My pride screamed no, but my body was his, and the words spilled out, raw and desperate. “I want it. Fuck, Roman, I’m yours.” The confession was a release, a surrender, and he rewarded me by picking up speed, his dick hammering into my vagina with a ferocity that stole my breath. His fingers on my clit, the clamps on my tits, the sheer danger of being caught—it was too much. When he growled, “Cum for me now,” I shattered, my orgasm ripping through me with a violence that left me shaking, my cunt pulsing around his cock as he followed with a guttural curse, his hot spunk filling the condom as he rode out his release.
We stood there, panting, the aftershocks lingering in the charged silence. He pulled out slowly, disposing of the condom with a practiced ease, and when I turned to face him, his expression was unreadable—sated, yet still hungry, a predator who’d only just begun to play. My dress was a mess, my body marked by his touch, and I knew this wasn’t the end. Not by a long shot.
“I know why you came for me,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the haze of post-climax fog. My heart stuttered, the weight of his words a cold splash against the lingering heat. “The deal with Marcone. You think I double-crossed you.”
I froze, the accusation hanging heavy. He knew. Of course he knew. Roman Devereaux didn’t rise to power by being blind. “And if I do?” I challenged, smoothing my dress with trembling hands, trying to reclaim some semblance of control.
“Then you’re playing a dangerous game, Raven.” His smirk returned, but there was no warmth in it—just a glint of something ruthless. “But I like dangerous. So here’s the deal: you want answers, you stick close. Real close. I’ve got a private room upstairs, equipped with everything—restraints, floggers, toys you’ve only dreamed of. Prove you can handle me, and I might just tell you what you need to know.”
The invitation was a trap, laced with the promise of pain and pleasure, of secrets and submission. Every instinct screamed to walk away, to protect the pieces of myself I’d barely held together after the betrayal. But the throb between my legs, the memory of his cock owning me, the allure of peeling back his layers—it was a siren call I couldn’t ignore.