Masterson Unleashed

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  "I'll take care of it."

  "I don't want you in between my legs all day." Did I really just say that?

  "You're an awful liar, Duchess. You know you want me right here," he gently pats my pussy. "All fucking day."

  "I'm not lying. You're just incredibly arrogant."

  Roman gave me a fifteen minute break in between orgasms, so that he could call down to the front desk and book my room an additional night, even though he already has his own room on the same floor. Something about not giving me the chance to put on any clothes. This way I'd stay "naked and spread" all day for him is how I think the Neanderthal put it.

  I am starting to feel dirty. Well … dirtier. Almost like I'm his personal sex slave, except for the obvious fact that I am reaping all the benefits of this arrangement.

  I'm at orgasm seven.

  My clitoris is swollen and over-sensitized. My head is pounding from the constant adrenaline rush to my brain. Tears are starting to fall. I literally can't take anymore. This is definitely an exquisite punishment, but I think it needs to stop before I pass the hell out. I'm not sure he cares though; he's enjoying every minute of this, maybe more than I am. If that's even possible.

  "Roman,” I say seriously.

  "Elizabeth,” he retorts.

  "You've made your point."

  "Have I?"

  "I was a bad girl. I didn't call you before I left."

  "And?"

  "And I allowed Ethan up to my room when I should have ignored him entirely."

  "And?"

  I thought hard.

  "And … I don't know."

  "The money."

  "Oh and I didn't tell you how much money they took from me?"

  He smiles in approval. "Exactly. And of course there's the bigger issue."

  "Bigger than all of that?"

  "I think I moved things too fast in my apartment the other night. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Doesn't seem to be any different than what is happening right here in this hotel room. Wouldn't you agree?" I retort sarcastically.

  "I know and that's the bigger issue. I can't keep my hands off of you. I want to fuck you in the worst way. All the time. Everyday."

  I'm speechless, and it damn sure isn't because of his flattering albeit crude words, but because I'm starting to feel the same exact way, and he and I both know this won't work. That this has nowhere to go but to the intersection of end and badly.

  "I'm not sure what to say to that flowery declaration of whatever the frack." I say with a sarcastic twang.

  Roman's laugh lightens the heaviness in the room.

  "I demand you say the word fuck right now."

  "No."

  He starts to tickle me under my armpits.

  "Say it."

  "No,” I manage to say through a snort.

  "Say it."

  "Aaaah! Stop tickling me jerk off. I can't breathe,” I beg.

  "Say it and I'll stop."

  "All right already! FUCK!"

  He finally stops.

  "Now was that so bad, nerd?"

  That's when I whack Roman upside his head with a pillow and the longest pillow fight of my life ensues. I'm sick of him calling me a nerd, I've heard it all my life, so I try my best to hit him as hard as I can.

  Usually a good thump on top of the head works (well it did when I was ten years old), but he's much taller than me, even with me standing and him sitting on his knees on the bed. So he's getting the best of me and knocking me back on my ass with every wallop.

  "Oh my God, stop hitting me so hard." I laugh hysterically as I try ducking from the next blow.

  "It's either this ass whipping I'm giving you or your next orgasm. I know you've been counting them. What number am I on?"

  Whack!

  "My ears are ringing you, Neanderthal. Stop it."

  "Ass whipping or orgasm? You pick."

  Thump!

  At last I get one good shot in even though he doesn't even flinch. That's when he grabs me by both of my upper arms and stares me forcefully in the eyes.

  "Orgasm it is."

  Just the gravelly roughness of his voice instantly sends a gush of moisture between my legs, and I realize that no matter how much I pretend that I don't want it I'd rather have death by orgasm at the hands of this man any frackin' day.

  Roman quickly tosses me down on the bed, straddles my hips, then lifts my arms up over my head. I'm hesitant to keep them there, because he just spent the last few minutes tickling me to death under my pits, but I hold them still.

  "Keep your hands up there. Don't move them. I'm going to try something."

  "What?"

  He ignores me and gets up to grab a few melting ice cubes from the ice bucket and tosses them in his mouth. Then he moves slowly towards my right breast and circles my nipple with his now frigid tongue. My nipple pebbles almost immediately, and I inadvertently groan in approval.

  I start to spread my legs a little wider as a subtle invitation for him to keep up the good work, but he isn't falling for my trickery. The sadist that he is wants to draw this whole episode out.

  "Uh-uh, Duchess. Keep those legs clamped shut."

  He continues the magical shit he is doing with his tongue and teeth by adding a few more cubes to his mouth and moving to my left nipple. The sensitive one.

  I can tell by his handling of this breast that he is fully aware that I am more sensitive on this side than the other. He isn't as rough with this nipple. He's slower and more precise about how he flicks his tongue back and forth, and then around and around, ending each pattern with a tiny kiss on the underside of my breast.

  He decides to do one of his famous spot checks and slides his middle finger along the slit of my sex and is pleased with what he finds.

  "Perfect wet pussy."

  The words are enough to send me to the precipice, but I'm not quite ready to topple over just yet. Roman continues teasing, suckling, and savoring my breasts over and over with an occasional spot check down below, and as if he has some sort of sixth sense and knows I'm about to blow, he gives my pussy a quick hard slap and that's when I fall completely off the cliff and into a blissful, orgasmic state of hell yes!

  "That was number eight,” I pant and say with a smile.

  "My lucky number. I think I'll stop it there."

  I rub my legs together, because unbelievably I don't want him to stop. I need more of him."

  "Oh, but does my Duchess want something more?"

  He knows that I do.

  "Does she?" he asks again.

  "Yes."

  "What do you want? Tell me.” He grins.

  "I want–"

  I can't say the words. I've only had sex with Roman once, and one time is a mistake, but twice is ridiculous. I know that everything we've been doing today is no frackin' better, but at least I can say with a straight face that we haven't exactly been fucking like bunnies. At least I can say it was a one-time thing. If I have sex with him again, right now, I won't be able to even say that.

  "I want … I want to go home, Roman."

  Roman pauses for a moment and stares at me as if he's looking straight through my eyes and into the back of my head. I'm pretty sure he's pissed, and that's putting it mildly.

  He stands up, pulls the jeans he had on yesterday back on and simply orders me to, "Get dressed."

  "Where are you going?" I asked slightly panicked that I've completely ruined one of the best days of my life.

  "To get showered, get my shit, and get us both the hell out of here and back to the real world."

  As soon as I hear the door click shut with him on the other side a few tears begin to fall.

  8

  Elizabeth

  ROMAN DID SOME juggling and was able to book a business class seat on my same flight back to Philly. Our seats aren't next to each other though, and I am a little surprised that he hasn't bothered to ask his neighbor or mine if either of them would consider switching seats. Although it appears that the brune
tte practically salivating in the seat next to him would put up a fight if anyone dared to ask her to switch. I don't dare ask myself, since I am assuming that this is another one of his punishments or more accurately put, this is Roman pouting.

  I don't understand how a man that does whatever the heck he does everyday to make a massive living can act so much like a little baby. I guess this is what my mother was talking about when she said that men are all just little boys inside nice, muscular packaging. This describes Roman to a T.

  In my last ditch effort to make a final impression and thank Mr. Lambert for his extraordinary hospitality, I left him a hand written note at the front desk. I'm thinking about all the millions of ways I wish I could have rewritten that letter, when the pilot announces that we can finally use our electronic equipment and the plane's WiFi, now that the aircraft is cruising at a steady altitude.

  Since I have over three hours to kill, and no Roman to talk to, I decide to write Sloan a letter. Her email goes straight to her cell phone, so I know that she'll get it right away.

  Hey,

  I'm headed back to Philly right now. By the time you get home from work I should have pooped (you know I don't poop well when I travel), showered, and changed and we can head out for a cocktail or two:).

  The pitch meeting went as well as I think it could have gone. I was prepared and while they had some tough questions for me, all of them were valid. I'm not sure my business is an appealing enough opportunity for men that invest millions of dollars everyday in way more important stuff–but if anything, it was a great opportunity and a great learning experience. So thanks for setting it up.

  Your guy was kind of hot by the way:) I forgot how good-looking he was. What ever happened with him anyway? Oh yeah, he had some obsession with meeting your dad right?

  Speaking of guys, you're not going to like this, in fact you're probably going to rip my head off, but there's something I've been keeping from you and I don't think I can do it any longer. I've been messing around with Roman. Yes, that's right–my cousin Roman. And it's bad. We'll talk more about it later I'm sure:)

  -Bitsy

  I can feel him glaring at me.

  In fact I can always feel Roman from the floor to the ceiling whenever he's in the vicinity. It's understandably more obvious now, because he's only sitting a few feet away from me, but proximity doesn't particularly matter. Not when it comes to us. When he's anywhere nearby, it's as if my brain recognizes his energy in the room and sends my body physical signals to react.

  Signals to acknowledge his presence.

  Like my skin prickling.

  Panties moist.

  I reluctantly turn my head as if I actually have a choice in the matter and notice the scowl on his beautifully scarred face. He stares me down as if he's daring me to look away first.

  Once again he's angry with me for being the only grown up in the room. He and I both know that this thing between us can't end well. That we aren't stars in the middle of some damn romantic comedy where all ends well with a jaw dropping kiss while an old '80s power ballad plays in the background.

  That's why I make the decision to turn away first. Like I said, someone has to be the responsible adult here and stop this before it gets totally out of hand.

  I look back down at my inbox to check all my unread emails (mostly junk) that I didn't check while sunning all day (and playing with Roman all night); I notice there's one from Jagger.

  Hi Elizabeth,

  I saw Sloan at Java today and she told me you were away on business. Didn't want to disturb you, so I thought I'd email you instead of texting. I'm having something at my house this Friday and wanted to invite you and of course Sloan and Tiny. It's mostly swim team folks and a few other new people I've met at the swim club. You three will probably be my only non-swimmer guests. So I'm begging for you to come and round the guest list out. I don't want to talk about swimming all night:) And well, I'd really like to see you again. So let me know. It's potluck but you don't have to bring anything. A lot of my friends will bring enough food to feed an army.

  -Jagger

  It must be divine intervention.

  It has to be the universe's way of sending me a lifeline to climb out of the Roman Masterson sinkhole that I'm finding myself falling deeper into every single day.

  This time I'm going to grab hold of the lifeline for dear life.

  I barely say three words to Roman as we exit the plane, and he says even less. It feels awkward, especially because of what we just shared in my hotel room just hours ago, on top of the fact that I was just starting to get used to his crazy ass. And not just amazing in bed Roman, but the person he is out of bed as well.

  He's definitely a lot different than what I'm used to. He's quick-tempered and a loose cannon, but he's also smart, driven, and pays actual attention to me when I'm talking; although I'm pretty sure he's mostly interested in what's between my legs.

  I don't think Roman has ever had a serious relationship with a woman, and frankly why would he? Women drool all over him twenty-four hours a day. Why would he pick just one? Particularly one he's related to. Not to mention that I haven't forgotten what he said about not doing seconds. I'm pretty sure the only reason why he's touched me more than once is because I'm living in his father's house.

  I'm easy access. Plain and simple.

  I'd be kidding myself if I were to think that it's anything deeper than that. That's what I have to keep remembering. That's what I have to keep telling myself.

  When I disembark the plane, Roman is about two people behind me, but I can still feel his Darth Vader-esque eyes drilling holes into the back of my head. Jerk.

  "Bitsy!"

  I hear the calling of my name rise above a sea of strange faces, before I can locate the direction that it's coming from. That is until I see the white poster board with black lettering being held high by a pair of hands with a big gold love knot ring on one hand. I'd know that ring anywhere; and the words on the sign, well those can only belong to the same person as well.

  Welcome Home School Bucks Bitch!

  Sure enough I spot Sloan's sun-kissed daddy long legs coming towards me. She's dressed in a casual fitted black T-shirt and a pair of daisy duke jean shorts, looking fabulous as usual, and laughing at the look that's probably plastered across my face after seeing her sign. She's my biggest fan, but she can be a tad bit inappropriate and over the top sometimes.

  "Playing hooky?" I ask.

  "It's Monday. No doctor wants to be bothered with a pharmaceutical rep on a Monday; that's why I usually do paperwork. But instead I thought I'd pick up the new dot com diva from the airport."

  I laugh at the dot com reference because Sloan has no understanding of terminology for websites versus apps, or maybe she just doesn't care, but that's part of her charm. She's a sales powerhouse, a bombshell, daughter of a retired NBA basketball player dad and a voiceover actress mom; and her life's motto is definitely keep it simple stupid. She's not into the minute details of life. She never sweats the small stuff. She just likes good food, hot sex, and getting paid.

  "How did you even know what time to pick me up crazy girl?" I ask.

  Sloan gestures her head at something or rather someone behind me. "Batman over there sent me a text. Said you'd be needing a ride."

  I turn to look for Roman and see that he's not even paying us any attention. He's deeply engrossed in some sort of flirtatious conversation with a red head dressed in an airline uniform. My stomach turns a bit. I'm so sick of him.

  "How thoughtful of him,” I say snidely.

  "Do you have all your things?" Sloan asks. "Do we need to go to baggage claim?"

  "No, I didn't check any bags. I just have my carry-on. We can go."

  "Cool, let's go then. I've got an Uber car waiting."

  I take one last glance over at Roman. For a moment I wish it were he and I traveling in the car home together. Laughing. Flirting. But he's doing both of those things with someone else. A complete stranger.
At least I think she's a stranger. Knowing that asshole, she may be someone he may have slept with in the past. I'm sure the list is a mile long.

  Ugh, I can't stand him.

  "Let's go." I march to the exit door.

  During the car ride home Sloan starts rattling off information like I've been away for a month instead of forty-eight hours. She shares celebrity gossip, college friend gossip, work gossip and something about her cable guy. I just didn't hear it all. My mind has been completely zoned out and on you know who.

  "So?" Sloan asks while nudging my shoulder with hers.

  "What?" I ask.

  "I read your letter. Are you ready to talk about it?"

  "Oh that."

  "So you fooled around with the Dark Knight, huh?"

  "Yes,” I admit quietly.

  "Don't be embarrassed about it with me. I mean he is your cousin, but not really, so I sort of get it."

  "You do?" I ask.

  "I mean I'm not saying it's the smartest move on your part, but he's super hot, so I get why you may have had a little slip."

  "Yes … a little slip."

  Sloan starts grinning. "A big slip?"

  "Maybe." I shrug my shoulders.

  "How big? Did you fuck him?" Her eyes grow wide like saucers as she asks loudly enough for the entire city to hear.

  "Yes,” I whisper when I notice the Uber guy's eyes on me.

  "More than once?"

  "Yes."

  "Dare I ask because you really have no frame of reference, but was it good."

  "Very." I smile.

  "So that's why things were so awkward back there. You guys didn't want to share a car because you were a little embarrassed about all the frolicking you've been doing?"

  I sigh. "I guess that's part of it."

  "Did Joseph send him to keep an eye on you or something? Why was he even there?"

  I dodge giving the real answer by side tracking her with half the truth.

  "Ethan was there."

  "WHAT!"

  "My phone was acting funky, or I would have called you, but I was at the bar having a drink and there he was. He simply walked up to me like it was just another day. Like we had just spoken to each other yesterday."