Page 22 of His Secret Toy
“I don’t recognize myself anymore,” I finally say.
He doesn’t interrupt.
“I think about you when I’m alone. Even when I try not to. I ache. I can’t concentrate. I get wet for you in meetings.”
Still, he says nothing.
“I know what this is doing to me. And I still want more.”
He doesn’t nod, smirk, or say something cruel. He comes to me, steps slowly and deliberately, until he’s standing in front of me. I look up.
“Then I will give you more.”
He sits back on the mattress. Legs spread. Shirt off. The faint trail of hair down his stomach pulls my eyes low.
“I want to ride you.”
His brow lifts. Not in surprise—but in permission.
“Good. Show me what you want.”
I take a moment to admire the curve of his muscles, more detectable in the dim light. His eyes flicker over me, pausing at my erect nipples, the hard tips visible through the thin lace of my bra.
I reach behind my back and unhook my bra. It falls away, and I let him look. Tonight, I wanted him to see me.
I let the bra fall from my fingers and want to sigh deeply. It drops silently to the floor, and it feels like an emphatic checkmate. I need this, need him. I'm splayed out before him, so tonight isn't a power-play; it's a ransom note.
He reaches my full breasts and curves my round shape to him, pinching my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I stutter, the pleasure sharp and intense. I'm soaking wet, an instinctive reaction to his roughness.
I stop for a moment to pull down his shorts and boxers. I take in the sight of him, naked on the bed.
Even in the dim light, it is impossible to miss his thick cock standing proud and ready. My mouth waters, aching for a taste. But not tonight. Tonight is my game. Tonight, I am in control.
I straddle him, feeling his hard cock press against my mound. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. I can feel his body tense, fighting the urge to flip me over.
Instead, his hands come to my hips, but he doesn’t guide me. He doesn’t control this.
I reach down and line him up.
Then I lower myself slowly—inch by inch—until I’m full of him. I stop there. I just sit with it and breathe.
Roman lets his head fall back for a moment. His eyes close. I can feel his pulse inside me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice rough.
I nod. “You?”
His laugh is low. “You have no idea.”
I start to move in shallow, slow rolls. Every pass drags him deeper against the ache he’s carved inside me.
He watches me like he’s memorizing.
When I shift forward and grind harder, his chin hardens.
“Keep going,” he says. “Don’t stop until you come.”
I ride him slowly. I keep my hands planted on his chest, feel every breath under my palms. His muscles tighten each time I grind down.
