Page 56 of Twisted Little Game

I can’t rationalize why it feels like he smells like comfort, even while he’s so aggressive with his movements that I can’t catch my breath.

I just like the way his skin smells.

The way he moves, slowly but forcefully, to press inch by inch of his dick closer to my throat.

And I know that he’s never done this with another guy.

I’m deeply afraid of who Roman is. Yet I’m hard as a fucking diamond, lying here and hoping to God I can somehow find a way to take every inch of his cock for the sheer purpose of worshipping his size.

Do you make everyone want you this much, or am I just that fucking insane?

He pins me with his gaze from above, and the look in his eyes is like fire as he watches his length disappear past my lips. His tip hits the back of my throat quickly.

I’m losing breath fast.

I reach up and give him a little shove on his hip, urging him to pull back, and I’m surprised when he actually relents.

I breathe deep, pulling air into my lungs.

Okay.

Fuck.

Think, Tate.

I need a better angle.

A way to take him all the way, and feel the entire length of him inside me.

“Move back,” I tell him. “Let me get on my knees, and I’ll be able to deep throat better.”

“Are you lying to me?” he asks, tilting his head to one side. “Going to try to run from me again?”

“No. I’m going to make you come harder than you ever have in your life, if you let me.”

His eyes widen just for a moment before his expression slips back toward cold control. He wraps his fist around the base of his cock, giving it a lazy squeeze, then reaches down with his other hand to drag his fingertips down the center of my chest.

His fingers roam further, trailing toward the large open sides of my tank top and tucking beneath the cotton.

His touch is slightly rough against my skin. He strokes along my chest, down to my nipple, giving it a hard pinch as he nods.

“Okay,” he tells me.

He pulls his touch away quickly and I exhale at the loss of sensation.

He stays straddled over me, keeping my hips pinned, as he starts sliding his braided leather belt out from its loops.

Sudden heat flashes through my veins.

I watch him pull out the belt.

“Are you going to fucking whip me?”

“Tate.”

“If you do, I will punch you in your fucking face again, but it might also make me come⁠—”

“On your knees.”