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 fuck 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 pussy.
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 fucking 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 pussy is on full display. And she is gorgeous.
“Ian. Ian, please—” Her whimpers are half-plea, half-command, and they shoot straight down my spine and along my cock like nothing else could. I’m hard as fuck, about ready to explode, but still I hold out because she’s not ready yet. Her eyes are still too lucid, her body still too much under her own control. If I give in now we’ll be right back where we were ten minutes ago. And I am not having that.
So instead of climbing back on that table and fucking her the way I’m pretty much dying to—the way she’s pretty much begging me to—I reach between her thighs and deliver two sharp slaps to her sex.
Her whole body goes taut, her hips frozen—in pleasure or shock, I can’t tell. At least not until she lets out a strangled scream and does her best to claw me again.
I slap her one more time.
Then I’m leaning over her, growling in her ear. “The first was for trying to take over.” I bite at her earlobe, then—as she moans—I suck it into my mouth to take away the sting. “The second was because you took the first one so fucking well.”
For the second time since I put her in this position, she twists her head around so she can look me in the eye. “And the third?”
My cock throbs at the words, at the sexy-as-fuck look in her eyes. I’m close, so fucking close that I’m already leaking pre-cum against her ass. But she’s taunting me and there’s no fucking way I’m giving in. “I thought you’d figured that out,” I grind out, my mouth still next to her ear. “It’s because I wanted to. Everything I’m doing to you right now is because I want it. The sooner you accept that, the sooner—”
“The sooner what?” I break off as she humps that truly magnificent ass back against me and for a second I think about saying to hell with it. I think about slamming inside of her and fucking the both of us straight into oblivion.
But that’s not what she needs from me—and it sure as hell won’t get her off, which is the point of all this. I want her with me when I come, want her as far gone as I am. Want her to want this, to want me, as much as I do her.
“The sooner you get to come.” And then I’m shoving two fingers back into her cunt hard and fast enough to have her crying out. I find her G-spot right away and stroke over it with relentless precision. She takes it because she doesn’t have a choice, her body quivering and shaking and tightening around me. She’s even wetter now, her pussy all but dripping, and I take advantage of it by stiffening my fingers and rubbing them against each other—bouncing them off each other—in a kind of snap that has them slamming against her G-spot with a power that has her back bowing and her lower body slamming up against me.
It’s a good look on her—a great look—and for long seconds, I’m spellbound as I stare at her shaking shoulders, her long, sexy back, her undulating hips. Then I do the snapping thing again. I do it over and over as I relish the sounds she makes. The way she tightens around my fingers and sticks her ass in the air as she digs her toes into the table and tries to pull her knees under her for more leverage.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous like this. Sexy as hell and so beautiful she takes my breath away.
Strong enough to surrender. Flexible enough to bend instead of break.
She deserves a reward for how well she’s taking this, how well she’s handing over control. “Do you want to come?” I demand, even as I use my fingers to drive her closer and closer to the brink.
She whimpers, her head thrashing back and forth against the table.
“That’s not an answer.” I turn my hand a little so that I can slide my thumb through her slick folds and gather moisture. I stay there for a
few seconds, enjoying the silky soft feel of her labia against my thumb. Then I snap my fingers hard against her G-spot at the same time I twist my hand around and plunge my thumb straight into her anus.
She cries out, her body clenching at my hand in what feels like an aborted attempt at orgasm. She’s close then, so close I can feel it in the wetness dripping over my hand.
In the fine tremors shaking her body nearly continuously.
In the flexing motions of her legs, her toes, as she digs into the table and tries to take me deeper.
Deeper into her pussy, deeper into her ass. Deeper inside of her.
It’s what I want, what I’ve wanted ever since I first saw her in person—and probably long before that, if I’m being honest. I want to be more than just another disappointing fuck to her, more than just some guy she can screw as a means to get what she wants from him.
“Good girl,” I whisper to her, letting go of her wrists once and for all so I can slide my palm over her ass and up her spine to the miles of hair still wound into the elaborate and ladylike style she’s been wearing since the last part of the photo shoot.
Like the good girl I’ve just told her she is, Veronica keeps her hands at the small of her back even as I thrust my fingers deep into her hair and pull. Hard.
At the same time, I twist my fingers—and my thumb—inside of her and she goes off, her whole body convulsing and trembling and bucking against my own.
It’s what I’ve been waiting for, this final proof that I’ve got her. That she’s out of her head, out of whatever the fuck dark place she went to earlier and is right here with me.
I pull her head up to mine with a snarl, fasten my mouth on her neck and suck, hard. At the same time, I’m twisting and rubbing my fingers inside of her. Stoking her orgasm. Taking her higher and higher and higher until her body shatters around me a second time.
Then I’m pulling off of her despite her whimpers, ignoring the hands that have finally moved from the position I held them in so long just to clutch at my hips, my thighs.
My fingers are still inside her, though, and I twist them relentlessly while, at the same time, I bring my other hand down on her ass. She screams and comes a third time, her entire body shaking and shivering like a leaf in a windstorm.
I take her through it, stoking the flames, wringing each and every drop of pleasure from her that I can. I love how well she responds, love how each shudder, each cry, each clench of her pussy on my hand tells me more about how to handle her.
When I finally pull out, she protests weakly, but I bend down and bite at the nape of her neck. “I’ve got you,” I tell her as I fumble a condom out of my wallet and rip it open. “I’ve got you.”
Once I’ve rolled it on, I stretch her arms out above her head and wrap her hands around the edge of the table. “Don’t let go,” I warn her, delivering a sharp, two fingered slap to her hip to emphasize the seriousness of the order.
And then I’m sliding my hands under her hips, pulling her back up to her knees even as I leave her upper body pressed flush against the table.
“Tell me you want this,” I demand as I spread her legs and settle myself between them.
“I want this,” she says, rocking back against me until her pussy is right there against the head of my cock.
I bite back a groan even as I wrap my hands around her hips and hold her in place. “Ian, please,” she gasps as she strains against my hold.
I don’t let go, though, not yet. Not when she’s spread out so beautifully in front of me, her gorgeous sex on full display. I grab her ass cheeks, pull them apart so I can see everything—everything—and I stare at her for long seconds, transfixed by how pink and wet and perfect she is. Then, when I can’t resist for one second longer, I bend over and lick her from her clit to her anus.
She screams, her whole body jolting against my hands. But she doesn’t let go of the table, doesn’t try to take anything more than what I want to give her. Her surrender—her submission—strikes a chord deep inside of me, one I didn’t even know was there. And then I’m burying my face in her sex, licking and biting and sucking her to a fourth orgasm.
She comes crying out my name, begging me to fuck her, and that’s when I give in. When I line my cock up against her cunt and bury myself balls deep inside her with one powerful thrust.
She gasps, clamps around me like a greedy fist. She’s slick and wet and hot, so hot that I nearly come right then with the pleasure—and the insanity—of finally being a part of her. I grit my teeth against my need, fight the sensations gathering at the base of my spine as I fight to hold onto the ragged edges of my control.
I want to make her come one more time, want to feel her clenching on my cock as ecstasy slams through her. But she’s whimpering, crying out, her hips slapping back against mine of their own volition and I know I don’t have long before I lose it completely.
But before I do, I want to see her face, want to see those crazy violet eyes of hers and know that she means it. Know that she still wants this as much as I do.
Her eyes are wide, the pupils blown out—fucked out—and for the first time since I met her, she’s not wearing a mask. She’s not hiding who she is. The woman I’m looking at now, the woman I’m fucking like my life depends on it, is the real Veronica Romero.
The thought gets to me like nothing else could have and I slip my free hand beneath her to stroke her clit as I ride her hard. And still I don’t let go of her hair, still I force her to look at me.
To stay open to me.
To stay right here with me the whole time.
Over and over I thrust into the satin heat of her, over and over as I listen to the crazy little sounds she makes as she closes around me. I’m burning up, my whole body a live wire just waiting to go up in flames as pleasure consumes me, overwhelms me.
I need to come so badly that I’m shaking with it, but I need this connection to Veronica more. Need to keep fucking her until she breaks wide open and shows me not just who she is but what’s inside her.
It’s hard, though, so hard, when she feels this good. When she’s staring at me with passion-drenched eyes and whimpering my name with each slam of my hips against her own.
Sweat is beading on my chest, rolling down my neck, my back, and still I don’t stop. My muscles burn, my cock screams for release, and still I don’t let go. Still I thrust into her over and over again, trying to get as deep inside of her as I can.
She’s whimpering now, calling my name time and time again as her muscles contract more and more tightly around me. Her skin is flushed, her body burning up, her hands clutching the table so hard that her knuckles are white and still I don’t let go. Still I keep pounding into her, pounding away at the walls she keeps between herself and the world.
But then she rears up, twisting her upper body into an impossible position as she sinks her teeth into my pec, hard. It’s the last straw, the last bit of pleasure-pain my system can take before going into total and complete overload.
I’m buried balls deep, as far inside of her as I can get, when I feel the orgasm tear through her—a deep, arcing wave of sensation so powerful that it swamps me, buries me, drags me under before I can even think about resisting. And then I’m there with her, my own climax slamming through me like a tsunami as the sweet clutch of her body sends me over the edge and beyond, to a place where nothing exists but this. But her.
It starts at the base of my spine and spreads out from there—through my dick, my stomach, up my chest and around to my back and shoulders. Pleasure, pain, passion racing through me, through her, flowing between us as she screams my name and I empty myself inside of her in a series of long pulses that give her more of myself—and take more of her—than I ever intended.
Chapter 8
When it’s over, when he’s slumped over me catching his breath and I’m slumped against the table doing pretty much the same thing, there’s only one thought in my brain. Only one thing that keeps running through my head.
What the fuck have I just done? And more, what have I just let him do to me?
I want out—need out, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to shove him off of me. Out of me. Not because he hurt me, not because he did something I didn’t want. But because he gave me exactly what I did want—before I even had a clue that I wanted it.
But if I do that, if I push him away like some virgin in distress, he’ll know. Know that he got to me. And worse, know that he—no, not him, this—matters. And so I don’t buck him off, don’t try to roll out from under him. Don’t do anything but lie here and wait for him to move first.
It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
Eventually, he does, sliding out and off of me in one smooth move. Then he’s padding across the kitchen naked. Disposing of the condom in the trash compactor. Grabbing a bottle of water off the counter and taking a couple of long swallows.
And I’m left staring at his naked ass and wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
Oh, I know my reputation—hell, I cultivate it with every bat of my lashes and flash of my tits—but one of the first things you learn in this town is that reputation isn’t fact. That whatever face you show the public is very rarely actually your own.
I’m no different. In fact, I’m one of the worst. For while most of the world believes I nearly always have a man in my bed, the truth is, I rarely do. And when I do, it’s never of the one-night—or afternoon—stand variety.
Not that I’m about to let Ian see that. How can I when I’ve gone to such great lengths to ensure he doesn’t know anything about me that I don’t want him to know? To ensure that whatever he writes in that article of his is exactly what I want written.
With that thought in mind, I push myself off the table. My knees are still weak, my body still trembling with the aftermath of the first orgasms a man has ever given me. My hair is falling down out of the decadent style the hairdresser had put it in for the ballroom shoot and it makes me feel vulnerable. Which is ridiculous, I know, considering I’m standing here completely nude after letting Ian do all manner of things to me.