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And then…Nikolai leaves.
I hear him, can see the ghost of his reflection as he moves around, kicking off his shoes, pulling off his coat and waistcoat. The clink of his cufflinks is followed by a sigh as he starts talking, moving to the sitting room beyond.
“Bastard,” I whisper. “Asshole.”
Humiliation licks through me, followed by the fever of need and anticipation.
I can hear words filtering through, but not enough to put together what he’s saying. I try to concentrate, I do, but it’s hard when attention keeps slipping to how I’m tied up, the fact that people outside can see me if they look up, that he’s exposed me utterly, that I’m helpless.
Worse, I want to touch myself, alleviate the vibrating edge inside, the one stemming from his denial of my release.
My juices slick my thighs, pussy, the seat. A wave of humiliation hits; I need attention, just a touch. I need his fingers dipping into me, using my wetness to draw over my heated skin, to tease my nipples, to whisper over my clit, pull and squeeze it until the ache is almost painful, the orgasm looming.
I throb inside, my inner muscles contracting like they can conjure his cock, like they need something to grip.
When he fingered me earlier…oh God, every single touch and stroke and push of him was heaven, and—is that him?
I frantically peer at the window, not caring that people can see, not caring how I look, lewd and beyond exposed. No, I stare to see if he’s there at the open door.
Shadows flicker and a shape looms, but he doesn’t come in.
I’m panting. I’ve been here forever but not long enough, and I try and move on the chair to see if I can bring my own relief.
A sob escapes my lips. If only he’d used ropes all the way up so I can rub on one. If only he’d put his toys in me so I could try and hump them. I hate him. How can he do this to me—
“Rose.”
One word. My name. I’m a trembling mess.
He’s standing behind the chair, and he slides his fingers down, over my breasts, down to my pussy. I’m moaning now; someone’s talking, pleading.
It’s me.
“Please, Niko, please…”
He pushes a finger into me, once, then withdraws. Then, he pushes that finger into my mouth. Twice.
Then he’s gone again.
Anger builds in my gut, entwined with frustration and need and the erotic restraints of the evening. Closing my eyes, I rebuild the moment his finger touched my pussy, when he pushed into me. I try to capture and hold it, ride the fantasy, but it slips, crumbling, and—
“I think I’m ready to fuck your brains out, Rose.”
My eyes snap open.
Nikolai’s shirt is off, his tattoos on display across his chest, and my gaze goes to the roses he had done after he took a bullet for me. Everything inside me lurches. I’m swept up in love and lust and a fierceness that takes my breath away.
He undoes the ties, strips down, and thrusts his fingers into me, pumping a few times before withdrawing. “So fucking wet, Rose.”
I wait, trembling, but he doesn’t drag me to the bed. Instead, he sits on the edge, his cock erect and thick and the most delicious thing I’ve seen.
“Ni—”
“Ride me.”
I go to climb atop his lap, but he turns me so I’m facing out, and I know in that moment what I want. His hand is on his cock, holding it for me, and I lower myself onto it, taking him in my ass. His hiss of air is worth the lack of preparation on my behalf as I take him deep.
“Fuck, Rose.”
