“Feet apart, bend over, hands on the mirror.” Roth’s voice was low, a grating murmur.
I stood in front of the center mirror, staring at the vision of us. Roth was behind me, six and a half feet of Norse-god perfection, his face all sharp, clean lines and hard angles, pale blue eyes flashing with his arousal. His carved chest swelled with each deep breath, his skin tanned golden-brown, contrasting against my own slightly paler flesh. I was on full display, standing straight. My hair was mussed, tangled, and just-fucked sexy, my dark blue eyes lidded with the aching pleasure of the bullet inside me. My cheeks were flushed pink, my boobs heavy and round, my areolae and my erect nipples thick and pink. My wide, strong thighs were visibly shaking, my shaved pussy peeking out, a slight triangular gap showing between thighs and core.
“Such perfect beauty,” Roth said. His hands rested on my shoulders, then slid down my arms, gripped my hips, around to my belly, carved up my ribs to cup my breasts. “And all mine.”
“All yours,” I agreed, grabbing one of his hands and pushing it down between my thighs to touch me.
He pulled his hand free, threaded his fingers into my hair. Shoved me forward so I was bent double. “Spread your legs, Kyrie. Hands on the mirror.”
I swallowed hard, putting my palms to the mirror and shifting my feet apart. I could see us in the mirror, turning my head to watch us from the side. I watched as he gripped his cock in his hand, nudged the thick head against my labia. My mouth fell open, and I gasped as he stroked the opening of my pussy and then smashed his head against my clit, making me cry out as a thrill lanced through me. He still had one hand buried in my hair, gripping a thick handful near my scalp.
He used my hair to pull my head back. “Watch us, Kyrie.”
“I am.”
“Don’t close your eyes. Watch us.”
“Okay,” I said, “I am. I’m watching.”
He glanced to the side, and our eyes met in the reflection. He teased my opening with his tip once more, and then slowly pushed himself into me. I let out a long groan as he entered me, wanting to hang my head as he slid deep but unable to do so because of his grip on my hair. Fully impaled, I felt the vibrator buzzing and felt his cock inside me, only a thin membrane of skin separating them. I was bursting open, filled past endurance, my pussy stretched and split once more by his enormous cock. I couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t close my eyes and couldn’t move. I could only watch helplessly in the mirror as he drew back, I couldn’t take my eyes off his dark, wet-gleaming cock as it slid out of me. I drew a shuddering breath finally when he pounded into me, my ass cheeks jiggling with the force of his impact.
As if that single thrust had broken something open inside me, I gasped again and then let out a shriek, my palms on the mirror taking my weight, his grip in my hair holding my head up. Somehow I’d missed the fact that he’d rested the round wireless remote for the bullet on my back; he picked it up, touched a button, and the tempo of the bullet’s vibration increased. Another button-press, and it ramped up again, and a third had it buzzing so hard I could feel it in my belly, and once again my breath was stolen. Roth tossed the remote onto a nearby stack of jeans, curled his now-empty hand around my hipbone. I wanted to curse and scream and plead for mercy, but I couldn’t speak. I truly didn’t want mercy from this mad, wild bliss.
And now he began to fuck me in earnest. Slowly at first, using the same slow withdrawal and hard in-stroke. I found my breath again, and the only sound I was capable of was a short, sharp scream with every pounding fuck of his hips. After a dozen of these slow-hard thrusts, Roth tightened his grip on my hair and pushed me lower, spreading me wider, letting him deeper. I wiggled my feet to widen my stance, walking my hands down the mirror, and found myself glad that I was naturally fairly flexible. I was off-balance, even my hands on the mirror not quite enough to keep me in place. I felt like I was about to fall, especially when Roth started a faster, smoother rhythm, giving me a hard push at the moment his hips crashed into my ass, rocking me forward.
“I’m not—I’m gonna…fall, Valentine,” I gasped, my words broken by the impact of his cock burying deep in me.
He slowed his rhythm, sliding slowly, letting go of my hair so he could gather it into a ponytail in his fist. “I won’t let you fall. Give me your hands.” I pushed my hips back against his, took one hand from the mirror and extended it behind me. “Both of them.”
“Roth…?” I protested, but brought my other hand around behind me as well.
He pinioned my wrists together in one hand, barring them one over the other on my lower back. That was when I understood the position: I was totally and completely helpless, not tied up in any way, but just as completely dependent on him. He had my hair in one hand, my wrists in the other, his cock impaled deep inside my quivering pussy, his bullet vibrating wildly in my asshole. I was bent almost double, unbalanced. My tits hung free, swaying as he started to rock into me. He pulled me back with both hands, pounding deep and then pushing me away so his cock nearly slipped out, only to slam home again.
I couldn’t scream, could only manage a whimper. I wanted to struggle, hating this total dependence on him. But I didn’t. I widened my feet farther apart, enough to feel as if I was stretching my thigh muscles, bending over even more, giving him more of me. It was an intentional decision to trust him, to let him dominate me, own me, control me. I tilted my head to one side, and was once again mesmerized by the sight of his powerful thighs tensing as he pushed in, his ass muscles clenching with his thrusts, his cock glistening as it slid out, my butt shaking as he slammed into me, my boobs swaying pendulously with each hard stroke. He caught me at the apex of each thrust, rocking me forward with the impact of his hips, pulling me back into him with my arms and hair. He never jerked to cause pain on my scalp, never shoved at my bent arms, using just enough strength to keep me balanced.
I felt it building inside me. It had been all this while, tension and energy piling up within me, the vibrator in my ass ratcheting the pending orgasm to violent intensity. Each stroke of his cock inside me pushed me higher, closer, and yet as I watched our bodies join, the most intense feeling of all was the upwelling surge of emotion, my uninhibited willingness to give myself to this man, to let him totally own me, somehow, impossibly, finding life-altering pleasure in it.
I knew, in that moment, that I would never want anyone else. How could I?
My emotions were so intense I had to push them down or I’d start crying, and I couldn’t do that yet, didn’t want to, didn’t dare. I blinked hard and let my weight go, gave up all pretense of governing my own motion.
White-hot bliss powered through me, the ache in my body breaking open and turning to nuclear ecstasy. Yet still this wasn’t climax — this was merely the opening wave of detonations, the spark that would light the inferno. Roth’s thrusting was getting intense, pounding harder and faster, now merely holding me in place while he fucked.
I needed to scream.
I pulled against Roth’s hold on my hair, exchanging the tug on my scalp for the room to open my throat enough to cut loose with a shriek that deafened even me.
“That’s right, Kyrie, scream. Scream while I fuck you.” He increased his pace, slamming hard and fast, an impossible pace, I would have thought. Yet he held it. “Let me hear it again. Say my name, Kyrie. Scream my name while I fuck you.”
“ROTH!” His name ripped from my throat.
“Not that name.”
“Val—Val…entine….” I could barely get his whole name out, the words broken as he drove into me. “I…I need to—to come. Let me come.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, god…please….”
“Wait for me, Kyrie. Come with me.” His words were growled, low and harsh.
“Can’t…so close,” I panted. I felt the climax splintering through me, and I tried to hold it back.
“Don’t you dare. Not yet. Not yet, goddamn it.” Roth was pounding into me wildly now, all rhythm abandoned, just fr
antic, powerful, primal thrusts, his feet braced wide, every muscle tensed and delineated, jaw clenched, eyes roving the sight of our bodies in the mirror.
Our eyes met in the central mirror. His expression was dark and shuttered, but I knew he was hiding emotions every bit as powerful as those boiling inside me. Could he see into my soul? Did my burgeoning love show in my gaze. It had to. Of all the ridiculous, absurd, most inappropriate moments for it to happen, it was then, with Valentine Roth braced tall and warrior-strong behind me, fucking me with feral ferocity, that I fully accepted the fact that I was falling in love with him.
He chose that moment—the instant of my epiphany and my acceptance of it—to slow down, grinding deep into me, the veins in his face throbbing. Then he came.
“Now, Kyrie!” he bellowed, then groaned and pulled back, hesitated a single beat, and slammed home.
I screamed, wordless and ear-piercing, as I finally allowed the roiling nova of my orgasm to rip through me. I couldn’t say his name as I came, though god knows I tried, but I could summon no coherence, could only shove my ass back into him, scream all the louder as I felt his come jet hot and wet into me, stream after stream filling me and making my walls tense and clench around him, my asshole clamping and pulsating. That orgasm was the single most powerful thing I could possibly experience. I felt it in the crashing of my heartbeat, in the throbbing of my tits and the clenching wrack of my core, the twisting exploding throb of my asshole. I felt it from my fingertips and toes to the roots of my hair. My skin was tingling and my nipples puckering so tight they ached, my clit burning as if on fire. Roth let go of my hands and hair, and bent over me. I slapped my palms against the mirror as high as I could reach, bracing my weight. He pinched my nipple and thrust his fingers against my clit, twisting and circling, his hips rolling his cock deep inside me. The shattering orgasm somehow intensified at his touch and I screamed once more, pushed back hard and pulled forward, sliding his cock in and out of me, my muscles clamped around it and not wanting to release it. The motion of his cock was accentuated by a wet sucking sound as he pushed back in, and he growled, groaned, letting loose one last gush of seed. Yet another orgasmic wave hit me, and I moaned with it, and in that exact moment Roth pulled the bullet free of my rear channel, eliciting a shocked shriek from me as the sudden absence triggered yet another wrench of agonizing ecstasy.
I was done then. Just done. I couldn’t remain standing another moment. I slumped forward, my face pressing against the cold glass of the mirror. Roth slipped out of me, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulled me back against him. I gratefully rested against the hard wall of his chest, turned in place clumsily and murmured some noise of pleasure when his arm curled around me. He bent at the knees and lifted me. I hooked my heels around his waist and held on as he carried me back to the bed and set me down, cradling me tenderly.
My ear rested directly over his heartbeat, and I heard it, felt it: thumpthump—thumpthump, crazy fast and slowing as we rested together.
I felt an insane need in that moment to admit how I felt. Yet I didn’t.
“Holy shit, Valentine.” That was what I said instead. Lame, but all I could summon.
I was scared of my feelings. Naturally. I knew he cared for me, and I knew we had universe-shattering chemistry together, making for sincerely unbelievable sex. But I’d only known him for a matter of weeks. That time had felt like a lifetime, yes, but it was still only a blip in the grand scheme of things. And yet…I knew what I felt. Nothing else but love could explain this hellishly intense mix of emotions I felt. The fear, the need, the tenderness, the eagerness to please him, the willingness to obey despite my nature demanding the opposite. I wanted him. I wanted this life. I wanted to go with him to Turks and Caicos and England and France and Italy. I wanted to be the only woman in his life. I wanted to go everywhere with him. I wanted to meet his scary-sounding father and find out what Roth did for a living, how he made his money. I wanted to know every secret about him, no matter what it was.
This had all been building up and intensified to manic levels by what we’d shared last night and this morning.
Maybe it would fade. Maybe I was mistaking fantastic sex for something it wasn’t.
“Stay here,” Roth said, slipping out from beneath me and leaving the bed.
“As if I could move,” I mumbled.
I was grateful for his absence. It let me examine myself, search my heart and mind without the dizzying power of his presence to distract me.
I didn’t think I was deluding myself. I wasn’t mistaking my feelings or misunderstanding my emotions. I did love him. Or rather, I was sliding inexorably toward that. Falling in love. A strange phrase, so common as to be nearly useless, a kind of semantic saturation on a cultural level. It was only when you felt yourself falling in love and thought about how that felt and what it meant that the phrase took on meaning, letting you really comprehend the accuracy of the description.
Face down in the bed, naked, sore all over, still shaking now and then with aftershocks, I knew I’d have to tell him how I felt, and soon. I didn’t want to. I wanted to hold onto the feeling and see if I could figure out what he felt first. But that was cowardly. He deserved the truth from me.
I’d tell him after breakfast.
At that moment, Roth returned, still naked, carrying yet another tray of food. Toasted bagels slathered with a thick layer of cream cheese, a thermal carafe of coffee and a tea service set of mugs, creamer, sugar, and spoons. He set the tray on the bed, arranged himself near me, poured me my coffee the way I liked it, light sugar, heavy cream. I wondered, idly, how he knew the way I liked my coffee.
We ate in complete silence. I watched Roth carefully, hunting for some hint of his feelings, but all I got was conflict.
I didn’t like conflict. Not after what we’d just shared, not after finally accepting my feelings for Roth.
When the bagels were gone and we’d both poured a second cup—coffee for me, tea for him—Roth vanished into the closet and returned wearing a pair of red gym shorts with two white stripes down the side. He had a woman’s dressing gown in his hand, a tag still hanging from the sleeve.
He ripped the tag off and handed me the robe. “Put that on.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up and tying the robe around me, leaving it a bit loose at my chest to give him some cleavage.
He looked me up and down. “God, Kyrie. So fucking sexy. So beautiful. So perfect. Mine.” He sighed. “For now.”
“For now?” I felt my heart plummet. “What’s that mean?”
He tapped at a panel in the wall near the doorway, and the glass walls turned transparent once more, revealing a clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine. Catching up his mug of tea, he strode across the room and opened the doors to his balcony, gesturing for me to follow. As Roth’s house took up the entire uppermost floor of the high-rise, the corner balcony meant the whole corner of the building was cut away at the very top. The sky was open above us, the building rising behind us, Manhattan spread out beneath us, cars like toys and people like dots.
“God,” I said, leaning against the railing, “what a view.”
“Yes,” Roth agreed, his voice a soft murmur. “What a view.”
I turned, and his roiling blue gaze told me he wasn’t talking about New York. In the far corner of the balcony was a small bistro table and two wrought-iron and thickly cushioned chairs; Roth sat in one chair and I took the other. I sipped my coffee and waited for him to speak.
After several long minutes, he let out a shaky breath and met my eyes. “It’s time you knew the truth.”
The Truth
Carefully, fearful of letting my shaking hands spill my coffee, I set my mug down. “The truth. About what?”
Despite his outward calm, I saw a torrent of emotion hiding in his gaze. He looked away, gazing out over the city, sipping his tea, looking casually majestic in his muscular, regal beauty. “You remember what I said to you?”
I swallowed
hard. I’d nearly forgotten. “You have a secret that concerns me.” I sat up straight, prim and proper, a vain effort to keep myself contained. “You said—when you tell me, it would change things.”
He nodded, finally setting his cup down and looking at me. He rested his calf on his knee, leaning back. “And when you knew, what did I say you would likely do?”
“Walk away.” It was a whisper.
Guess I won’t be telling him how I feel just yet.
“Yes.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. I’d never seen him looking so nervous before. “Before I begin, know this: You are mine. You will always be mine. And I take care of what is mine. So if you do walk away…you will have no worries. Never again, no matter what. Do you understand?”
His gaze demanded an answer, so I nodded. “Yes. I understand. But I don’t get what you could possibly tell me that would change—”
“Just listen. Don’t interrupt.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “Do you recognize me, Kyrie? Did you, I mean, when you first saw me?”
I frowned. “I—I thought I might have seen you before, but I’ve never been able to place you. Why?”
“I knew your father. You and I…we met before. Briefly. Seven years ago.”
Realization hit me like a ton of bricks. “My freshman year of college. I was visiting Daddy at his office.” I thought hard, remembering. “I always just walked into his office when I went to see him. Since my classes were downtown, near his office, I visited him all the time, and I’d just walk in. That time, though, his secretary tried to stop me. I heard voices in his office, angry voices. I went in anyway. Daddy was standing behind his desk, facing the window. And…you. You were there. In a suit and tie. You both looked upset. As soon as Daddy saw me, though, he…changed. Acted like nothing was wrong. And so did you. That was the only time he ever acted like he didn’t have time for me. He—he told me to come back later.” I paused, the pit of my stomach falling. “Two—two months l-later, the police found him…in a parking garage. Shot dead. They never found out who killed him.”