Page 27 of Devoured

“My clothes,” I said quietly.

“Is that an excuse?”

A wave of heat rushed through me. He was taunting me, wasn’t he? And it was working.

“But we’re in public?” I tried.

“The staff are under instructions to leave us alone until requested.”

“And the cameras?”

“You’re filmed twenty-four hours a day at the Dahlia District,” he said nonchalantly, “You’re going to let a surveillance camera stop you?”

That was a good point.

Fuck it. Why not?

I shoved down my pants, stepping out of them and my shoes hastily, then unbuttoned my shirt, stripping down to a simple black cotton bra and panties. I arched my back, going backward into an elbow stand, letting my feet touch my chin, then straightened my knees, pointing my toes towards Roland. In that position, I spread my legs, knowing my panties were slipping out of place. He sipped his drink, his eyes glued to me. His cock grew against his leg, thick, and I kept my eyes on him as my feet met the ground and I bridged back to standing. Next, I slid into the splits, showing how I could lift my front and back leg beyond the usual limits, even while resting on the ground, then arched my back until my elbows met the floor again, transitioning into another elbow stand. I lowered to my chest, resting all of my weight on my breasts, the dull pain familiar, then I spread my legs again.

Roland stood, coming to meet me. He leaned down, touching the inside of my thigh, his hand skimming across my bare skin. His fingertips gently ran over the thin panties, his warmth penetrating the fabric. His touch tickled me. Teased me. My face grew hot. Losing focus, my knees bent, and I was in a basic chest stand again, unable to concentrate.

His fingers pressed into my folds, the fabric dipping into my arousal. My breathing grew to pants, and when I looked up, Roland’s cock twitched, the smirk replaced by his stern jaw, his expression menacing. His finger hovered over the fabric, threatening to penetrate me.

“Do it,” I murmured. “Stop teasing me like this.”

“Why?” he asked.

Why?

Was it because I wanted this to be over—to have my club, to have my home as I knew it back in my control, to have that net of safety—or was it because I wanted him? Because this teasing, toying with me, making it so that I wanted to beg,neededto beg, was pure torture? Because I couldn’t stop myself from imagining his cock inside of me, impaling me, making me surrender to his every demand.

My mind was racing. This wasn’t like me. None of this was like me. Sex was something to use a club member for. To ride a billionaire’s face until I came, using him like he was a plastic vibrator, nothing more. Meaningless sex.

So why did I want Roland to use me? Why couldn’t I answer his question?

“Why, Iris?” he asked again, louder this time.

“I don’t know,” I managed.

“If you can’t tell me, then I guess you don’t deserve it,” he said, lifting his fingers. Disappointment settled in my stomach. “Don’t forget, little flower.Iam the one who decides when we fuck.”