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He eased off the pressure and speed, but kept touching her, the sensitivity making her legs twitch like lightning was shooting through them.
“You’re a quiet thing,” he accused, bowing his head to kiss the skin between her breasts. The gesture made her heart skip in a different way.
His eyes flicked up, locking on hers. No doubt he’d heard the skip.
“Sorry to disappoint,” she panted. Another whimper slipped out of her as he hit an ultra sensitive spot. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want this to be over, and it didn’t seem like he did either.
“Want another one?” Did he really just ask her that?
She wet her lips that still tasted like him; Roman tracked the movement in the dark. “Please.” Gods, she’d never begged for a man before.
But no man had ever made her come this hard before.
He pushed up onto his knees, so he was hovering directly over her instead of beside her…and moved his hand lower, teasing her slick entrance.
Her breathing hitched. Was he going to—
Yep, he sure was. He pushed his middle and index fingers inside her, as deep as they could go. She hadn’t realized how badly she wanted him inside her—any part of him, fingers or cock, she didn’t care—until he was filling her up, stretching her heat.
And then he began to move—to fuck her with that hand. And damn was he rough.
Her hands went behind her head, fingers grasping the headboard for dear life. As his fingers thrust in and out of her, she drew her feet up, her knees inching toward her chest—both from pleasure and the momentum of his hand as he fucked her. Hard. Fast.
“Someone’s greedy,” he breathed, his voice extra husky.
Her toes curled. “I hate you,” she said again. Because it was better than admitting that she liked this—easier than admitting that she liked him.
She did, didn’t she? She liked Roman Devlin.
She was so fucked.
“I hate you too,” Roman growled through teeth that glinted in the dark like a wolf’s. “Do you want it harder or faster?”
“Both.” She wanted him to fuck her until she passed out.
He obliged her. The headboard slammed into the wall, and gods—her whole body was shaking. Again and again and again, his fingers delved in and out of her, deep as they could fit.
“Such a wet, tight little slut.” His free hand flattened on her pelvis, pressing down as his other fingers worked inside her. “Aren’t you? Shayla Cousens, coming on my fingers, like a tight, wet little slut—” That filthy mouth and the added bit of pressure from his other hand made her come again, just like he’d said, her insides fluttering around his fingers.
The release was so intense, she cried out his name again. A series of breathy moans escaped her as the throes of that second orgasm finished her off; okay, so maybe she wasn’t as quiet for Roman as she was for the men she’d been with before him. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she felt appraisal rolling off of him, as tangible as the honey-sweet pleasure coursing through her body and making her limbs twitch.
“Fuck,” Roman growled, “I love when you say my name.” He slowed his movements gradually, as if savoring the moment, before stilling.
Shay was breathless and spent, her body limp, the slam of her heartbeat filling her ears. Roman stayed right where he was, staring at her as if she was the most tantalizing thing he’d ever seen.
“Still hate me?” His fingers were still inside her, filling her up.
“More than before.”
A laugh scraped out of him. He pulled his fingers out of her—
Something was burning her ass cheek. She shrieked and bucked her hips.
Roman snatched up the cigarette that was burning her flesh before it could light the bed on fire. And then he leaned across her body, his shirt draping across her bare breasts as he butted out the cigarette in the ashtray. The scent of his cologne or body wash, whatever it was, rolled over her, and she was ashamed when she breathed it in.
She pulled her shirt back down to cover herself.
And then he rolled onto his back, as if he was the one who’d just experienced two mind-blowing orgasms.
