Roth’s thighs trembled, and I felt his knees dip. He threaded both hands into my hair, gripping handfuls and tugging firmly. He didn’t push me onto him or try to force me to do anything, he just tugged my hair in his fists. A reminder of his strength, of his control, a reminder that he was allowing me to do this.
There was no desire in me to play for control, to play games. I only wanted to feel him come.
I mouthed him again, taking him deep, letting his tip nudge the back of my throat and then backing away, pumping at his root with ever-increasing speed. I loved the way the increase of my tempo around his cock made his knees bend and dip, and I loved, too, the way his fists in my hair tightened involuntarily as he neared his climax.
I bobbed on him, sucking hard, feeling his sac tense and tighten, feeling his gloriously thick cock throb, and I knew he was close. I prepared myself for the gush of his release against my throat, but it never came.
Instead, I felt myself pushed backward, felt him above me, heard his breath in scraping gasps, felt his entire body trembling as he held back. “No. Not like that, not the first time.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not how I want it.”
“Did I…do something wrong?”
“No, Kyrie. No. Not at all. I love the feel of your sweet mouth on my cock. But I don’t want to come in your mouth just yet.”
I still had a firm grip on his cock, and I slid my fist down his length, staring up at him. “Okay. Like this, then.”
He ducked his head, gathering himself. “You really want this?”
I nodded. “Yes. I want to feel you come. You’ve made me come so many times now, and it’s my turn.”
“Where?” He slid his shins beneath his body, sitting up, staring down at my naked body as I lay beneath him. “Tell me where you want me to come.”
“Anywhere you want.”
He straddled me, sliding forward. I leaned up, took him in my mouth, tasted him, then lay back down. “On my stomach?” I said. “On my tits? You tell me where you want to come. I want to know what you want.”
I moved my fist around him, feeling him tense and jerk, and stroked him even faster.
Roth’s breathing grated past his clenched teeth. “I want to come inside you, Kyrie. Not this.”
“Then put your cock inside me,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. Not yet. In my bed. Only there.”
“Then take me there.” He growled and then wrenched himself away, backing up against the wall, his chest heaving. I followed, wrapped both hands around him, and stroked him gently. Pressed my lips to his and kissed him, demanding, needing. “Please come, Valentine. Come for me.”
He sighed into my mouth and then pressed his forehead to mine. I watched my hands moving on his thick, straining cock, stroking, twisting, plunging. “Kyrie…I’m close.”
“Good,” I whispered. “Give it to me.”
He groaned, thrusting his hips, driving his cock into my grip. I wrapped my hand around his head and stroked his length with my other hand.
“God…Kyrie…I’m coming, right now.” I felt wet warmth fill my palm, and I kept caressing his length, slowly, gently, milking him.
“Kyrie….” His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. When he was softening in my hands, I let go of him, lifted up on my toes, and kissed him once more. He watched me with glazed, hooded eyes. “You do something to me, Kyrie. You make me lose control.” He put a hand to my face, gripped my chin between finger and thumb.
I held his come in my hand, feeling it drip between my fingers. “Well…maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
He sighed. “In my life, it is.” He shook his head, dismissing the topic. “You are amazing, Kyrie. Go wash up and get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
He leaned in, kissed me on the lips swiftly, and then backed away, zipping and buttoning his jeans. I waited until I heard the door latch behind him, and then I washed my hands in the bathroom sink before turning on the shower. I washed, shaved myself from armpits to ankles, and let my mind wander.
Valentine Roth. What a name. And what a man. So fucking gorgeous. He could be a superstar actor with his looks. An A-list actor, or a rock star. But he wasn’t. He was a reclusive businessman, über-rich, successful, and intensively, reclusively private.
Something else niggled at me about Roth. He looked familiar; I just couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him.
As soon as I was done in the shower, I wrapped a towel around my body and another around my hair, then perched on the edge of my bed with my phone, typing his name into Google. Nothing. Not a single photograph, no Wikipedia entry, not a single scrap of publicly available information. That, to me, smacked of interference. I mean, I was a nobody, but if you typed my name into Google, you’d find, if you scrolled far enough, at least a Facebook profile, the thumbnail-sized selfie photograph of me, taken on a weekend trip to Chicago with Layla. You could find at least basic info on me, just by a few searches and clicks, and I was no one at all, public-wise. Yet there was nothing at all on Valentine Roth, who had to be in a microscopically small percentage of the population in terms of wealth. Something told me he had paid an exorbitant amount of money to keep himself out of the public eye, to hide any photographs or the like.
So it wasn’t that. I’d never seen him in any gossip rags or on TMZ. But I had seen him before. I knew it. But where? I couldn’t figure it out, no matter how hard I tried to remember.
Eventually, I gave up and got dressed.
I put on a pink-and-black lace push-up bra and a pair of black underwear. Over it, I put on a simple but flattering black sundress and a pair of strappy sandals. I didn’t spend a lot of time on my hair or makeup, just brushing my hair until it shone and fell in golden waves around my shoulders. I snapped a ponytail elastic on my wrist, and applied some light mascara, blush, and lip stain. He said we’d have a busy day, so I wanted to be ready for anything.
Especially the kind of anything that would lead to seeing Valentine Roth totally naked.
Private Quarters
I found Roth sipping from a china cup, holding a dainty saucer in his hand. The cup and saucer were so small and delicate-looking that it was almost a comical image. I mean, I knew all too well the strength in his hands; he could crush the cup and saucer with ease if he wanted, yet somehow he looked totally natural, at ease. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, staring out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun rose to shed golden light on the high-rises. He had one calf crossed over his knee, flaxen hair wet and slicked back to one side. He wore a pair of dark jeans with a white T-shirt beneath a slate-gray blazer, Tommy Bahama boat shoes on his feet. The sleeves of the blazer were pulled up just beneath his elbows, his muscular forearms keeping the sleeves in place. The effect was one of casual godliness. I had to remind myself to keep breathing as I slid into the chair next to him.
“Hi,” I breathed, and immediately hated myself for sounding so pathetic. I’d sounded breathy, flirty. Like I should be some air-headed bimbo with one name. Veronica. Bambi, with a heart over the “I.”
“Good morning, Kyrie. Feeling refreshed?” He smiled at me, warm and friendly, yet his eyes betrayed amusement, promise, memory of what I’d done to him less than an hour earlier.
“Yes, thanks.” I leaned over to peek into his cup. “Tea? Or coffee?”
He swirled the khaki liquid in his cup. “Tea. Earl Grey, with a touch of milk.” He lifted the cup and saucer toward me. “Care for a cup?”
The fact that he was a tea drinker served as a reminder that he was actually from England. It was easy to forget, so faint was his accent. I’d never tried tea English-style. “Can I try a sip of yours? I’ve never had tea before. Not the way you’re drinking it, at least.”
He placed the cup on the saucer and held it out to me. “Old habits die hard. I’ve never been able to get into drinking coffee in the morning. I don’t really do the whole ‘afternoon tea’ bit anymore, but I’ve got to have
a cup of Earl Grey to start the day.”
I sipped at his tea, surprised by how much I liked it. “Mmmm. That’s pretty good, actually. I’ll try a cup, the way you have it.” I gave him his tea back, expecting him to summon Eliza to make mine. “I forget you’re from England sometimes. You don’t really sound like it, most of the time.”
“That’s intentional. I worked rather hard to eradicate my accent.” He rose and went into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and withdrew a cup and saucer like his, took a quart of half-and-half from the fridge, tipped a tiny bit into the teacup, and then poured tea from a pot sitting on the stove. “Here you are,” he said, setting it front of me.
“Thanks,” I said, a bit mystified. I hadn’t expected him to get my tea himself. “I could have done that, you know. I thought—”
Roth spoke over me. “Eliza is not my personal servant, Kyrie. I only have her serve meals on special occasions. Usually she just leaves food out for me, since I work long and erratic hours. I fend for myself most of the time. Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I’m unable to do things for myself, you know.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Roth.” I sipped at my tea. It was good, but I didn’t think it would ever replace my need for coffee. “Anyway. You said we had a busy day today. What are we doing?”
He grinned at me. “Well, since we’ve discarded the blindfold, I thought we’d do something fun together. Have you ever been sailing?”
I shook my head, feeling excitement thrill through me. “No, I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though.”
Roth’s eyes lit up. “Wonderful! This should be an enjoyable time, then.” He eyed my outfit. “That should be fine for sailing, and I have a bathing suit for you on the boat. Some breakfast, then, and we’ll head out. What would you like to eat?”
I shrugged. “A bagel? I don’t eat much in the mornings.”
I slipped off my chair, but Roth waved me back down. “Sit, Kyrie,” he ordered. “What kind of bagel? We have a variety.”
“Sesame?”
“Toasted? Cream cheese?”
I nodded, and watched him as he cut two thick bagels in half, then stuck the halves in a four-slot toaster. “Why are you making my breakfast for me?”
He leaned back against the counter, sipping at his tea. “Because I can. And because I want to.” He looked past me, out the window. “This house has been empty but for Eliza and me. Having you here is a wonderful change.”
“Eliza said something very similar.”
Roth looked surprised. “She did?”
“Yeah. She said she was lonely a lot, and having me around was nice. I like her. I think we could be friends.”
“That’s surprising. Eliza is…very private and reserved. Much like me. That’s why we get along so well, I think.” He gestured at me with his cup and saucer. “That she seems to like you is a good sign. I trust her judgment in many things, especially people.”
The bagels popped up at that moment, and he smeared cream cheese on each of the halves with a spoon and then returned to the table, setting the plate between us. We each took a half and ate in silence. It was supremely strange, to be having breakfast with this man, sharing such an intimate, domestic thing as a bagel and cream cheese. It felt natural, as if we’d always done this. Again, I felt a bolt of fear at how much I liked this feeling, this easy comfort with a man I barely knew.
When we were finished, Roth cleaned up for us both and then took my hand. “Ready to go?” I nodded. “Do you need anything? A purse?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
Roth seemed surprised at this. “All right, then. Let’s go.” He brought me to the door to his private quarters, held his finger to the plate, and then shoved the door open.
Beyond was a wide hallway with high ceilings, thick cream carpet, and dark wood-paneled walls, which were lined with black-and-white photographs. I paused to examine the photos. They were amazing, artistic, vividly focused. The subjects ranged from portraits to landscapes, most of them taken in Asia. There was a photo of an old Chinese woman, a scarf covering her head, wisps of gray hair sticking out around her ears, her toothless mouth grinning, eyes crinkled. There was a tall, curved-roof pagoda, a rice paddy, an ox with shaggy fur and baleful eyes, and then several more portraits. It wasn’t until I realized that Roth was watching me examine the photos with a blank expression that I thought to look at the bottom right corner. There, written in white marker or pen, was the same scribbled “VR” signature from the checks.
“You took these?” I asked.
He nodded. “A hobby, you could say. Something I haven’t had much time for lately, much to my regret.”
“They’re amazing,” I told him, sincerely impressed. “That first one, the old woman, it’s like something you’d see in National Geographic. It’s really good, Roth.”
He smiled at me. “Thank you, Kyrie.” He took my hand and pulled me forward, and I followed him, although there were several more photographs I wanted to see.
Later, perhaps. If I was lucky. We passed a few open doorways, one leading to a half-bath, another to what looked like a security room, monitors showing security camera views of the foyer, the kitchens, the library, the main garage, two elevators, another garage, and the roof. No surveillance of my rooms, though, but there were blacked-out monitors, so it was hard to say.
Roth followed my gaze to the security room. “There are no cameras in your quarters, I promise you. You have your privacy there.”
I only shrugged. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he watched me on a camera while I slept, and I wondered at myself, at the fact that I wouldn’t have been too pissed off had there been cameras in my rooms. I mean, if he’d watched me pee, that would be a bit weird, but I didn’t expect it from him. He was security-paranoid, not creepy.
Another door showed a large office, the same thick cream carpeting, a huge dark desk with a massive iMac, and a floor-to-ceiling wall of windows. There was an exercise room, a hallway dead-ending at a doorway and, opposite that, a pair of French doors, beyond which was Roth’s room. I caught a glimpse of it in passing, and realized it was probably the most impressive room in the house. It was a corner room, so two entire walls were glass, with a balcony at the apex of the corner. The bed, from what I saw, was huge, dark, and built into a platform. I didn’t see much more than that before Roth guided me down the dead-end hallway to the door.
“I’ll give you a tour of my rooms later,” Roth told me, his voice buzzing in my ear.
I turned, halfway out the door. “Promise?”
His eyes narrowed, flicked down to my cleavage and back up. “Yes, Kyrie. You will become very well-acquainted with my bedroom.”
I shivered, felt my nipples harden. “Sailing can wait, don’t you think?”
Roth’s grin was predatory. “Eager suddenly, are you?” His hand curled around my waist, and he jerked me against him. My breath left me in a whoosh. I was assaulted by the familiar spicy scent of his cologne, the hard breadth of his chest. “Are you tempting me? Trying to get control of this situation?”
“Eager….” I breathed, barely able to stutter out the word.
His eyes were intense, pale hot blue, his hand splayed on my waist and the swell of my ass, crushing me to him. “Eager, hmmm?”
“Yes,” I answered, looking up at him, my eyes wide, my breath shallow and short.
His other hand brushed my hair away from my eyes, then slid down my back. Found the zipper of my dress. “I think you’re trying to prove something.”
“I’m not.”
“The power of your seductive beauty is undeniable, Kyrie.” His fingers drew the zipper down, the rough pad of his fingertip tracing up my now-bare spine. “You make me lose control when I start touching you. When you put your hands on me, I forget myself.” He brushed the sleeves off, and the dress billowed to the floor, pooled around my feet. “But don’t think you can control me that way, Kyrie. I let you have your moment this morning. It had been a long time
since I’d felt a woman’s touch. I’d been saving myself for you. But don’t think you can manipulate me with your body.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Tell me the truth, Kyrie.”
I swallowed. “Maybe I was, just…trying to see what effect I had on you. That’s all. Not control, just…assessing.” The heat in his eyes, the thinly veiled anger frightened me. He wouldn’t hurt me, but what would he do?
“Assessing.” He flicked open my bra, pulled it off. Set it aside. Hooked a finger in the elastic of my panties at my hip, tugged them down around my thighs. “Off. I want you naked.”
I stepped out of them, stood before him totally naked. Breathless, waiting. He shut the door, pivoted behind me, and pushed me across the hallway and into his room. Positioned in the middle of the room, I was bathed in a square of brilliant midmorning sunlight. I stood still, back straight, forcing my breathing to be even, to seem confident, unafraid.
“So now you’re just eager?” Roth moved around behind me, not touching, but close. So close. Too close, yet too far, too clothed. “Who is in control, Kyrie?”
I felt rebellion surge up in my gut. I clenched my teeth together. I wasn’t going to play this game. Not this one.
“Seeking punishment, are you?” His voice rumbled in my ear. “I’ll ask once more. Who is control? Who controls you, Kyrie? Answer me.”
You. That was the answer. I knew it. He knew it. But I refused to say it. Rebellion, or curiosity? Both, maybe. Equal parts defiance and desire.
“Not going to respond?” I heard a smile in his voice. “I was kind of hoping you’d refuse.”