Page 87 of Before I Say I Don't
He chuckled. “You don’t even believe that, baby. I just paused ‘cause this pussy too good. I’m not stopping ‘til you can’t walk straight.”
“Then cancel my plans tomorrow,” I challenged him. “And go deeper,” I foolishly demanded.
Roman’s smirk tilted savagely. “Deeper?” His voice dropped, a promise and a threat in one. “You gon’ regret asking for that, baby.” He bit his bottom lip, one hand cupping my chin like he wanted my eyes chained to his. “You want it nasty too?”
I dragged my finger down the hard planes of his abdomen, whispering, “I want it nastier than you think I can handle.”
Without a warning, Roman slammed back into me like he was trying to etch himself into my bones. Each thrust was deliberate, punishing, and perfect, leaving no doubt who owned the moment.
I gasped, legs trembling, trying to scoot back from the intensity, but he caught my hips firm, dragging me back down on him with no mercy.
“Nah,” he growled, sweat beading at his temple. “Don’t run now… you the one that started this shit.”
The sound that left me wasn’t a moan… it was a surrender.
“God, you feel?—”
“Better than him?” Roman cut in, cockily.
I hesitated, heat flooding my cheeks.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“Better than him,” I cooed.
“Damn right. And I’m just getting started.”
Before I could catch my breath, Roman pulled out, spun me around, and bent me over the back of the couch. His palm slid down my spine, anchoring me in place before he slid back inside from behind.
The cry that ripped out of me was muffled against the cushion I bit down on.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured darkly. “Make that sound again. Let me hear how much you missed me—how long you waited for this dick, how bad you needed it, and how good it feels now that it’s mine.”
My nails clawed at the fabric while he drove into me harder, the slap of skin loud and unapologetic in the quiet room.
“Roman—” I gasped.
“Yeah,” he grunted, voice low and unrelenting, “this the kind of fuck you gon’ remember on yo’ wedding day.” He slammed into me deeper, stealing the air from my lungs.
Before I could respond, Roman pulled me up with one arm, spun me around, and dropped onto the couch, dragging me down to straddle him in one fluid motion. His hands gripped my hips, keeping me steady as I sank back onto him.
“Ssssssss,” I hissed, my head falling back, chest arching.
I rolled my hips, slow at first, then faster, chasing the friction and my own edge. Roman let me work for a few seconds—allowing me to think I was leading—before gripping my waist and taking over, bouncing me onto him so deep I whimpered.
“Look at you—thinkin’ you’re in control and shit. Nah, baby. I’m running this show. I set the pace, I break the rhythm, and I decide when you fall apart. This pussy mine for the night… and the morning… and every damn time you breathe, you hear me?"
"You think you own this? Then prove it."
Before I could blink, Roman slammed up into me, harder, deeper. My moans came out broken, and he caught it with his mouth, swallowing every sound.
“You feel that?” he growled against my lips. “That’s me proving it. You can talk slick all night, but your body don’t lie. Every squeeze, every shiver… it’s spelling out R-O-M-A-N. Mine.”
Roman shifted suddenly; one arm around my back, the other gripping my ass as he fucked me so deep my thighs shook.
“Pussy so damn good, baby,” he growled, his grip tightening on my waist as I bounced on him.
I leaned down, lips grazing his ear. “This dick is better.”
