Marrying the Master (2 page)

Oh
shit, could he tell? As well as Lola knew Roman, Roman knew her, too—better
than anyone at Volare. Could he tell how she really felt?

A
noxious pit of dread coalesced in Lola’s stomach. If Roman knew how she felt,
that she’d wanted him for so long, that she’d only overcome her infatuation with
him by sheer force of will, it would ruin everything. He’d have to let her down
easy, and he would never touch her again. And there’d be no way they could keep
up the pretense of this ridiculous
plan
if that
happened. Volare would be screwed.

And
what the hell, of
course
she was
frightened. Defensively, she hissed, “This is not an everyday thing, Roman!
It’s a big deal, what we’re about to do, and we’re lying to, like, everyone,
and
breaking the law, and—”

He
frowned. “If you are nervous or frightened, especially during the ceremony, it
might give us away. It could betray our deception. Remember that this is a
performance.”

A performance
. That was the whole problem.

“Believe
me, Roman, I know that.”

“Then
we must make sure that you are not nervous or frightened.”

He
said it so simply, so calmly, looking at her with that maddening look. What did
it mean? He gave nothing away. They stood in silence together for a moment,
long enough for Lola to realize their breathing was in tune. Everything about
their physical selves felt perfect together, like they were made for each
other.

Too bad about the rest—about the person that always came
between Roman and anyone else.

Lola
swallowed and tried to stand up straighter. “Listen, I am
not
—“

Roman
cut her off, getting to the point. “Are you having second thoughts about the
arrangement?”

“No!”

“Yet
you fled my apartment this morning before we could speak.”

Lola
didn’t have an answer to that, at least not while her brain was functioning on
limited blood supply. She could feel her pulse between her legs, and the man
hadn’t even touched her. Just that commanding tone of voice made her melt.

Don’t look him in the eye. It’s your
only hope.

“Speak
about what?” she said weakly. Maybe if she played dumb she could pretend it
wasn’t a big deal.

Roman’s
lip curled in amusement, though he wasn’t fooled. He never was. “Lola, we are
standing in a broom closet. There is a justice of the peace waiting. And you
are asking questions you already know the answer to.”

“I
don’t know the answer to anything,” she muttered, dropping her eyes. It was the
truth. All she knew was that it made her insane to be this close to Roman
Casta.

There
was a pause, and then his fingers brushed her cheek, and his hand threaded
through her thick red hair. His touch sparked through her like a wildfire. She
heard him exhale heavily, almost that low growl she’s heard the night before,
and to her shame she craned toward his touch like a helpless puppet. She
suddenly felt like she would do anything to feel him touch her more. Anything.

It
was such a dangerous way to feel.

Especially if he felt it, too.

“We
needed to talk after last night, Lola,” Roman said. “And after this morning.
Now we will talk after the ceremony.”

The ceremony.

“Maybe
we don’t need to talk,” she said quietly, studying the floor intensely. She was
still so very aware of his skin against hers. All she could think was that if
they actually talked, he might see through her. “We had sex, but we’re both
adults. It’s not like it meant anything. So I don’t know what you want to talk
about.”

Another
low sound rumbled in Roman’s chest. He was annoyed. He said, “Don’t be foolish.
We will have to talk about how this arrangement will work between us. It is
clear we will not be able to control ourselves while we must live together
and…pretend.”

“Maybe
we can—“

“
No
,” he said sharply, and she looked up
in alarm. He licked his lips and his eyes roamed over her body. “You proved
that last night. You and I…”

Roman
took another deep breath, shaking his head. Roman never hesitated, never cut
himself
off. Lola had never, ever seen him look
so…nonplussed.

His
thumb brushed against her cheek, and she thought she could feel his lust in the
air between them, like a massive electrical storm brewing on the horizon. It
took her breath away. Finally she looked him in the eye.

She
didn’t think she’d be able to look away ever again.

“I
am no longer myself around you,” he said hoarsely. “I am not…in control. I have
no control around you.
Around your body.
Now that I
have tasted you, Lola, it is all that I think about. And I will not stop until
I’ve had my fill. I know this about myself.”

“I
know,” she said. “You’re relentless.”

“It
is best,” he finally said, his gaze resting on her mouth, “to formalize the
terms of your submission.”

Lola’s
eyes fluttered at that word. “The terms of my submission,” she repeated, almost
in disbelief. She’d thought it, but hearing it said out loud was something
else.

Roman
did growl now, a frustrated sound, and wrapped an arm around her waist, his
hand on the small of her back, just grazing the curve of her ass. He pulled her
close to him, and his other hand twisted in her hair, tilting her face up. He
waited just long enough for her to see the look on his face, to see what it
meant, and then he crushed her mouth beneath his.

He
was claiming her.

He
felt she was his.
At least physically.
At least as a sub.

Lola’s
heart thudded out a rapid answer: he was right.

His
tongue parted her lips as his fingers effortlessly unbuttoned the conservative
blouse she’d chosen for today, his mouth hot and wet and demanding against
hers. His hand was just as insistent, just as impatient with the barriers
between him and her body; he pushed aside her shirt and bra, and grabbed her
exposed breast with a grunt of satisfaction. He squeezed, hard, just like he
had the previous night, and Lola gasped.

Finally
he let her mouth go, the hand that was at her back moving up to grab her hair
again. He liked to grab her hair, to pull on it. It drove her wild.

“Say
it,” he said. He rolled her nipple between her fingers, his eyes on fire.

“Oh
God, Roman…”

Roman
buried his face by her neck. “I cannot look at you now without thinking about
what you feel like inside, Lola. Without needing to have you. Say it.”

He
pushed his leg between hers, her skirt riding up her thigh as he did so. The
hard length of his thigh pressed between her legs, pushing her now very damp
underwear against her flesh.

“You
are wet,” he said into her ear, and mercilessly rubbed his leg against her.
“Oh, God, Lola. You
will
submit to me
again. I must have your submission, Lola, or I will lose my mind.
Say it
.”

He
bit her neck, keeping her right where she was, while he reached down with his
free hand, the one that wasn’t torturing her breast, to grab a fistful of her
skirt and pull it up over her hips.

This
was already out of hand. Already out of control.

Lola
could barely breathe. Her eyes flew open, and she heard herself moan. Her voice
didn’t even sound like hers. It sounded desperate, drugged, starved.

“I’ll
do anything you want, Roman,” she said. “Anything.”

And
she meant every damn word.

Roman
released her neck and pulled her head back to look her full in the face. His
eyes blazed and his jaw clenched, and he looked utterly triumphant.
Roman the conqueror.
She loved him like this. She loved that
he was like this because of
her
. And
she couldn’t look away.

That
was all the trouble, right there.

Roman
took another deep, satisfied breath, and then wordlessly spun her around so her
back was to him. Too surprised to speak, Lola reached her hands out
instinctively and gripped a shelf in front of her. She tried to look behind
her, but Roman still had hold of her hair.

“Yes,
you will,” Roman said, and she felt her underwear pull against her as he
twisted them in his hand. The sound it made as he ripped them from her body
sent another shiver through her. “You will do anything I want, whenever I want.
And you will thank me for the privilege.”

Lola
thought she was going to come right there. The pressure between her legs had
grown, the dull throb rising to a deafening crescendo, driving out all thoughts
except the desperate need to come with Roman Casta inside her.

She
wasn’t thinking about the ceremony
anymore, that
was
for sure.

Roman
slid his hand between her legs, pushing them wider apart. Her wetness had
seeped out onto her thighs, and she heard him grunt as he pushed a finger
inside her.

“The
way you feel inside, Lola,” he said in her ear, fucking her slowly with that
finger. “It’s addicting.”

Lola’s
legs started to shake as her inner muscles clenched around him.
 
She was still a little sore from how
hard he’d fucked her the previous night, and she was reminded of it with every
stroke. It made her almost dizzy, and she arched into him, unthinking.

He
laughed softly.

“Here
is what I am thinking,
torronet
. I do
not want you to feel afraid. I never want you to feel afraid. So you will go to
the ceremony with me in just a few minutes, and you will not be able to think
of anything besides how well you have just come for me, and how hard I have
just fucked you. You will go to the ceremony with my scent all over you. And
you will wonder all that time what else I will order you to do. You will not
have time to feel afraid. And everyone will think it is just because you love
your husband.”

Husband
.

Roman
took his finger away and Lola almost whimpered in protest, until she felt him.
Him
. His rock hard erection, poised just
at her entrance. She needed him
now
.

“Oh
God…” she heard herself say, and a current of anticipation rippled through her
core.

“Say
it, Lola,” he whispered, gripping her bare ass and spreading her even more.
“Say this is mine.”

Lola
groaned again. She felt obscene,
made
obscene by this man, this man who’d become totally new to her in only the last
four days, this man she’d thought she’d known…

“It
is,” she panted. “This belongs to you. Please…”

“Please,
what
?”

“Please,
Roman, just fuck me!”

He
surged into her, the thickness of his cock stretching her until she cried out.
Roman brought his hand up to her face and gently covered her mouth; she could
smell herself on his fingers.

“Quiet,”
he said, removing his hand and kissing her neck.

He
thrust into her hard, shoving her breasts up against her hands where they
gripped the shelving. When he reached around and rubbed her clit with one
expert finger, Lola groaned into his hand, spurring him on. He fucked her in hard,
definite strokes, the rhythm shaking cans of cleaning fluid across the shelves,
until the intensity was almost too much. Tears streamed from her eyes, and he
paused, wiping her cheek.

“Don’t
stop,” she said. “Oh God, please don’t stop, I can’t take it if you stop.”

There
was a beat, and then he drove himself into her with even more force. He let her
hair go and she slumped forward on the shelf, her body incapable of anything
but taking what Roman gave her.

Her
orgasm didn’t build normally, didn’t gather slowly in her center and pulse out
over the rest of her. It happened everywhere, all at once, a freak storm, like
there was just too much energy and it had nowhere to go. She bit down on her
hand, and her left leg buckled. Roman caught her, his arm around her waist.

“You
are
not
done,” he said into her ear.
“Come for me again, Lola.”

In
just a few moments, she did.

And
then she did again.

She
was dizzy, and when she tried to speak her lips felt numb and her words didn’t
work. Roman was still buried deep inside her, still thrusting, and she was
aware that he was talking to her. Slowly, she came back to herself, like rising
to the surface of a lake, and she heard him as clear as day.

“Lola,”
he said. “
My
Lola.”

And
he came inside her, his weight on her back, his lips on her neck. She didn’t
know how he held her up while coming; she could barely remember her own name.
And it felt like a long time after that before her brain functioned properly.
She just rested while Roman cleaned them both as much as he could with a
handkerchief that disappeared conveniently back into his pocket, and she stood
there while he rubbed her shaking legs so she wouldn’t cramp.