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“Colors?” he grits out.
“G-Green.”
He starts to hammer my ass like it’s my pussy, deep and brutal, and I peak and peak and peak again until it’s too much, too much clitoral stimulation that I’m almost leaping, except I can’t. It only makes him stroke into me harder, deeper, faster, and soon, the pleasure starts to crest, only I don’t know where it’s coming from. Pussy, clit, asshole, I don’t know. All I know is that it’s pure pleasure, a deep, resounding wave.
It’s not just one wave, though. Each one throws me higher, and the pleasure is deeper, spreading further out, and suddenly, I come again, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s beyond euphoria, it’s every cell, it’s him, me, and the moment all rolled into one. I’m crying. I think I squirt, not once, but three times, and I’m shuddering, groaning, pleading, praising until finally I slump.
He unties me, holds me, kisses me. I think he came during my crescendo, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m in his arms, a wreck, and more in love than I could ever imagine.
I’m fucked up on him right now, I know.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter11
Nikolai
Rose can barely stand when we get back to the hotel. I don’t bother showering her; I just pull off my coat, strip down, and climb into bed with her.
There are marks on her wrists and on her throat, and yeah, I feel like an ass. I barely sleep, which is hard with all the sweet, soft heat of Rose coiled around me. She whispers words of love and murder that make me smile; love for me, murder for women who might try and tempt me.
It’s cute rather than dark, but maybe that’s because I’m a twisted, fucked up bastard who’s corrupting her.
At the club, I put her through a long session, one that kept derailing in all sorts of unexpected and delightful ways, but now she’s worn out. So, I let her sleep, curled into me, hand on my chest as I work from my phone.
Things are looking up on the Rush front, but I know I won’t breathe easy until he’s in Italy. I’d fucking send Rose now, too, but that’s not going to happen. Rose won’t go without me, and I…I need her here.
I ignore the twinge of guilt at that. She’s young and—fuck, she does what she wants to do.
As I exchange texts with Tony, I finally do it.
Send one last text.
Change of plans.
I put the phone down.
Italy, here we come.
* * *
“What is this place?” Rose looks around my brownstone in the West Village in awe.
“One of my homes.”
We’re on the top floor of the three-story building on the leafy street. It’s the part I call home when here, and dedicated staff have the basement floor that opens out to the small courtyard, a left over from other times. The first floor serves as office and base of New York operations when and if I need it, and Rush has half the second, with guest rooms on the other side. All in all, it’s a home I rarely use, but if I want to slip into New York and lay low, this is the place.
“We stayed at a hotel when you have this?” Rose spins, arms out.
“The hotel was to be seen. This is for when I don’t want to be visible.”
I motion to the living room sofa as I move to the wet bar. I pour myself a whiskey, and because it’s her, and she’s the most contrary creature to breathe in my orbit, I ask what she wants.
“Bourbon.” The pleasure in her voice touches something in me, and I almost feel my body loosen in response. “And Coke.”
I smile as I make her drink. She’s dressed in the fitted, dark blue dress and heels I laid out for her. I’m finding maybe I’m going through her throwback businesswoman phase, too, because that dress parks heated fantasies in my head.
A spanking, the skirt pulled up high, the sheer, silk cream panties pulled low, my handprint glowing red, her thighs wet as she morphs into the pleasure side of the pain, begging for me to—
