God knows, I probably deserve it at this point—but that’s not what happens. Instead, she lets me stroke my thumb over her tongue for one second, two.

And then she begins to suck.

Fuck. Pleasure arrows through me as she licks along the bottom of my thumb, skates down my spine and along my skin before shooting straight to my cock. I can tell she expects me to pull away—this is her power play, after all—so I don’t. Instead, I push deeper, letting her do her worst as I relish the feel of her tongue and teeth and the soft, sexy heat of her mouth. As I relish the way her lips purse and her cheeks hollow out even as her eyes stay locked with mine. It’s pretty obvious she’s enjoying this as much as I am.

When I finally pull out, she whimpers softly. It’s a high-pitched, desperate sound that nearly has me coming in my f*cking pants even as I slide my thumb over her chin, down her throat, between her breasts, over her stomach and navel, and finally—finally—down her abdomen and mons to her sex.

I press hard against her clit then, loving the little gasp she makes. Loving even more how hot she is. How wet. “Open your legs,” I demand as I slide my hand between her thighs.

She doesn’t move at first, and for long seconds I wait—my gaze locked with hers—as I wonder if she’s going to defy me. And what I’ll do if she does. In the end, she does as I ask, though, shifting her thighs apart just enough for me to turn my hand palm up.

To reward her—and because I can’t resist any longer—I circle her clit with my thumb. Stroke two fingers along her sex. Press my pinky finger against her anus.

She gasps, stiffens, instinctively tries to pull away. But I can see the pleasure in her eyes, feel the wetness of her arousal against my skin, so I use my other hand—the one still wrapped around her wrists at the small of her back—to put pressure on her and keep her in place. Then, without warning, I slide two fingers inside of her, fast and hard and deep.

She lets out a strangled little scream as I hit her G-spot on the first try, stroking slow and easy. And then she’s coming around me, her body rhythmically clenching on my fingers as I continue to work her over. To take her higher.

At one point, her head falls back and her eyelids flutter closed. “Don’t!” I order as I flick my thumb over her clit and corkscrew my fingers against her G-spot. “Look at me.”

It takes a moment but eventually the words get through. She opens her eyes and pins her gaze to mine just as I set off a second orgasm inside of her.

She gasps then, her mouth falling open in a silent O as I draw out the pleasure. As I take her higher. She’s riding my hand now, her hips thrusting back and forth against my fingers in an effort to take me even deeper.

My cock is throbbing, my whole body on fire with the need to bury myself inside of her. But this encounter is as much about control as it is about sex and there’s no way I’m giving that to her. Not when she’s already struggling so hard to take over. To push me out of her space, out of her life. There are too many answers I still need from her, and too much I still want to do to her, for me to let that happen.

And so I hold back, concentrate instead on wringing every drop of pleasure that I can from her. Concentrate on turning her body and the part of her brain that worries and schemes to little more than mush.

I’m certain that it works, too, her body sagging against mine as its rhythmic contractions around my fingers finally end. She takes several long, unsteady breaths. Rests her forehead on my chest. Continues to tremble against and around me.