“That you were going to beg me.” His voice was low, dangerous in that way that made my stomach clench.
“I’m not-“
The flick of his tongue erased every syllable from my head. I arched, pulling hard against the belt, but he pressed me flat to the bed with one palm on my stomach. The weight of it was possessive, commanding.
Every slow stroke of his tongue felt like it was pulling something taut inside me, winding me tighter and tighter.
“I said…” he murmured against me, still gripping my thigh over his shoulder, “…stay still.”
I whimpered, my hips disobeying as I tried to press against him harder. His mouth closed over me again, and my vision went white for a second.
The belt cut into my wrists as I fought to get free. “Roman, please-“
LIKE
“There it is,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers racing down my thighs, igniting a fire within me. “Begging already, sweetheart?”
I felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks, a part of me wanting to deny it, but another deliberate swirl of his tongue had me gasping instead. “Let me touch you. Please. I want-“
“You want?” he prodded, pulling back just enough that the absence of his warmth felt like a punch to my gut, a cruel tease that left me yearning.
“I want my hands in your hair,” I blurted out, desperation lacing my tone like a melody I couldn’t control.
“And what would you do with them, Savannah?” he asked, his voice smooth like silk, yet laced with an edge that made my heart race.
I bucked into him, the need overwhelming. “Press you deeper. Hold you there. Make you-oh God-“
“Make me what?” His tone was almost languid, yet his mouth was anything but lazy.
“Make you finish me,” I panted, the words spilling from my lips like a confession.
He chuckled softly against my skin, the sound vibrating through me, igniting every nerve. “Told you you’d beg.”
“I want to touch you. Please.” I begged shamelessly, my voice a whisper filled with longing.
He chuckled, dark and rich, a sound that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “Of course you do, Sav. But you’re staying right where you are.”
And then he moved. Fast.
With a swift motion, he dropped my thighs from his shoulder, sliding his hands under my backside, gripping me hard, and dragged me to the edge of the bed in one rough pull. My legs fell wider, dangling over the sides, completely open to him, vulnerability flooding through me.
I made a strangled sound, torn between the heat of embarrassment and the shiver of anticipation that raked down my spine, each sensation intensifying my desire.
Then he bent down, his mouth hot and relentless, a force of nature that had me gasping.
The first deep stroke had my head snapping back against the pillow. “Oh God-“
“Not God,” he said into me, his voice deep and commanding, not even pausing to let me catch my breath. “Say my name.”
“Roman,” I gasped, the sound escaping me like a sob, raw and unfiltered.
He alternated between slow, languid licks that made me whimper and quick, devastating flicks that had my hips surging up, only for him to push me back down, holding me in place like I was his to command.
“Press into me,” he ordered suddenly, pulling me even closer, his grip bruising yet possessive. “Go on, love. Use me.”
I did, unable to stop myself, grinding against his mouth until I thought I might lose my mind. His hands kept me steady, his tongue ruthless, every stroke and shift in rhythm calculated to break me open, to unravel me completely.
My wrists burned from straining, my muscles ached to pull him closer, to drag him impossibly deeper. “Please, Roman, please-“
He hummed against me, the sound sending a jolt through my very core. “Almost there, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasped, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Please don’t stop.”
“Then think,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world while I was coming apart under his mouth. “The clues, Sav. Put them together.”
I wanted to scream at him that I couldn’t, that my brain was a chaotic whirlwind, that all I could focus on was the slick heat of his tongue and the way he had me spread open and utterly helpless before him.
But he didn’t relent. He pressed me harder against his mouth, his tongue moving faster, his grip unyielding. My body climbed higher and higher, the edge so close I could almost taste it-
“Say the clue,” he murmured against me, his tone a delicious mix of amusement and hunger.
I tried to think…
Professor Kingston; the way he had said the name; Dean Archer-my thoughts collided like frightened animals, chaotic and wild. But the problem wasn’t the memory itself. It was the way his mouth sent electric currents through me, unraveling whatever thread of concentration I had left.
When his finger slid inside me, quick and precise, the world shrank down to the slick circle of his fingertip and the way he tasted on my skin, intoxicating and overwhelming.
“Fuck,” I breathed, a guttural response that wasn’t even a thought. It was primal, raw, and animalistic. He laughed softly, a sound I imagined he savored just as much as he enjoyed my little attempts at cleverness.
And then-
It hit me.
Not all at once, but like a spark igniting in the dark. Little flickers of memory began to align. Dean’s smirk earlier. The phone in his hand. How he had silently tucked his phone away before Roman walked in. Roman’s silence about the truth. The way he had looked at me when I’d mentioned that night.
The restraint in his voice when he spoke about last night earlier.
And then the final piece-Roman’s own words, too careful, too deliberate. He’d been dropping the clues all along.
Dean didn’t have something on him.
No… it was me.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.