Page 99 of Twisted Little Game

“I know, baby.”

“Holy Lord, how does anyone…”

“Shh. Patience.”

I growl at that word again but I try to relax my body, letting him do all of the work for me.

His arm looped under my waist helps a lot, getting exactly the right angle for him to spread my legs wide and take me like this.

Even the tip of his cock teasing at my hole is a stretch.

Roman suddenly shifts into the most tender, caring version of him I’ve ever seen. He uses one hand to keep my back propped at the good angle, but his other hand strokes along the side of my body, soft and almost sweet.

His gaze is just as warm.

His lips part a little as he manages to push an inch inside me, and when I groan at the intrusion, he bites his lower lip.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

“You like me, don’t you?” he murmurs. “You like the way I hurt you… the way I make you feel good, too.”

I let out a broken exhale. “Yes.”

“Look at you, with my restraints around your wrists. My markings, etched on your skin. Me in you.”

His words cut off as he rapidly shoves another inch into my hole, and my ass screams with pain at the intrusion and I swear I can’t fucking take it right as it starts giving way, relaxing into a hot relief.

He got his cockhead inside me, I realize.

“H…holyfuck,” I babble, my voice coming out wavering.

My cock throbs, starting to actually get hard again, with the immense pressure in my ass.

“See why I said you need patience?”

I let out a sound almost like a sob, but as a stray tear breaks off from one eye, it feels like I’m only crying tears of fucking joy.

“No,” I protest. “I don’t need patience. Give me more of you.”

It’s a bold thing to say when I damn well know I can’t take more for a moment, still adjusting to his ridiculous width.

But I don’t have control over the things that spill out of my mouth right now.

Don’t care, either.

I push my head back against the leather seat in the car, looking up at him like I’m studying the statue of a god.

Every tattoo, with the thick, dark ink shifting over the planes of muscle his body holds. His dark lashes and eyes trained directly on my face, watching for every little motion I make, trying to gauge how much he can give me.

He sees me staring.

He dips low, catching my lips in a frustratingly quick kiss, then hovering an inch above my face.

“You make me feel like I’m someone else, Tate,” he murmurs above me. I can see his eyes so closely now, all of their sparkle, reflecting the rainy window. “You are a miracle.”

My heart thuds.

My cock throbs, all over again, for him.