“I’m not…”
“Don’t lie to me. If the way your body is shaking doesn’t give you away, the tears in your eyes do. So this is me, a man not used to putting others first, trying to be gentle with you. But I know you can feel the way my cock is hard against your ass and I think you get I want to be touching you and holding you all of the time. If not, let me spell it out for you. There’s not a fucking thing about you I view with pity. I see a strong woman, a beautiful woman. I see a woman I want to fuck and dominate and lose myself in over and over. I see a woman I’ve claimed and one I won’t give up. I see a woman who fucking fascinates me to the point that I canceled the rest of my day so I can spend most of the afternoon being gentle with her in hopes of getting between her legs without feeling guilt tonight, when I’m not so gentle.”
“There’s a lot there to take in,” I tell him, my brain replaying his words. All of them and everything they say storms through me and they make me feel alive. Roman doesn’t give flowery words and seduction. His words are raw. I could be lying to myself, but I think they are full of truth. I decide to give him truth in return. “What if I don’t want gentle?”
“Ana.”
“What if need the exact opposite of gentle from you, Roman?” His eyes literally bore into me for a minute, maybe two. Then he reaches over and pushes the button on the door.
“Yeah, boss?” Robert’s voice comes over the intercom.
“Change of plans. Take us to my apartment, Robert,” Roman tells him, then immediately turns the intercom off. The heated way he looks at me makes everything inside of me grow hot. “I hope you know what you’re asking for, pet,” he warns me.
So do I.
The rest of the ride is tense silence. Tense because I really want to fuck her now and not wait. The only thing that stops me is, I want her in a bed. Correction: I want her tied to the bed and at my mercy.
Somehow, I make it out of the limo and elevator without attacking her. The way she keeps looking at me, the obvious desire on her face, and the ragged breathing that makes her breasts literally dance with each breath, all combine to make that a near miss. So much so that when I turn to close the apartment door, locking us inside, I remain facing the door to calm my breathing. At this rate, it will be over way too soon and I don’t want that. Ana is a flower I need to unwrap one sweet, delicate petal at a time.
“Roman?” Ana questions.
“Bedroom. Now, Ana. Lose the clothes and lie on your stomach and wait for me,” I tell her without looking at her, going to the bar to grab a drink. I need to calm down, to take the edge off before I go to her. I expected her to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she silently walks down the hall to the master suite. I watch her go, my eyes transfixed on the way her jeans hug her ass. I finish my drink and pour another one, all while barely taking my eyes off of the last place I saw Ana before she disappeared. All while imagining her on my bed naked and waiting for me, that tight ass of hers sticking up in the air. I down my second drink, not even taking the time to enjoy it. I’ve held back as long as I can. When I clear the doorway to the bedroom, I almost come in my fucking jeans.
I thought I was prepared, but I realize there’s no way you could be prepared for this. Ana is resting on the dark purple sheets on my bed. Her milky white body, a perfect contrast. Her blonde hair is scattered across her neck and shoulders, her head turned to the side, and those violet eyes are watching me. How did I get to be the lucky son of a bitch to have her in my bed? How in the fuck did I survive before she came along? More importantly, how the fuck did I get so wrapped up in her in such a short time? All are good questions, and all of the answers to those questions don’t matter one fuck. The point is, she’s here now, and she’s mine.
I take off my cufflinks, leaving them on the small table by the door, my eyes glued to Ana’s. She swallows nervously as I loosen the tie from around my neck.
“You get that you are mine now, pet? How it displeases me if you put yourself in a situation where you could be hurt?” I ask her, walking towards the bed and wrapping the tie around both my hands, stretching it.
“I’m sorry, Roman,” she whispers. I expected arguing, something.
“On your knees, Ana, and face me,” I order. Her eyes go wide, but she does as I order. “Give me your hands.”