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I’VE BEEN LIVING WITH Rogan for a few days now. We’ve been in this weird holding pattern. Like pleasant roommates most of the time until he looks at me a certain way, his eyes all dark, and I get instantly wet. Like, gushing wet. It’s not normal. It can’t be.
I’ve never felt like this before. Never been so aroused and wanting. And I think he can tell.
If I were here against my will, I would say I have Stockholm syndrome. The way he touches me softly when he passes by me. The way he looks into my eyes when I’m talking, like he’s really listening to what I have to say. I’m falling for him a little more with each passing hour. Trusting him. Wanting him the way I should not.
I am currently wearing clothes he bought for me at Walmart. Eating food he bought for me because I have no money. I am contributing very little to the cause, and I hate it. Which explains why I am currently stirring a pot of chili that doesn’t...look right.
I excel at microwave food. The rest not so much. But I wanted to do something. To try to show my appreciation. Chili sounded easy.
Chili lies.
The sound of tires on gravel stops my heart until I look out and see the familiar shape of Rogan climbing down from his truck.
I meet him at the door. “Come with me.” I grab his hand.
“Hello?” he says as I drag him over to the loft stairs.
“Don’t be mad, okay?”
“What did you do, Layna?”
“I was bored. You leave me alone for really long periods of time, Rogan.” I take a deep breath and continue so he won’t. “And don’t say something sensible like I have to go to work. I get that. I do. But I want to contribute. So, don’t be mad.”
“What is that smell?”
I take a whiff. “Chili.”
“You made chili in my office?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I made chili in your kitchen. I did this in your office.” I lead him to his now clear desk.
“Where is all my stuff?”
I roll my eyes. “I filed it, dummy. You can’t run an efficient business if you don’t know where anything is.”
“I don’t know where anything is now. You moved it all.”
I open a file cabinet. “There are these amazing things called files. You can put paper in them after you input the information to an ancient spreadsheet.”
“You did my bookkeeping for me?”
“I know I overstepped. And I’m sorry not sorry about it. It’s just that you have been doing all these things for me and I’ve done exactly nothing in return and I’m good at business and finances so I thought—”
He stops me with a kiss. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“I hate bookkeeping.”
“I couldn’t tell.” I get another kiss. “So, you’re not mad?”
“I’m not mad—” The smoke alarm interrupts him with a horrible scream.
“Shit. That’s probably the chili.”
We rush downstairs into the smoky kitchen. Nothing is on fire, thankfully, but the soup pot is scorched and dinner not salvageable.
He doesn’t get mad about that either. I mean, he’s not like jumping for joy or anything. But he’s so even-tempered. After the last three years of Alan and his rollercoaster of emotions, I forgot what it’s like to be around a man who can control his temper. I mean, even at his most aggravated, all Rogan has done is frown strongly at me.
I get that tingly feeling way down low again when I look at him waving a towel frantically below the still screeching smoke detector. He stops the movement, staring back at me. “What?”
My feet are moving, propelling me toward him, and I jump, knowing he’ll catch me. He does, his hands planted on my ass, my legs wrapped around his middle.
“Burnt chili turn you on, little girl?” he asks before my mouth crashes into his. I like the way his body is hard against all my soft places. I like the way he walks us into a wall while he devours me. “Fuck. You taste so good.”
He pushes into me, his cock hard already. Which gives me a hollow ache where his penis should be. I think he’s hard enough to push through all our clothes and my hymen, too. I’m going to lose my virginity against a wall fully clothed. I writhe on him, feeling pretty good about the impending orgasm his hard cock is about to give me.
I shout when the stars come, throwing my head back and hitting my head on the wall behind me. Rogan grunts his pleasure. “You’re amazing. I love watching you come.”
The world spins and I’m on the couch. We’re pulling each other’s shirts off, desperate for more skin. I can’t get enough of him. I lay down, pulling him on top of me. Rogan’s hard chest is a heavy weight. Pushing me down while he’s pulling up feelings and sensations that are new, yet instinctual. I want with so much longing, yet a sudden shaft of ice replaces my spine, and I freeze up like one of the bad motors in his garage.
I don’t say stop, but Rogan is in tune with my body enough to feel the change. Hell, maybe my body feels as cold on the outside as it does on the inside.
He pulls back. “What is it, wildcat?”
I clench my jaw. “Nothing.” I don’t know. Why don’t I know? Why can’t I let go?
His brow furrows angrily, and I recoil. Oh God, I’ve finally pushed his last button, haven’t I? Who could blame him? I brace myself for the yelling. If he’s anything like Alan, there is sure to be spittle also.
“Easy, Layna, easy.” He rolls off me gently, pulls me up, patting me. “I’d never hurt you.”
“You’re mad. I’ve made you mad.”
Raw shock changes his expression. “No, angel. I’m not mad at you. Never at you. I’m frustrated that you’re keeping something from me. Something is wrong. I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me what it is. I’m mad that someone made you feel like you can’t be honest. That someone made you scared that if my mood darkens, it’s your fault or that I would ever take it out on you.”
“You have every right to be mad that I led you on this far and then pulled back.”
“Layna, look at me.” I don’t want to. I want to put on more clothes. All the clothes I can find would be nice. I need to cover everything that’s exposed. I don’t want it out there. But I can feel the weight of his stare on me, imploring me to give him what he needs from me. So I look.
“I’m a man. A real man. I don’t take something that isn’t freely given. I don’t expect things as due to me somehow. If you aren’t ready to lay with me, I’ll wait. That’s what real men do. I might try my best to soften you up so you get ready. But I would never be mad at you for needing more time.”
He is a real man. Not like Alan. He’s patient and protective. He’s virile and masculine, but always in control of himself. Of the situation. He’s safe. I know it deep inside, but I’m still wary.
“Rogan, you make me really want to be ready. I want you. I really do. I’m not even sure what stopped me. I’m sorry that I’m so messed up in my head. I’ve just felt trapped for so long that I’m afraid of giving you the last bit of control or something.”
“You’ve had to protect yourself for too long. And that man tried to break you, but he never did. And he never will. You’re strong, sweetness. You can trust yourself.”
My heart is cracking in a million places right now. This gentle giant next to me could do anything he wants to me, but what he wants is for me to freely give myself. “I don’t know how to get over this feeling. If I ever will. I kind of want you just to overpower me and take me. You know, hump me past the hump.”
He takes my small hand in his over-sized paw. “Someday, we’ll do that. I’ll fuck myself into you and you’ll take it. You’ll beg for more. But not yet.”
A rush of moisture spreads through my core at his rough, sexy words. But he’s holding my hand so gently, and his tone is so even. Like I’m a scared stray he’s trying to take in for my own good.
“What if I’m never there? What if I’m permanently damaged?”
“You’re not.”
“What if I am?”
“I have an idea.”
He pulls me up to my feet and leads me to his bedroom. He opens his dresser and pulls out a few neckties. My heart inches up my throat.
I go for humor first. “When was the last time you wore a necktie? Why do you even have neckties?”
He laughs. “I haven’t worn these. Every year Mabel Hartley, the salon owner, gives me a tie for my birthday. I think it started when she was hoping I’d court her daughter.”
Yeah, okay, the little flash of red that covers my vision is cliché, but that’s what it feels like. I’ve never been jealous before. “Oh really?”
“Relax, wildcat. Her daughter and I never dated and she’s long since married. But Mabel still gives me a tie for my birthday. I have a drawer of them.”
I’m coming down from my irrational anger, but coasting right back into my irrational fear about what he plans to do with the neckties. “I don’t know about this idea of yours. I think tying me up might make it worse.” Surely, he won’t try to convince me otherwise. I can’t even swallow.
“They are not for you.”
Oh. Oohhh. “Wait, you want me to tie you up?”
He steps into my space. This mountain of a man with no shirt, barefoot, and the top button of his jeans undone. Holy fuck, that is hot. My muscles loosen and I inhale deeply. Then he hands me the neckties.
“I’m going to lay on the bed, wildcat. And you are going to tie my wrists to the bedposts.”
“And then?”
“And then anything you want. I am at your mercy. You can touch me anywhere. Do anything you want. Or nothing at all. It’s all up to you.”
“Are you serious right now? I feel like you just gave me a plate and pointed me to the buffet at the Bellagio. Anything?”
“Anything.”
He’s giving me his trust. Can I give him mine? “What if...what if I want to stop? You won’t get mad?”
“This is all for you. All about you. It’s not my buffet.” He leans down, his breath next to my ear causing the little hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. “Someday soon, you’re going to be my buffet. And I’m a hungry, hungry man. When you’re ready, I plan to feast on you for hours.” He stands up straight as my knees are turning to jelly. “When you’re ready.”
“Hours?”
“Has anyone ever eaten your pussy?”
God, you’d think I’d be used to his dirty words already. But no. He says pussy and mine quivers. “No. Nobody has ever...touched me there.”
“Say pussy for me.”
I shake my head, the blush heating my cheeks. “I can’t.”
His warm eyes have crinkles in the corners when he smirks at me. When a gargantuan man has warm eyes with crinkles, a girl starts losing her inhibitions. “You’re a felon who’s done time in jail. You can say pussy.”
I bite my lip, and he grunts. The kind of grunt that cavemen might use. I want to hear it again. “No one has ever touched my pussy.” I like the way his eyes darken. “No one but me, anyway.”
He grunts again and I feel powerful. “Oh fuck, baby. That’s hot...you touching yourself. You better tie me up now.”
He hands me the ties, but I don’t know how to do this. “I’m not exactly well-versed in knots.”
Rogan makes some complicated loopy things and puts them on the bedposts. Then he lays down in the middle of the bed. “Come here and tighten these up.”
I want to look at him first. He’s massive, sprawled like a man with no worries. Even giving me control of his current destiny doesn’t take that ease from his features. I want that. I want to just be able to rest and know that life is going to be just fine. And the first step in doing that is right in front of me.
Tonight, I can just be.
I crawl up the bed and straddle him, enjoying the surprise lighting his eyes. I lean over and tighten the ties, noting his eyes are on my face, watching me. Gauging me to make sure I’m okay.
I’m more than okay.
I lean back on my haunches, resting on his rock-hard stomach.
“Anything I want?”
“My body is yours.”
Mine. His body is mine. I can do anything, explore anywhere. I have control here. I start with his scalp, running my fingers through his thick, dark hair. It’s soft, silky. I know it’s not the kind of intimate you think of when there’s a man tied to your bed, but touching him tenderly, massaging his head, is actually making me tear up a little. It feels so good to be close to someone. Who am I kidding? To him. It unlocks something inside me when his eyes drift closed and he practically purrs.
I trace my fingers lightly across his ears, through his scratchy beard, over his heavy brow. His eyes open when I smooth over his lips.
“Go ahead. Learn every inch of me. Know me.”
I nod and palm over his burly shoulders slowly, feeling the hard muscles beneath his smooth skin. I can’t wrap my hands around his biceps. I think the man can tow cars out of ditches with just his arms.
Slowly, I slip my hands down his forearms, the wiry hair is soft, but not soft like his head. He’s so solid. I’m in awe of the way he can get through life without breaking anything he touches.
His hands are rough, of course. But clean. He takes care of them as well as his tools, I suppose. I pick one up and linger over the lines of his palm.
“Am I going too slow?” I don’t want him to be bored.
“You’re going just perfect.”
I don’t know about that, but I am having a good time learning him. Knowing him.
I come back up his arms, over his shoulders, and press against his chest. The hair on his pecs crinkles, and when I pass gently over his nipples, his body tightens beneath me.
I can feel the banked power in his body. His legs are not tied down—he could probably still do whatever he wanted to me. But he holds himself in check while it looks like he’s holding down an electric wire.
So I tease circles around his nipples, getting close but not touching, and he groans.
Oh, I like this.
I grab my hair to one side over my shoulder and lean over him, using the ends of my mane to tickle his chest.
He moans again.
“Like that, do you?”
“Fuuuuck.”
I think I am beginning to feel drunk with power. I tease more, using my hair along the sides of his torso until he starts shaking.
I zero in on one nipple and draw it into my mouth, sucking and biting while his arms strain against the ties.
I’m bolder now. Kissing and licking all over his chest and moving down. There’s a lot of skin here. He’s so wide and firm. The texture of his skin changes. I dip my tongue into the grooves of his six-pack, lost in the sensation.
“You’re killing me and I love it,” he moans.
“I love it, too, Rogan.”
He looks to the ceiling, reminding me of the day at the courthouse. No help for him up there. He’s the one who keeps inviting this trouble into his life.
The lower I go, the more I feel the bulge in his pants pressing into me. Yeah, he’s big there, too. Of course, he is.
“My goodness, Rogan. Your pants must be hurting you.”
He sighs hard. But he won’t insist I take them off.
I climb off him and pull the zipper down, giving him relief. “You should have said something.”
He grunts. Silly man. I pull them down, past his hips, and then completely off. He’s still got his boxer briefs on, but they are tented up.
I’m not quite ready for that yet, so I start my exploring at his feet and work my way up.
When I reach for the waistband of his briefs, he asks me to stop. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you to think you’ve gone past the point of no return if you aren’t ready. We can stop. Anytime.”
“If you think I’m leaving without this prize tonight, you’re delusional. I don’t want to stop.” To make my point, I yank the briefs up and over his straining cock, pulling them down his legs.
It’s fucking huge. I have serious doubts that thing will even fit inside my body. But my mouth is watering and something very primal insists on my next move.
I touch my first penis.
It’s powerful, strong like the rest of him. He’s velvety, a surprise I guess. But so far, everywhere I’ve touched him is a different texture, each oddly pleasing to me. Like he was somehow formed for my pleasure.
But this cock.
His eyes are squeezed closed, and his entire body is tense as my fingers skate up and down the shaft. The mushroom tip is weeping pre-come, and I use some of it to make the slide of my hands easier on us both.
Rogan starts mumbling gibberish. Mostly filthy words that turn me on even more, especially knowing they are being ripped out of him.
I push his legs wider so I have more room. I hold his cock up and rub my cheek along it, making friends. Worshiping it.
“Rogan?”
The tendons in his neck are tight. “Yeah?” he croaks.
“I love your cock.”
“Oh fuck, baby. You’re going to make me come.”
“I hope so.”
I run my tongue around his tip, noting where he gets more sensitive, savoring the flavor of him. I give him little licks, like a kitten lapping milk, and his hips are thrusting up and down like he can’t control himself.
I don’t want him to control himself.
“Can I still do anything I want?” I ask, coyly.
“Fuck, you can have the title to my fucking house. Yeah, do whatever you want. It all feels good.”
“Good,” I murmur, nuzzling the place where his shaft meets his balls. He smells to me the way fresh sheets feel. Clean, comforting, warm. “What I want is to take you in my mouth. I want you to come in my mouth. Can we do that?”
I don’t wait, just suck him in as far as I can get him. He feels amazing on my tongue, in my mouth. The weight of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. I can’t stop one hand from reaching into my pants to rub my clit.
And that is when he finally loses that control.
“Oh fuck, baby. Yeah, touch your clit while I pour into your mouth.”
The first spurt goes all the way to the back of my throat, and I almost gag, but that’s okay. There’s more.
His body is wracked with shakes and he comes and comes, cursing me in between telling me he loves me. He’s completely gone, and I took him there. That’s when I come against my own hand.