I smirked. “Did you? What did you do? Go to a strip club?”
Roman stilled. “A what?”
I laughed. “A place where men go to watch women undress onstage.”
I swore I could feel his blush behind me.
“No, amore, nothing like that.” His arms tightened around me, pulling me firmly against his chest. “Why would I want to look at anyone but you?”
My heart melted.
“Then how did you learn?”
His lips curled against my throat. “I read a book. In your apartment. Beneath your bed.”
My stomach dropped.
Oh, God.
The Dirty Little Secrets book.
The one I’d bought to spice up Tristan’s and my sex life.
I squeezed my eyes shut, a flush creeping up my neck. “Roman, that is too much information.”
But Roman only grinned, his hands trailing lower, teasing the aching heat between my thighs, his touch possessive.
“Then let me show you instead.” His voice was gravel and sin, sending a decadent shiver down my spine.
His fingers slid through my slick folds, parting me, stroking the wet, swollen flesh with expert torment.
My breath hitched, my thighs quivering as his fingers worked me open, tracing tight, teasing circles over my hypersensitive clit.
“I read about different positions,” he continued, his voice like molten honey, dragging me higher, deeper into the abyss of pleasure.
“Things like Butterfly and Reverse Cowgirl—though I fail to see how a woman who tends cows is inherently arousing.”
A breathless, choked laugh escaped me, but a desperate moan quickly replaced it as he pressed harder, deeper, his fingers playing my body like a finely tuned instrument.
His touch was fire and promise, stroking, spreading me wider, finding the perfect rhythm between tantalizing tease and ruthless demand.
His voice dropped to a dark whisper, lips ghosting over my ear, his free hand sliding up to cup my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
“Uncloaking the Clitoris,” he rasped, his fingers dipping lower, coaxing my swollen, desperate flesh from its hiding place.
I shattered, my nails digging into his powerful thighs, my body bowing into his touch, a cry tearing from my throat as pleasure coiled unbearably tight inside me.
Roman groaned, watching me fall apart, savoring every gasp, every tremor, every delicious arch of my body.
The water splashed around us, but all I could feel was him, his hands driving me to madness, his mouth trailing heat along my jaw, down my neck, grazing my pulse with the sharp edge of his teeth.
“You’re dripping for me, amore,” he growled, sliding his fingers deeper, his thumb circling my tortured clit, teasing, pressing, pushing me dangerously close to oblivion.
“Come for me.”
His command was dark silk, and my body obeyed without hesitation.
I splintered, a strangled moan ripping from my lips as blinding pleasure engulfed me, my walls clenching hard around nothing, my orgasm crashing through me in pulsing waves.
