Working up mountains of foam with Roman’s body wash she went to town on every inch of her skin. The steam and fragrant suds combined to make her feel as though Roman enveloped her. The comfort from this sensation was surprisingly strong.
Going through the steps of washing and conditioning her hair, Kelly drifted further inside her heart and mind. Shower introspection was a thing, right?
Unable to concentrate on a single subject, she settled on Roman because after all, he was at the center of pretty much everything.
When she’d worked up the courage to confide in Rhiann about her wobbly confidence, her new friend quickly set her straight. It was the lack of sophistication and her take-no-shit attitude that drew him in. Roman wasn’t an inexperienced boy. According to Rhiann, who knew him well, he might appear surprised to find himself attracted to a strong female counterpart, but she shouldn’t be fooled. That’s exactly what he needed, or none of what happened would have been a remote possibility.
And she also explained what being claimed by a man like Roman meant. He was someone who would mate for life. A commitment he would not take lightly.
She already knew that from his immediate bond with Matty and the serious way he went about the parenting role their relationship forced on him.
Rhiann gave her the four-one-one on that too by pointing out that forcing anything on Roman Bishop was so funny as to be ridiculous. He knew what he was doing, she kept saying. He knew what offering himself as Matty’s parent would mean and in Rhiann’s estimation, that should be enough.
Kelly had faith in Roman and every day she saw how deep and ever-growing that faith was. She trusted him with Matty, and she trusted him with her heart. The part where she trusted with her body was kind of a given.
Oooh boy. And that thought? Yikes. It set off flashes in her mind of the intense sessions she called playtimes. Not to be confused with the spine-tingling lovemaking that usually left her a boneless heap. No, she was thinking about those other times when he did unspeakably erotic things to her body and mind—usually while she was tied up or strapped to something from his collection of naughty toys. Just visualizing the wicked equipment, the spreader apparatus with the soft cuffs, made her pussy tingle.
Did it bother her that her lover had a seemingly endless treasure trove of fuck accessories? Not really—she was young, not stupid. She already figured out there was something else going on with him.
But did it weird her out a little that he was so good at these things? Yeah—maybe a little. Especially when it came to the art of erotic discipline. What Roman did with a paddle or his hand sent her flying. So he dug into his secret stash, and other things were added such as a leather crop and several floggers with varying bite.
Roman took sensory play to new heights—teasing her body and senses until she begged him to take her. Feathers, soft brushes, something called a Wartenburg Wheel, nipple clamps, and the most enticing equipment of all. His hands.
Was she a moaning, writhing wanton for him? Oh my god, yes.
Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes. He commanded her senses and set fire to her soul. The energy they created with their inferno of love came close to terrifying her by its intensity.
Rinsing conditioner from her hair, Kelly let out a frustrated sigh. Being constantly horny was the only outlet for her restlessness. They had sex morning, noon and night. Her insatiable need coupled with his intense sexuality created a mutual craving that was never fully satisfied.
Beneath the spray of the shower, she let a waterfall cascade from head to toe. Swiping water from her face as she turned, the ink on her ring finger grabbed her attention, and she smiled.
Roman had drawn a ring on her finger the night he proposed in front of Rhiann, Liam, Matty and her surrogate grandparents, Sam and Ginny Martin. Since then he’d tried a couple of times to slide a real piece of jewelry on her, but so far, she’d resisted.
There was something about the skin art that made her happy, so each time the ink faded or started to wash off, she had him spruce it up. An engagement ring happens once. Him drawing the symbol over and over was a much more powerful manifesto than shiny bling. As she saw it, every time they did the ring ritual, he proposed all over again.
She’d killed enough time and wasted far too much water in the shower by the time her skin pruned. Wrapping her wet curls in a hair turban, she quickly grabbed a plush towel from the warmer and wrapped it around her body.
The extra jolt of blanketed warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt more tension leave her body. Plopping onto the vanity bench, she stared at her reflection and snickered. “Relaxed and randy. Great!”
Pulling a piece of notepaper from the drawer, Kelly propped it up where she could see it and began the beauty regimen she wrote down step-by-step. Half an hour later she was serumed, moisturized, lotioned, and blow-dried.
In her portion of the walk-in wardrobe, she surveyed the growing collection of clothes and reached for familiar comfort items and whatever delicate scary expensive lingerie her fingers landed on.
She scowled at her reflection as the old, worn jeans objected when she pulled on the zipper. Dammit. She’d put on weight, and now her old clothes were getting more than snug in the fit department.
Roman liked her curves. Liked them a lot with special emphasis on her ass. Even though it seemed especially dirty and undeniably risqué, she rather enjoyed showing off and teasing him. There was no doubt and never had been that he’d be fucking her ass someday—probably soon—driven by her demanding curiosity.
She shivered head to toe. Surrendering to his powerful sexuality in every possible way was a desire that consumed her. In those moments when her surrender turned to submission, she found a power and a release that altered her perception of what was considered normal.
Vanilla ice cream was her favorite, but that’s where pure and simple ended. Her only hard limit was playtime with others. She’d spelled out for him what that meant with exquisite detail using every hunting and dressing an animal reference she could think of.
He grinned at her like an idiot the whole time, and she loved him for it. Roman got off on her badassery.
Of course, when she finished explaining the many ways she’d be going to jail for life if another woman touched him, he reciprocated with a crudely blunt description of his hard limits. When he wrapped up, she had no doubt anyone who touched her was going to die a slow, painful death.
They agreed on something!
Sliding on a New York souvenir t-shirt, she fluffed her curls and then that was it. How much time had she managed to kill? If Matty and Domineau wouldn’t be back till dinnertime, she had many hours to fill.
In the bedroom, she tidied up and scrunched the decorative pillows. A water bottle with an inch or two of liquid sat on Roman’s nightstand. Grabbing it for the recycling bin, she noticed the bottom drawer was open with something protruding. She bent over and yanked it open, intending to give what was sticking out more room. One of those cardboard picture holders was gumming up the works. She took it from the drawer and rearranged the crap that was underneath, but when she went to place it back on top, she opened the folder and stopped when the five by seven photograph became visible.
She hopped on the bed, scooted back and brought her feet up to sit cross-legged as she studied the picture. Right away she found Roman and her head snapped up. He was younger and looked like a grizzly bear with long, unruly hair, a full beard, and a hard expression. Dressed in desert warfare gear, he held a deadly looking weapon and wore a dark shrapnel vest over his clothing. He looked dangerous. A barrage of shivery bursts exploded along her spine. Oh, my. Roman Bishop—the warrior.
There were others in this picture and as she checked each person out Kelly very nearly vapor-locked when the closer look revealed one of the people in this photo of warriors was Domineau.
Holy fuckballs.
In the photo, the enigmatic woman wore a dark turtleneck. Kelly couldn’t make out her hair because she sported a bac
kward baseball cap. Showing the same vest the others wore, she wore a shoulder holster and a fierce scowl. Without knowing why, Kelly decided that by the look of things, Domineau wasn’t regular military. She was something else. Maybe a division of female assassins or something equally as badass.
Closing the folder, she put it back in the drawer and paused. Had Roman been looking at the picture? And if he had, why?
A couple of minutes later she was back in the kitchen, still pondering life and desperately wishing Roman would come home when she heard the elevator.
“Thank God you’re home!”
Roman knocked back on his heels when the thunderous shriek ended with an object hurtling straight at his chest with tremendous velocity.
Boof! His head even jerked—that’s how hard he got slammed.
He grabbed the squirming body plastered to his front in time for two extremely powerful legs to wrap around his waist. Next thing he knew, Cyclone Kelly scraped her nails against his skull and held tight before lunging at his mouth with hot, desperate kisses.
What was half a nanosecond? He didn’t know or couldn’t remember, but that’s roughly how long it took his brain to catch up. His body was already on the job.
If he had to pick just one great reason for having a waif—a hot, sexy, wanton waif—as a fiancée, it would be this. The way she balls out dominated him with her tiny stature.
Kelly’s fondness for climbing him like a tree and using his body as her personal stripper pole was just one of many delights they’d indulged during their time together. She was such a physical lover that his only hope of having the upper hand required restraints. The very thought was so deliciously funny that he chuckled into her mouth.
She reared back but kept her claws on his head. “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.
“No,” he denied with humor. “I’m laughing at me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not laughing.”
The thickness in his throat was hard to swallow. Damn. He was starting to know this drill pretty well. Maybe too well, and that was the problem.
For all her badass, in control bravado, his little lover was in a manic free fall that tore at his heart. The city was killing her, and he was freaking the fuck out because her distress was making everyone else edgy and concerned.
He’d been lamenting to Liam just the other day about the issue. Kelly wasn’t used to doing nothing. To having no restraints or expectations on her time. Exploring the city was great and all, but she was used to a more physical existence. Running downhill at breakneck speed was her normal setting.
She didn’t say it, but he knew the walls were closing in. And when they did, every so often she reacted with an explosion of near-desperate passion that severely challenged the part of him that wanted to strap her to a St. Andrew’s Cross and show her other ways to channel that energy.
Thwap!
Shit. He shook his head to chase away the sound and thoughts of a lash session.
She told him she wasn’t laughing—well, now he wasn’t either.
With one arm banded tightly around her, Roman swung her against the red brick wall and ground his aroused body into hers. She smelled sexy and amazing.
“Where’s the boy?”
The button at the collar of his shirt popped off when she got busy with her restless hands.
“Domineau took him to the park. Chess,” she growled.
That was all he needed to know.
She was mauling his neck, and he was using her body as a scratching post. Things were going to get wild, of that he had no doubt.
They played an exciting sexual game—one he wasn’t sure she entirely understood.
In his world, he was the alpha. The dominant. It’s who he was. He struggled to label her, however. She could be dominant and submissive. Both roles suited her equally.
When she was on fire like this, she used her dominant side to fuel a blaze that led to her total submission.
He let her orchestrate whatever the fuck she wanted until that moment came when she couldn’t continue—when her sweet surrender was assured. That’s when he took the reins.
Knowing what she wanted, he’d tame her ferocious sexuality with a masterful fuck that would leave her shaking.
She was tearing his clothes off with frantic hands. He liked her needy desperation. When his torso was bare, she did things to his flesh with her nails that was sure to leave marks.
He shuddered. A shot of sexual adrenaline went straight to his head. Wasn’t he the one who left the marks?
Thwap! There it was again. The sound of his whip uncoiling in the air and the crack of the lash striking its target.
Spinning them around, he took her off the unforgiving wall and dropped her squirming body onto the loveseat. When gravity took over, she was forced to unwrap her legs. She let out a harsh grunt of displeasure and fought the space between them until she was in command again. His belt and pants were no matches for her greedy desires.
He lazily kicked off his shoes and indulged his sense of sight as he watched her. Her face was fierce as she focused on divesting him of all covering.
Shoes, socks, and pants gone, he felt the scorching heat of her lustful gaze as she took in the sight he made. She liked to study him as up close and personally as possible—something he was always happy to oblige.
From the sofa, she performed a thorough visual inspection, starting with his feet that ended somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. This was his favorite part—one of them—when she put her hands on him and drew her sharp, sexy talons from neck to belly button. A soft, husky growl accompanied her tactile offensive.
The area of real estate between his stomach and the tops of his thighs was ignored. For now. And for a good reason, because once she had easy access to his cock? Well, shit tended to get real and fast after that.
Her claws scraped back and forth on his thighs. He was barely in control after a few minutes of that.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t make him wait much longer.
“You have too many clothes on,” he told her.
She was running her hands on the cotton covering his manhood. Kelly had truly beautiful hands. Small, like the rest of her, with tapered fingers and slim wrists that gave her a deceptive delicate quality.
When she didn’t react to his words, he uttered a beastly grunt and yanked on the collar of her t-shirt.
“Kelly.”
Half-startled, she looked up, annoyed by the interruption. “What?”
Ah, the waspish tone of an aroused female with just one thing on her mind.
“Clothes. Too many.”
“Goddammit.” She shoved him back two steps and stood up. The New York City souvenir t-shirt she had on got whipped over her head and went sailing through the air.
Her jeans were next. Yanking down the zipper with way too much force, she shimmied and tugged until the second skin of denim was in a heap on the floor.
They had a deal. He was okay with her being a greedy wench, but not at his expense. So they agreed on certain things during a hilarious negotiation. One of those things was lingerie. The naughtier, the better. And not just that, he demanded a show.
Each time she had to do a little lingerie performance for him, he wanted an award for being a fucking kick ass negotiator. But the comical burlesque she put him through was far and away the best part of his day. So far.
Like a kid on a playground, she scrambled onto the loveseat and started hopping up and down. Each hop was another sexy pose. And some of the poses were for pure comedy.
The part where her fantastic breasts jiggled and bounced with every hop was the icing on the cake.
She ended by turning around, spreading her legs and bending over. She gripped the top of the loveseat and looked back at him. Oh yeah, and she wiggled her ass.
“Do you like, Mr. Bishop?”
He stepped up and slowly caressed what she offered. Kelly wasn’t wired with many inhibitions and had an erotic curiosity that blew his mi
nd.
“I know how much you enjoy ass-training, Ms. James.” He smacked her lightly, and she purred her delight. “But I believe you were about to suck my dick. First things first, sweetheart.”
Kelly grinned with delight. Some of the manic desperation was gone, but she was still on fire. Jumping down from the sofa, she circled slowly and pressed her nose against his skin.
Making something of a production out of how she was positioned, he thoroughly enjoyed her legs spread sofa squat. Lost in the moment as he stared at her silk covered pussy, he staggered slightly when she rather unceremoniously ripped his briefs down his legs.
His cock sprang to attention, and she wasted no time taking matters into her hands. It was a toss-up as to which part of this tactile ritual he dug the most. Her inquisitive fingers or the symphony of sounds she made.
Kelly James made him feel like a fucking god with her sighs, purrs, growls and moans. The way she bit and licked her lips as her hands made a detailed inspection of his cock and balls became a seductive Morse code on his senses.
When she wiggled forward and slid to her knees, he braced for what was coming.
“You know what I want,” she demanded in a husky growl. Her mouth opened and out came her tongue. She whimpered and put both hands behind her back.
Whoa. This wasn’t her usual request. His cock surged.
Placing both hands on either side of her face, he held her head and guided his hard shaft to her tongue. She dutifully teased the tip with rapid licks that made him groan with pleasure.
He put one hand on the back of her head. The softness of her hair counterbalanced the fierceness of his erection. With his other hand, Roman grasped the base of his cock and started slowly entering her mouth with shallow strokes.
His head wobbled when he nudged the back of her mouth, and a slow, deep moan rumbled out of him.
Her eyes shimmered with greedy lust and begged for more. His woman liked gagging on his cock. Liked the thick gooey ribbons of saliva that flooded her mouth. Losing control wasn’t an option, and Roman knew he had to hang on as long as possible.
Checkmate: A Bishop's Pawn Novella Page 2