Page 54 of Rooke
I have been watching him. I’m not some crazed, drooling idiot who can’t keep her emotions from her face, but Rooke picks up on everything, and I meaneverything. If there’s anything I’ve learned from spending every day with him for the last two weeks, it’s that he’s so perceptive to changes in my mood. He reads me like a book. Often he knows what I’m feeling or thinking before I even do. It’s both frustrating and amazing to be so in tune with another person like that. I sigh, frustrated. “What am I supposed to do? Climb up into your lap and demand you to fuck me?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. Better yet, don’t make the demand. Take what you want, Sasha. Just fuckingtakeit.”
Just like back in the antiques store, he gives me a look that poses a question:Are you brave enough? Will you accept the dare?He just loves to push my buttons and fuck with me. I’m incapable of backing down when he does this and he knows it all too well. Bastard.
I don’t know where to begin, though. He’s so fucking full of himself. Trying to wrestle power from him seems like it would be a fruitless task. Still. Maybe it’s worth a shot. Maybe he’s right, and I do manage to talk myself out of the things I want purely because I’m worried what he will think or feel.
“C’mon, Sasha. Show me. Show me what you’ve got.” His voice is laden with sex. His eyes have taken on that predatory intensity he gets just before we fuck, and I can feel myself instantly getting wet.
“All right. Fine. But don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”
His smirk is phenomenal. “I’m ready for you, Connor.”
“Stand up. Take your clothes off. Strip, then lie down on the bed.”
He’s not even remotely embarrassed. He gets to his feet and undresses without saying a word. His lack of embarrassment is understandable then. He has to know that he is just…fucking…ridiculous. He looks like a professional athlete. He looks like he’s spent years training and sculpting his body to look like this. He’s breathtaking.
His cock is growing harder and harder by the second. He hasn’t touched himself, but he’s obviously getting more and more turned on as he lies himself down on the bed. I’m doing that to him. I’m responsible for his excitement, and that in itself is a heady, powerful thing. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never felt like asexualbeing.
“I would never have expected you to hand over the reins like this,” I tell him.
He looks amused. “Why not?”
“Because. You love being in control. You love being dominant. Ordering me about in the bedroom is your favorite thing to do.” Over the past two weeks, he has done nothingbutorder me around in the bedroom. To see him hand over his control so easily is really surprising. He arches his back, his chest raising a little as he stretches. I’ve never seen anyone so comfortable in their own skin. His confidence has been a huge turn on since day one. I love watching him when he’s naked. It feels wrong that I even get to, though, like I’m going to blink and he’s going to vanish any second, a brief, hazy figment of my imagination.
“You’re a grown-ass woman, Sasha. You can handle the responsibility. I have faith in you,” he says.
It’s a good thing he has faith in me, because personally I’m freaking out a little. It’s easy being submissive. Being submissive means everything is taken care of. All you have to do is commit and hand over your will. Being in charge of a situation like this is a huge responsibility. What if I can’t turn him on the way he turns me on when we have sex? What if he’s bored in the first ten minutes and decides I’m too vanilla for him?
There’s a lot going on in my head as I get up from the bed and slowly take my own clothes off.Rooke watches every movement I make with complete focus. He barely even blinks as I kick out of my jeans, carefully slipping the straps of my bra down over my shoulders, wriggling my hips as I remove my panties.
“Your body is incredible,” he says quietly. “Watching you strip is the sexiest thing in the fucking world.”
That agent of self-sabotage in the back of my head wants to downplay this compliment. She wants me to blush and tell him he’s being silly. She wants me to say something self-deprecating, telling me that I’ll look stupid if I don’t. I’m learning a lot about this bitch in the back of my head, though. She doesn’t want me to be happy. She’s the voice of negativity, of scorn and of derision. She doesn’t lift me up. She doesn’t make me free in any way. Listening to her only ends in me feeling damaged and unworthy of love and respect. I trust Rooke. He’s incredibly smart and he knows his own mind. He doesn’t say things flippantly. He’s direct, and he’s honest. He wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t mean it.
So fuck it. I choose to bask in the warmth of his admiration, instead of shield myself from it. Life is too fucking short. Drawing my shoulders back, angling my chin a little higher, I smile. “Thank you.”
Rooke props himself up on one elbow. His eyes are shining, a huge grin of his own spreading across his face. He begins to clap. “Yes. My girlfriend is a motherfuckingboss.”
My cheeks redden, an out of control burn spreading down through my body. “Is that what I am? Your girlfriend?”
He nods sagely. “I’m afraid you don’t get a choice in the matter.”
“Wow. Most guys avoid that word at all cost.”
“Most guys are fucking idiots, Sasha.Idiots. They’re too afraid of what they’ll be losing if they commit themselves to one woman. I’m very aware of what I’ll be losing if Idon’tin this particular instance.”
He constantly surprises me. I’m constantly wondering what I did to invite this strange, wonderful, out-of-this-world man into my life. We do not work on paper. In real life, our lives have slotted together so perfectly that I can hardly seem to remember what being without him was like. I’ve known him less than a month, and I’m infatuated with him. No, it’s way more than that. Far, far beyond infatuation. I’m just too scared to admit the true depth of my feelings, even to myself.
I climb up onto the end of the bed, and Rooke lies back, no longer leaning on his elbow. I’m no longer worried about this. With a few words, he’s set my nerves to rest. Now, I just want to make him feel as amazing as he makes me feel. “Don’t touch me,” I tell him. “Donottouch me until I say you can.” He places his arms at his sides, watching me as I slowly crawl my way up the bed. His eyes are on fire, his lips parted. His cock is fully erect now, straining against his belly. I hover over him, straddling him, our bodies only a couple of inches apart. Rooke bites his lip as he looks up at me—I can tell he likes what he sees. I can also tell that he’s struggling not to touch me already. His shoulders tense as I lean down, skating my mouth over his. My nipples graze his chest, and I shiver, a wave of sensation relaying all around my body. I want to lower myself, to grind my whole body against his, but if I do that it will be a very short step to sliding down on his hard-on and fucking him like a wild animal. I don’t want this to be over that quickly. Now that I’m feeling a little calmer, I want to draw this out. I want to tease him. I want him to be begging me to let him come by the time I’m through with him.
I inch down a little, so that my breast is frustratingly close to his mouth. “Open,” I command.
Rooke gives me a savage, entertained smile that lets me know I’ll probably be paying for this at a later date. I’ll take his punishment gladly, though.I plan on earning it. “Lick,” I tell him.
His tongue darts out between his lips, and he does as I’ve told him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the erect, tight bud of my nipple, and I have to suck my bottom lip into my mouth. He’s so fucking hot. It’s not just the way he looks, or the way those light brown eyes of his remain trained on me as he swirls his tongue around my nipple. It’s the fact that this monster of a man is going against his very own nature in order to please me right now. That’s what’s driving me insane.
“Bite,” I tell him.
