Cousins (Cousins #2) (18 page)

"When?"

"A couple of times. The last time I talked to him was earlier today."

Today! I just want to smack some common sense into this little glamazon's head, but I can see that I'm dealing with a girl with a lot of mouth but limited street smarts. She can't smell one bit of trouble, just like Elizabeth can't. She's all talk.

"Tell me everything he said."

Turns out that Ethan has been working Sloan for information about Elizabeth for at least two weeks. Asking her about her new job (with me). Asking her if she plans on moving out of my father's house. Pleading his sorry ass case. Telling Sloan that he loves Elizabeth. That he just wants another chance to show her that; and some other bullshit about his swimming career, blah, blah, blah. Whatever the fuck.
 

"I need you to listen to me carefully, Sloan. Don't tell Elizabeth I was here. It'll just make her angry. But when Ethan calls you again, I need you to arrange a time to meet him and then tell me where."

"That's a pretty tall order. Lie to my best friend. Set up another friend. You're not going to hurt him are you?"

"Will you do this or not?"

"If I don't do it what are you going to do?"

"Handle shit without you."

"All right, all right. It's very possible that he could end up here tonight."

"Why!?"

"I told him we were coming here. I thought it would be an easier way for them to see each other again without a lot of drama. You know in a public place."

My eyes start to immediately scan the room. I'm looking for dickhead or Elizabeth, or God forbid the both of them together.
 

After about the longest five minutes of my life, I see a massive mop of dark, curly hair. I would know that head of hair anywhere. It's been threaded through my fingers many fucking nights. I've yanked that hair back as I pounded its owner from behind. I've sniffed that hair, curled it between my fingers, and even brushed it in the mornings.

I've found her and now that I have, I want her ass more than ever.

"Duchess." I say almost in relief.
 

She whips her head around while the man she's talking to still has his hands wrapped around her hips. I can't believe my fucking eyes.
 

It's him.

"Roman." Elizabeth says while reaching for my arm. I can tell by the glint in her eyes that she's happy as fuck to see me. It feels almost as good to see that look on her face as it does when she's coming apart for me. But my brain can't compute all these conflicting visuals.
 

Elizabeth happy to see me.
 

Ethan with his hands on her.
 

Elizabeth reaching for me.
 

Elizabeth actually talking to this asshole.

"You've got three fucking seconds to take your hands off her ass, or I swear to mother fucking God that I'll snap that little scrawny swimmer’s neck of yours."

"You should see someone about this unhealthy fixation you have for your cousin."

WHAT! All of a sudden this dickwad had the nerve to grow some balls?

I'm about to crack his jaw wide open when Elizabeth walks directly up on me and cradles my face with her hands.

"I'm sorry, Masterson."

Fuck she's fighting dirty.

"I told him to stay the fuck away, Elizabeth."

"I know you did, but it's just a coincidence that we are both at the same club. It's a smaller world than you think. We were bound to run into each other."

Is she lying right now or does she really believe that ridiculous shit?

"Elizabeth, he planned this shit!"

Doesn't she see that?

"It doesn't matter."

"His hands were all over your ass!"

"My therapist is on speed dial if you want to talk to some one bro," the little fucker says.

"Say one more fucking word. Pretty please. I double dare you." I taunt him while clenching my right fist.

 
I can tell he wants to tell me to fuck off. Badly. He wants to show off in front of Elizabeth, and stand up to me to prove some meaningless point to her.
 

"Ethan," she warns him. "Just go."

I'm still wound tight like a highly strung guitar chord. Ready to pop at a moment's notice as Ethan walks away from the two of us. His peripheral vision still on me as he moves through the bodies on the dance floor towards the exit. I'm just waiting for one slip up. One sign to let me know that I'm not being totally irrational; that this motherfucker is testing my resolve.

I get it just when he thinks he's out of Elizabeth's range of sight.
 

The little prick winks at me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ELIZABETH

Roman has put me on a Masterson-style punishment for the last 24 glorious hours. I told Aunt Juliette that I was staying over Sloan's for a girl's weekend, but instead I am in the Masterson Penthouse Suite getting orgasm bullied room by room by room.

Yesterday it was his bedroom. Today it's the living room.

"Strip and go stand in front of that mirror."

Roman owns a massive floor length, distressed wood framed mirror that he keeps propped up against a wall in his living room. After I take off the last of my clothes, I stand there and stare at myself waiting for his next instruction.

It doesn't come right away. Instead there is a pocket of tense silence between us. Him staring at me while I stare at myself. And immediately all of my insecurities start to pop up, and I look down and away from the mirror. My hips seem to be growing in width the longer I gawk at myself.

"Head up." His heavy voice commands.

After another very long minute or so, Roman walks up behind me. He's fully clothed and I'm butt naked. His arms snake around my waist and then he takes several fingers and slides them gently between my folds. It's instinctive for me to close my eyes when he does something that feels so delicious, but he wants them open.

"Open up." He says. "Open up everything to me Duchess. Your eyes. Your legs. Even this." He taps my chest where my heart is.

He's staring intently at me while he stands behind me in the mirror.

"Why do you want me?" I ask.
 

It's probably the most raw, the most honest thing I've ever asked him or anyone. Because for the life of me, I don't understand why the hell Roman wants me and all the inevitable baggage that will come from being with me.

"Look at you."
 

His fingers start to rub a little deeper. My breathing starts to become shallow as he uses his other hand to hold me under my left breast. He uses his thumb to gently rub back and forth across my nipple and the mixture of watching what he's doing to me in the mirror and the sensations of how it all feels is about to quickly make me come undone.

"You're so fucking pretty Duchess. Especially when you look like this. Flushed, sweaty, spread wide and wet for me. Why wouldn't I want you? Why wouldn't any man fight for this?"

I lean over and support myself with my palms flat on the mirror after that comment. I'm so wet that his fingers are easily slipping and sliding inside of me. Even though I've been with him many times, I'm still a little embarrassed by my body's reaction. How can I be this wet and he isn't even inside me yet? Is this normal?
 

"Tell the truth Duchess. You only get this wet for me right?"

It's like he's in my head.

"Yes Masterson."

"What do I have to do to get you this wet all the time for me?"

"Exist." I mutter.

I love the heavy rumble of his laugh. It rolls and echoes around the room and inside my belly. I could listen to it all day, everyday.
 

"That's all I have to do baby? Is just exist?"

"Everything you do makes me wet Masterson."

"That's a good answer, Duchess. You're learning. That's why you're so fucking smart. Too smart sometimes. Maybe you think some things over a little too much, analyzing things to death, when you just need to feel."

"What do you mean?" I pant.

"Where's your favorite place to sit in my house?"

"The chaise."

He stops touching me and orders me to, "Go lie on it."

Roman goes inside his bedroom and comes back out with a small dark blue duffle bag. He unzips it and pulls out a small plastic package. Inside is a brand new bullet vibrator. I know very well what they look like because I own one. Although this one doesn't have a controller attached. It seems to be wireless. Just a small silver, egg-shaped vibrator. Why am I not surprised that the orgasm bully owns his own toy bag.

"Raise your arms above your head and clasp them on top of the chaise."

I do as I'm told. Experience tells me that these scenes a.k.a. punishments are always better for me if I follow instructions and keep my mouth shut. Of course that's not always possible.

"Spread your legs and keep your feet flat on either side of the chaise. Excellent. Now you know what to do next right?"

I nod my head in understanding.

"What comes next, Masterson?" I ask.

"This is a lesson all about letting go and just feeling shit. So next I'm going to slide this vibrator inside your pussy."

I gulp for a minute in shock.

"Then what, Masterson?"

"Then I'm going to suck on your clit for no less than thirty minutes."

I clench the entire time he describes what he's going to do me. I could come right the hell now. I'm never going to make it for a half an hour much less five minutes.
 

I'm in big frackin' trouble.

"You remember the rules right?"

"All my orgasms belong to you."

"That's right baby. That means you don't come until I say you do. That's my only rule. If you come without permission, we start all over. Got it?" He grins when he asks me that.
 

He knows I'm going to fail. He's counting on it.

The vibrator is cool and smooth as Roman easily slides it inside of my drenched walls. I immediately clamp down on it as it goes in, and I have to take a few deep calming breaths to bring myself down. It's not even buzzing yet, but Roman has me so damn excited that just the sensation of something going inside of me is making my vagina very happy.

He digs back into his bag and pulls out the part I must have missed
–
the controller. It looks like the sort of contraption you would see someone use with a remote controlled car, and evidently it works exactly the same. When he turns the knob slightly to the right, I begin to hear a muffled buzzing sound vibrating inside of me.

My eyes roll inside the back of my head.

"Eyes on me, Duchess."

Shit.

"Okay."

"Watch me."

"Okay." I pant.

Still fully dressed, Roman faces me and straddles the chaise. Then he bends down and begins to kiss the insides of my thighs. He hasn't even made it to my clit yet, and I'm ready to scream bloody murder.

"FRACK!" I scream.
 

When I do, Roman turns the vibrator up a little faster to further raise the intensity of my orgasm. I scream again, but the words are garbled and incoherent since Roman is sliding his tongue in my mouth to swallow them. When my breathing starts to slow a bit, Roman turns the vibrator all the way off and lifts his head to speak.

"You fucked up, Duchess."

I can't respond. I'm too winded and dazed.

"Maybe you aren't the fast learner that I thought you were. The rules were simple and clear. The test was easy, but you failed. Now we're going to have to try it all over again."

"I can't–"

"You can and you will. What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"

"Chocolate."

"You're in luck," he grins sinisterly. "I've got some chocolate here. Stay where you are. Don't move."

Much of Roman's penthouse is really one big large open space, so I can see everything that he's doing in the kitchen from the living room. He's wetting a paper towel with warm water. Then he's scooping some chocolate fudge ice cream in a small white ceramic bowl. And now he's walking back over to me.

He wipes between my legs with the warm paper towel but keeps the vibrator inside me. Next he feeds me a scoop of chocolate ice cream, then himself, and right afterwards starts sucking on my clit.

The sensation is amazing because my body is on fire, but his mouth is frigid from eating the ice cream. It feels so erotic yet soothing. As he continues expertly eating me out, he turns the knob of the controller to damn near number eight on the dial and my back immediately arches. Then just as quickly he turns the vibrator down and off and now I'm coming quickly down.

Over the next fifteen minutes Roman continues eating ice cream, eating me, and turning the vibrator up then down. By the last time he turns it up, I can't hold on any longer, and my orgasm is so powerful that I feel the adrenaline rush to my head like a freight train.