Cousins In Love: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance (Book 3) (35 page)

"Can you hand me the body wash?" I ask.
 

"I'll do it." He practically growls in response. As if he's angry I even suggested that I'd wash my own self.

I grin triumphantly to myself as he grabs one of the Dead Sea sponges on the shelf and pours a generous amount of my favorite jasmine body wash on it.
 

He starts washing me at my neck first and meticulously begins washing me with the sponge in a slow, sensual, circular motion. I close my eyes and settle farther back into his body. Melting from his touch.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks through gritted teeth by my ear.

"Mmmm, yes," I say raising my arms above my head and behind his neck.

"Me rubbing this sponge all over your body? Across your breasts? Down your back? Between your legs?" he asks while completing the motions.

"Yessss."

"Or were you hoping my hands would replace this sponge? Maybe hoping I'd slide my hands underneath these heavy tits and squeeze until your pussy starts gushing for me."

I yelp a little from his rough pinch of my nipple, but my one good knee becomes limp like a noodle as the blood rushes back into my breast once he releases it. I'm dying to come. I think these pregnancy hormones are doing a number on my libido. I'm aroused all the time.

"So responsive," he growls in my ear.

One of Romans hands cradles me in a possessive way around my neck while the other holds me at my waist. The hand at my neck reminding me that I belong to him. The other hand claiming his baby. I finally relax a hundred percent into his embrace. My full weight against him. I trust that he has me. I've never felt safer in my whole life.

"That's it, Duchess. Give yourself completely over to me."

His words spur me to softly moan in compliance.
 

"I wasn't planning on touching you tonight," he says. His voice thick with need. "But maybe just a little taste."

My pussy is throbbing, and I nod my head eagerly in agreement and bumble over my words like an idiot. "Yesss. A taste."
 

"Ask me," he demands.

"What happens next, Masterson?"

"That's a good girl," he says by my ear while holding both of his hands underneath my breasts and rubbing his thumbs along my pebbling nipples.
 

"What happens next is that I'm going to turn you around to face the corner, like that bad girl that you are. You're going to lean into that corner and spread your legs. Keeping all your weight on the only good leg you have. It's going to be difficult, but you're going to do it, because you've been begging for me to plow inside of you for days. And I always give my girl what she wants, even if it really isn't what she needs don't I?
 

"See I planned on waiting until your leg and throat were fully healed, and your belly was good and swollen with my seed, and then I was going to pound that pussy until you had to literally beg me to stop. And even then, I don't think I could stop myself. You know why, Duchess?"

"No," I say with a very dry mouth. My throat constricting.
 

"No, what?"

"No, I don't know why, Masterson."

"That's real good, baby," he says as he slides the fingers of his right hand between my folds. "Because this sopping wet cunt was custom built for my dick. That's why you've never been nor will ever be fucked by anyone the likes of me. This is mine."

He slides one finger inside of me.

"Today," he says.

Two fingers.

"Tomorrow."

Then he compresses my left nipple, my extra sensitive one, with his thumb and pointer finger. First softly. Then hard.

"And forever," he growls.

My orgasm is coiling inside of me like a fast moving, angry snake. It's going to be quick, powerful, and bite me in the ass. If I fall in this shower, I'm going to kick Roman's butt.

Then he stops completely. One hand back around my waist, the other totally out of my pussy. Yep, it's official. My orgasm bully is back in full force. He's not even taking any sort of pity on the cripple that I am.

He switches positions with me. Turning me around face first and leaning me into the corner, holding me at the waist the entire time. He uses his hand to guide my legs farther apart, making sure I'm leaning most of my weight on my good leg and my arms.

Then he drops on his knees behind me.
 

Still only holding me at the waist, but I can feel his breath on my ass. His lips are just an inch away from my pussy, but he doesn't do anything. He just waits for me to calm down a bit.
 

Controlling jerk.

"That's not going to work," I say snidely to the wall.
 

I probably shouldn't have said that.

Whack!
 

Roman slaps me firmly on the ass. I should have known it was coming, but it took me by surprise. A mixture of shock and carnal pleasure escapes between my lips.

"What the fuck did you say?"

I don't say anything in response. I can't talk, or I swear I'll come before I get two words out.

Whack!

"Are you deaf now, too?"

Oh. My. God.

"No." Is all I manage to eek out.

"What's not going to work?" he asks insistently.

"I'm not going to settle down. In fact if you slap my ass one more time I'm going to come so hard, and scream so loud, that I may traumatize Mr. Tibbs."

I notice that one of his hands drops low and he uses it to begin slowly stroking himself.
 

"You've got a greedy pussy, Elizabeth," he says as if he's almost in pain. Still stroking himself. Harder and harder.

Everything he says, everything he does, and every noise he makes seems so erotic to me right now, that I swear I'm about to lick one of these shower tiles. I wish he'd shut up, and take care of business.
 

This is so mean.

"What are you doing right now, Masterson?" I demand to know.

I hear him mumble a few unintelligible words to himself.
 

"What did you say?" I ask getting bolder by the minute.

"I
said
that I'm stroking my cock to relieve some pressure, because I’d rather be ramming it up inside of you, Duchess."

"So why don't you?" I reply with a bit of sass.

"You know why dammit."

"Don't act like you care about my safety now. You've got a one-legged woman barely holding onto a wall inside of a wet shower."

"Shit," he grumbles as if he's just realized his error.

He stops jerking off and drags the shower stool over.

"Sit," he orders. "Now."

He helps me comfortably adjust myself on the stool.

"Spread your legs as best you can," he commands. "Lean your head against the wall."

It's hard to take commands right now. I'm still a little wound up.

"Wider," he orders. "Now relax, Duchess."

Roman kneels back down in between my legs looking like a powerful, stony warrior. His beautiful hard body, adorned with swirls of ink, wet with shower water, and the shiny scar under his eye seems to glisten in this light.
 

He looks up at me with lust filled, obsidian eyes. His dick hard as steel and stiffly bobbing up and down. He's trying to decide how he's going to move forward with me. I can almost see him working various scenarios through his head.
 

"Just one taste."

"Okay," I say knowing good and well it will lead to a lot more. At least I hope it does. To encourage him, I try to spread my legs a little farther.

He's hesitant at first. He begins by softly brushing the insides of my thighs with his knuckles. They move inch by inch closer to my sex but not quite the center. I shamelessly try to roll my hips forward, so that he gets the hint, but he chooses to continue teasing and torturing me. I think it's his favorite thing to do.
 

When spread apart, Roman's hands are huge. The span of them like the wings of a large eagle. To stop me from fidgeting, he holds me still at the crease of my hips with both hands. His beautiful mouth only millimeters away from my pussy.
 

My eyes are closed and all I hear is water falling and heavy breathing. Then as if we're in sync, I lean my body against the wall of the shower and he moves forward.
 

His mouth on my clit.

Suctioning softly.
 

Then a stronger pull.
 

A release.
 

Then a lick from as far back as he can reach with his tongue towards my ass and then moving forward, all the way to the tip of my clit and the top of my mound.
 

Roman likes rituals. They soothe him. And so he continues with this pattern of suction, release, and licking over and over and over.

I'm writhing.
 

I hate this damn cast.
 

I want to find the sharpest knife in Roman's kitchen and saw this thing the frack off. I want to wrap my legs completely around his head and ride his mouth.

But I can't.

And even if I could, he won't let me. He gets off on this crap. Bringing me to the edge, to the precipice, but controlling exactly when I fall over. But not this time. I've got a plan.
 

I'm going to draw on all the inner strength that I know I have and control my own orgasm for once. Hell, I'm a woman. I'm Wonder Woman. I'm oh mighty Isis. I'm about to give another human being life in a couple of months. I can do this.
 

I'm going to pretend to settle myself down, so that he thinks I'm not close to coming, when really I'm about to ignite. And then I'm going to scream bloody murder when there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Of course this is all good in theory, because he is way deep into his ritualistic rotation of eating me out.
 

And the shit is damn good.

I clench my eyes shut and ball my hands into fists. Rubbing his head or grabbing onto his shoulders would be a dead giveaway. It's my tell. But my orgasm is coming in like a runaway train. I try to take several normal breaths to try and bottom out the erratic shallow ones I'm taking, but it doesn't work.
 

He knows.

And he stops.

And then he has the nerve to start asking questions.

"Do you trust me, Duchess?"

"Yes." I practically snap.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Is this my pussy?"

"Yes!"

"And you promise you won't do any more stupid shit with my pussy."

"I promise."

"What did you say?"

"I promise, Masterson."

"That's my baby."

Then he gives my pussy a hard slap and descends upon it with his mouth.
 

Devouring me.
 

It doesn't take long before I start screaming. My heart beating rapidly like a wild rabbit. I think I now understand why some older men die inside of a woman. Coming is some serious shit. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"I'm dizzy," I breathe.

Roman stands up grinning proudly. His mouth glistening from being covered with me. He lifts me up, kicks the stool away, and returns us to our original standing position in the corner of the shower.
 

Him standing behind me.
 

Holding me.
 

The water streaming across our bodies.

I can feel his steel length almost angrily poking me in the back, and just when I think this shower is about to go in another Rated X direction, he does a full one-eighty and begins to pull back emotionally.
 

Instead of giving me what I really want, him inside of me, he decides instead to return to his ritualistic washing of me again. This time giving a lot of attention to scrubbing and rinsing my scalp. Then repeating it all again. It's a half an hour of more torturous foreplay in my opinion, but I'm not complaining, because my eyes have been closed for the last fifteen minutes in total bliss. No one gives a hair wash like he does.

I only know that the shower is over once I hear him shut the water off. Sheesh, his building must have one hell of a hot water heater. We were in there a long time, and the water stayed the perfect temperature the entire time.

Roman scoops me up out of the shower and places me gingerly on the countertop. Even though he has a wide double sink bathroom counter, there's also a pretty large section of free countertop space where he keeps toiletries and freshly folded towels, and that's where he places me.

He grabs one of the plush white towels on the counter and wraps it around his waist. He lets the rest of his body air dry while he grabs another towel and starts silently drying me off. He's starting to piss me off all over again. I'm reaching the end of my patience with him. My pregnancy hormones won't allow this to go on for much longer.