Roman Holiday – The Wager Ch. 02

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Ch. 1: https://www..com/s/roman-holiday-the-wager-ch-01

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He allows himself to drink in the sight of her – leaned over with arms bracing the table, dress pushed up over the ass and her cunt dripping with his cum. Her body shivers with aftershocks as her chest rises and falls to catch her breath. With a view like that, he finds himself impatient to return to the brownstone – where the fun can really begin.

Without looking away, Roman reaches into his pocket, finds the woman’s lace undergarment and wipes his cock dry with her panties. He folds them and slips the fabric back into his pocket before arranging himself – only half soft – back into his trousers and refastening them. In the time it takes him, Scarlet is still using the table to help prop herself up. He stalks back to her, running his hands over her ass before gently pulling her dress back over her still soaked cunt, and down over her legs. He runs a hand up her back, along her neck and into her hairline, gripping tight for half a second. He grins when he hears her moan, and works his fingers around the pins in her hair, pulling them free so her hair spills over her face.

He holds the pins up to a light, inspecting them for a beat before pocketing them. Scarlet is beginning to come back to herself – at least she’s managed to get her legs under her. She stands tall with a slight sway and favors him with a bliss-ridden smile. Her lipstick is smeared, some of it remaining on the table where she must have turned her head and bore down as he fucked her. He grins at this, making a mental note to have Walter instruct the staff to preserve the red mark.

“I’ll get our coats,” he tells her, pressing himself into her as he reaches behind her to grab the silver purse from the edge of the table where it was poised to fall. He pushes the small bag into her hand, leans close – his lips almost to hers – and speaks again. “Touch up your lipstick, pet.”

The next thing Scarlet registers is his back as he walks away from her. He is unrolling the sleeves of his dress shirt as he goes, and while she can’t see his smile, she knows it is there. When he disappears into the hall, she lets out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and finds her chair with force as her knees beg for relief. She starts as she sits, pain between her legs reminding her of how well endowed her host is. She shifts carefully, trying to find some comfort – and more importantly, her senses.

She glances at the short arm of the clock behind the bar and marks the time. It’s almost midnight already, and she finds herself wondering what Roman’s idea of ‘evening’ was.

“Until the sun comes up,” Roman’s voice rumbles from the hallway, his coat already on, and hers in his arm. He’s standing in the opening and notices her looking at the clock. “Your lipstick,” he reminds her.

She looks down, remembering the purse. She fumbles with the clasp, and as she is carefully applying a new coat of Flamenco Red, Roman is standing in front of her. He reaches down and pulls the long fang from where it rests between her breasts – her skin is still indented from the pendant – inspecting it.

“What kind of tooth is this?” He asks.

Scarlet presses her lips together and looks up at him. She is pleased to find that is easier to look at him now. Her lips relax and she notices the slight tug on the back of her neck from the chain as his grip tightens on the pendant. She is surprised to find the sensation sends a rush of heat through her all over again. “Tiger,” she answers and stands. His grip remains on the necklace, but his gaze moves to her face, then her lips.

“Beautiful,” he says approvingly before letting the tiger fang fall back to her chest. He takes a step back and holds out her coat for her to step into.

She does, and the warmth protecting her skin seems to give her the barrier from him she needs to feel more normal. It also makes the fact she is leaving with him that much more real. She can feel his cum begin to trickle down the inside of her thigh and can’t tell if it makes her want round two, or to slap him.

His arm snakes around her shoulder once her coat is on and fastened closed, and he guides her to the hall, up the stairs and into the quiet cold outside. Snowflakes stick to her cheeks, melting easily with how hot her skin is. What am I doing she thinks, even as her feet continue to put one in front of the other, going where he steers her.

“I should tell my roommate where I’m going,” she says in a moment of clarity and pats down her coat, looking for her phone. Blood drains from her face when she realizes it is not in the pocket she left it. Phones were too distracting when she played – so she had removed the temptation. Now, that feels like a fatal mistake. “My phone!” she halts all progress and turns to look back towards the the way they’d come.

“I’ll have Walter look for it,” Roman says helpfully and takes his phone from his pocket. He taps the screen and begins typing a message. “He’ll bring it by if he finds Side Escort it.”

“Who’s Walter?”

“One of my employees.” There is a pause between ‘my’ and ’employees’, and Scarlet might have noticed if she had been on more stable footing. Her mind is too scattered to be observant. She clearly wants to go back, but he pockets his phone, holds out a hand and removes the opportunity for further protest, “Come, we’re here.”

“Already?” She wonders, her eyes traveling to the stairs that lead to a large stoop, all bordered with wrought iron. One of the large windows of the brownstone is dark, but the other is alive with warm light that penetrates the curtains.

“I told you it wasn’t far,” he favors her with one of his easy grins. “Come,” he repeats the command and she feels her heart speed at how rough it falls from his lips. He brings her attention back to his hand, “We have a bet to settle.”

She groans. “You’re kind of an ass,” she informs him, but takes his hand nonetheless.

“It is good to know you are comfortable with vulgarity,” he says with a smile, offering an elbow to help her up the stairs.

“See?” She asks, allowing him to help her – the stairs are slick with ice and her heels aren’t made for gripping. “It’s comments like those that prompt me to say as much.”

“I would warn you to avoid being a sore loser, but I plan to personally see to it.” He counters and reaches across his body to hers, slipping his hand between the gap in her coat and expertly finding her nipple. He gives it a squeeze, a flick, and returns his hand to his side with shocking speed.

She gasps and swats – far too late to be anything but a symbolic gesture. He laughs and opens the door when they make it across the stoop. “Welcome to… one of my homes,” he says, holding the door open and closing it behind her when she enters the foyer.

“Wow,” she breathes, taking it in. The foyer floor is black and white checkered marble, and beyond it, dark cherry hardwood floors. A fireplace burns in the living room, antique furniture placed around it. Built in bookshelves are packed to capacity, and the modern paint colors and updated bar create a stunning juxtaposition. “Your townhouse also slipped and fell into the 1890s.”

He laughs, but the sound does not mask that of the lock being engaged. Scarlet turns to see the door firmly shut, and he is slipping out of his scarf and jacket. “Be a dear,” he says, hanging up his scarf first. “And pour me a drink.” He gestures to the bar before hanging up his coat.

Her lips twitch up, and she shifts her weight to one leg, stopping short of crossing her arms. “Is that what you wanted to bring me all this way for?”

Amusement dances in his eyes, but there is more than just that – something Scarlet can’t place. “No,” he answers softly with a matching smile. His hands move to the top button of his vest, and he begins to undo them slowly. He walks towards her with purpose, “But it is what I want right now.” He says, waiting until he is shoulder to shoulder to her before he does. He continues on, leaving her in his wake. She turns to watch where he goes and finds that he simply slips into the high back chair facing the fireplace. “And after that, I’ll want your opinion on something,” he says, though she can’t see him from where she’s standing.

She takes in a breath, and now that his gaze isn’t on her, she lets herself feel flustered, biting the inside of her lip. “What do you drink?” She asks finally, clicking across the marble, then hardwood, to make her way to the bar. She unbuttons her coat as she does, the room too warm for the heavy garment.

“The correct phasing for that question,” he chides from his seat as she makes it to the bar and surveys the variety of decanters. “Is ‘what would you like,” he pauses. “Sir?'”

Scarlet feels her breath catch in her throat and a flash of heat rip through her. She snaps her gaze a little too quickly to Roman, who she finds has unbuttoned not just his vest, but the shirt underneath. What is revealed is the grooved muscles of his chest and abdomen. She stares for an extra beat before she can voice the thought that, thankfully, came to her before seeing his bare chest. “So we’re roleplaying then?”

He arches an eyebrow at her, expectant.

“Sir?” She adds, rolling the word over her tongue, trying it out. She feels her lips turn up in a smirk and he mirrors it. He gives an incline of his head, but nothing else. When she considers the idea, she thinks she can work with a role play. Pretending to be someone else was one of the thrills of paying poker – and considering the situation she had gotten herself into this time – pretending to be anybody else is what might get her through the night with some remaining dignity. She remembers her task, and rephrases, “What would you like, sir?”

“Scotch,” he answers, letting his attention linger only a moment longer before looking to the fire. To Scarlet, it seems like a casual dismissal. The heat she felt before rises Manavgat Escort to her chest in an irrational swell of outrage. “No ice,” he continues. She looks back to the bar, unsure of why his inattention bothers her so much. It could be that her center still throbbed from his cock being shoved inside of her, and she hadn’t expected him to recover so quickly. No, it was just her who could barely think straight. When she realizes she has no idea which decanter the scotch is in – they’re the same amber color – her anger is quelled and replaced with uncertainty. “Second to last on the right,” He speaks again and she is certain it is not the first time it seems as if he can read her thoughts.

She dismisses the notion. It’s impossible. And, she realizes with yet more mixed emotions, this is probably not his first time showing a woman his home. She finds a glass and fills it a quarter full from the decanter – second to last on the right. She realizes she is expected to serve him – he certainly doesn’t seem ready to meet her at the bar. Resisting the urge to lick her lips and ruin the freshly applied lipstick, she leaves her purse on the bar and takes measured steps to join him by the fire.

His gaze returns to her as her steps slow, and then stop. She stands between he and the fire, flames heating her backside and the glow of light outlines her legs, making the negative space between them transparent. She holds the glass out to him from the bottom, leaning forward as she does, letting her breasts fall forward and her necklace sway towards him. His gaze slips down to her breasts appreciatively, and doesn’t immediately reach to take the drink from her. “Thank you,” he says, removing the glass from her hand and leaning back in his chair. She stands straight again, but doesn’t move from her place in front of the heat.

He swirls the liquid in the glass as he lets his eyes roam the curves of her body. Inwardly, he plans the evening, taking each movement she makes, every word she speaks into consideration. He brings the tip of the glass to his lips and lifts, taking in a shallow sip of the amber liquid. It’s missing something – and he intends to remedy that soon. She watches him, and he can tell how eager she is, perhaps thinking her service would be brief, and the sooner it started, the better. He smiles at this thought and lets his arm holding the drink relax in his lap. “I am going to present you with many choices this evening,” he tells her, his tone uncompromising. “One choice I strongly advise against, is to disobey me.”

She wears the look of shock openly. Most women are not used to being spoken to as such these days, he reflects, but it is rarely a problem for long.

“We agreed to terms,” he goes on. “But allow me to clarify so we don’t have any misunderstandings tonight.” He holds her gaze, and when she doesn’t try to interrupt, he thinks the night is perfectly on track. “By agreeing to be mine, you have agreed to obey my commands, and submit to what pleases me. I am a man of my word, so when morning comes, you are welcome to be on your way. Until then…” he trails off, his hand tightening around the scotch glass and his lips turning up into a satisfied smile in way of finishing his thought. “Now,” he forces himself back to focus. “I would certainly hope your bond to your word is enough to honor this wager, but if that fails, I have other methods.”

He watches as her legs work to keep their strength. He’s seen plenty of women crumble at this point, and always enjoys the surprise of which one it will be. She wants to voice an inquiry as to what kind of methods he’s referring to, but smartly stays silent. Her eyes are a touch more glossy than before, and he admires her resolve. Sometimes that means they intend to run at the first chance they’re afforded – a fun game in its own right. But she has failed to glance towards the door they came through, and her thoughts are battling as they have been all night. He looks forward to finding out what her breaking point is.

“Am I clear?” He asks after giving ample time for her to have a reaction, one way or the other. She nods, and his expression darkens, “I want to hear the words.”

“Yes sir,” she answers quickly.

“Good girl,” he expression softens and he takes another sip of the scotch before discarding it on the table beside his chair. “Follow me,” he directs as he stands and walks without waiting to see if she follows.

She shivers when his back is turned to her, and lets herself linger for a second only before following in his wake. She stares at the loose vest as it hangs from shoulders, barely swaying as his movements are smooth and quiet. She realizes that she is trapped – having voluntarily crawled into the cage and having a look around before it snapped closed. She is not so dim that she doesn’t understand what’s happened. She would be a fool to insist she isn’t scared. But the fear is also exciting – and combined with a healthy survival instinct, it is enough to keep her composure. She hopes, Alanya Escort until morning.

She breaks from looking at his broad shoulders and glances around at the hallway he leads them into. Fine art decorates the walls, and they pass one door before he opens another and leads them into a bedroom. He turns to watch her reaction and she is glad she can meet his gaze instead of fixating on the massive bed in the room. He moves to stand beside a long dresser and gestures at the floor where he expects her to stand. She complies and he rewards her with a delicate touch on her chin. She likes the feeling of his touch on her skin – and she realizes that she is beginning to crave it.

“Regarding the need for your opinion,” he shifts to open the top drawer and it slides open easily, revealing a line of collars. Some are thick and ornate. Others are cold metal – one a choker, another a rigid ring. Brown and black leather is accented with silver loops on some. “Choose,” he tells her – and it is clear this is one of the aforementioned choices he has promised her.

If Scarlet felt like the walls had closed on her before, this was that same room shrinking around her. She looks from his waiting expression to the line of collars and knows her choice does not include declining the task. None of the collars look particularly comfortable – that might be antithetical to their purpose. She is tempted to choose the choker because it most resembles jewelry but knows it would be a mistake. Instead, her hand reaches out and touches a thick leather collar. It’s brown, and looks broken in.

“Very good,” He nearly purrs and puts his hand over hers, stopping her from picking it up. His free hand moves to take her chin in his grip, speaking low. “I am going to return to my drink. When you rejoin me, that collar should be the only thing you are wearing. Be sure it is not too loose.” His hand tightens around her chin and he strokes her cheek with his thumb before releasing. “Don’t be long,” he says and is on his way out.

Scarlet braces herself on the top of the dresser, leaning down and pressing her forehead to the hard surface. She curses mentally, but reaches down to rip off one shoe, and then the other. There’s a chair next to the dresser, and she places them under it. A moment later, her coat and dress are draped over the back, and her necklace is placed carefully on the seat. She had neglected to wear a bra – something Roman already very well knew – and he still had her underwear. When it got down to it, she hadn’t had a lot to remove in the first place.

She moves back to the open drawer and stares down at the brown leather collar with some amount of resentment. She doesn’t know if he realizes how much harder it will be for her to collar herself than if he had done it, but she suspects that is part of his fun. It makes it difficult for her to imagine what comes next with the burden of the leather around her neck. It is probably better that way – otherwise she might learn what the others who have tried run have.

Scarlet unbuckles the collar, finding it is heavier than she thought it would be. She wraps it around her own neck, her naked breasts rising as she lifts up her arms to do so. She recalls his words and finds the notch that will keep the leather snug against her skin. She is not surprised to find the difference between this notch and the next is significant. She flexes her neck muscles and feels her throat compress. Shit she thinks, and looks towards the doorway with more than a little trepidation.

Roman has to adjust himself where he sits to get comfortable. His erection is begging for release, but he stays himself. He tries to relax into the chair, drinking in the anticipation he’s engineered. There is, he reflects, nothing like a freshly minted pet to play with for a night.

He hears her bare feet on the hardwood and keeps his gaze straight, drawing out the reveal of what he knows will be worth the wait. When he can no longer bare it, he turns his head to see her approach. The collar is tight against her skin, and her breasts are perky with upturned and hard nipples. She moves to stand between he and the fire – close enough to reach out and touch – her gaze now anywhere but at him.

He nods his approval, bringing the scotch glass to his lips and parting them so the rest can slide into his mouth and down his throat. He leans forward, taking her hand, turning it up and placing the glass in her palm to hold. He pushes it away and to the side, so she is open to his gaze, and more importantly, hands. She complies without question or protest as he allows himself to reach up and trace the outside of her naked breast with his hand. He covers it, enjoying the feeling of her nipple in his palm. He takes a moment to roll the hard skin between his fingers, enjoying the jerk of motion of her body as it fights to stand in place. “Very nice,” he purrs, covering her breast again and massages, letting his other hand explore the curve of her hip, down her outer thigh, and then up her inner thigh. He stops short of parting her lower lips, and she shivers when his hand moves away. Her skin is flawless and tight, and he finds himself staring for an extra long beat. His touch and commentary on his findings makes her blush, and she turns her head to look at the floor.

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