I would have screamed out, but my voice was gone. He was cutting off my oxygen, watching me ride his fingers, watching me lose my control and consciousness. I held onto his shirt, felt my nipples tightening against the fabric, felt his eyes watching me, my tits, and my body riding him.
I should have stopped.
But I couldn’t.
I was on some roller coaster of Rome, some fucked up feeling of wanting him and then hating him and wanting him to want me too.
I saw spots as he pressed his thumb into my clit and rubbed back and forth, hard and slow. “Please, Rome. Please, please, please.” I begged him like I begged no man. I climbed to a higher mountain with him than I had with anyone else. I was willing to give in, willing to give anything to reach the peak with him.
He moved his fingers faster. “You beg me and only me, Katalina. This part of you belongs to me.”
I wanted to tell him to fuck me, to unzip his jeans and let us get a quickie in, but he took my orgasm too fast by sliding a third finger in and curling them to hit my G-spot while rolling his thumb roughly on my clit.
Just as my core tightened, he released my neck and covered my mouth to muffle my moan while I convulsed around his fingers.
When he knew I’d be quiet, his hand gripped my jaw, making me look right in his eyes. All I could see was hunger and rage as he said, “Buy the other dress.”
I didn’t confirm or deny that I would do anything. He slowly removed his hand from under my dress, and I tried not to mourn the loss immediately.
“If I buy the other dress, what do I get out of it?”
“A happy monster for the night? That not good enough for you?” he said without looking up. He was turning me around, trying to find a way to help me out of the bodice. “Where the fuck is the zipper?”
“I’m tied in.”
He groaned. “I hate this thing.”
“Sure?” I said as I glanced down at the swell in his jeans. My mouth watered, and I just about licked my lips. I knew how he handled that dick, and I knew it was some of the best handling I’d ever had the privilege of witnessing.
“My mind and dick rarely agree on things.”
I turned quickly to hide my smile and pointed to the tie at the bottom of my back. “Untie me?”
His hands held my waist for a moment. He stood a whole head taller than me as I looked at us both in the mirror. Rome was this mammoth of a man, full of muscle, tattoos, and darkness. I knew firsthand that he used every one of those muscles, that every one of those tattoos meant something, and that his darkness was all-consuming.
“This dress is hypnotic, Katalina.You’rehypnotic.” He rested his chin on my forehead, and my curls rubbed against his five-o’clock shadow. “What am I going to do with you, huh?”
I stared at him in the mirror, wondering if we could ever just be normal, just together. “Why do you have to do anything different than what you’ve always done with me before?”
“Because before I was sure I didn’t care. Now I’m not so sure. Caring makes me vulnerable when I can’t be. Not for the family.”
I prided myself on not getting emotional. My dad had been there, then he wasn’t. I went into the system swiftly and knew emotions were taken advantage of. I didn’t cry. I didn’t complain. I took it all—the beatings, the abuse, the neglect—in stride.
Why was it that now, all of a sudden, with just the slightest bit of truth and attention from him, I wanted to let the unshed tears go?
“Probably should get me out of this dress,” I whispered.
He nodded and then stepped back to start loosening the ribbon.
As he did, my waist spilled out. I breathed in deep as his fingers dug between the ribbons and my skin to slacken the fabric’s grip.
“Jesus, are they folding you in half when this is tightened?”
“Beauty is pain.” I chuckled at his disbelief.
“Katie, there’re marks from the waistline,” he said like it was ridiculous.
I glared at him. “Rome, you get to throw on a jacket and look nice. We do this to look nice.”