33. Roman
Roman
I wake up to a sound that sends a chill down my spine—a low, broken whimper cutting through the silence of the room. For a second, I’m not even sure if I heard it, my brain still foggy from sleep and my body aching from yesterday’s game. My ribs feel like I went a few rounds with a semi, and my thighs burn from the strain of the match.
And Damon. Fuck. Damon didn’t make things any easier. I’ve got bruises in places I didn’t even know you could bruise, but it’s the good kind of sore. The kind that reminds me of exactly how much he missed me.
The noise comes again, and this time it’s louder, a whimper that sends a spike of fear through my chest. I blink a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, and when I turn my head, I see him.
Damon’s lying on his back, his body rigid, his hands clutching the sheets like he’s trying to hold onto something that isn’t there. His face is twisted, his brows drawn together, and there’s sweat beading on his forehead.
“Damon?” I whisper, my voice rough with sleep.
No answer. Just a low, broken sound from his throat. Like something’s tearing him apart from the inside. My stomach flips. His chest is heaving, every breath shallow and sharp, like he can’t get enough air. He’s not awake. I know that now.
“Shit,” I mutter, my heart lurching as I sit up fast, blinking the sleep from my eyes. “Damon. Baby, you’re dreaming. You gotta wake up, okay?”
I place a hand on his shoulder, but the second I touch him, he jerks violently, his arm lashes out blindly, almost catching my face, and I jerk back, nearly falling off the bed.
“Fuck—Jesus—” I gasp, hands up, heart thundering. “Okay. Okay . Okay, shit.”
I’ve never seen him like this, and I don’t know what the hell to do. My stomach twists as another whimper tears out of him, this one more desperate than the last.
“Damon, please—” I scramble closer again, slower this time, crawling over the bed like I’m approaching something broken. My hands shake as I straddle him, pinning him down so he doesn’t hurt himself or me. His body is slick with sweat, his muscles taut under my hands as he struggles against me.
“Hey,” I say, leaning down so my face is close to his. “Damon, it’s me, it’s Roman. You’re safe, alright? It’s just a dream, baby. You’re safe.”
He thrashes beneath me, his breaths coming in sharp, shallow gasps, and I can feel his heart hammering. It scares the shit out of me, seeing him like this, so raw and vulnerable in a way he never lets himself be when he’s awake.
“Babe— look at me ,” I beg, leaning in close so he can hear me. “Please. You’re safe. You’re in our bed. I’m right here. It’s not real.”
His head jerks again. His lips move like he’s trying to speak, but no sound comes out—just a strangled breath, a tremor that runs through his chest and into mine. And fuck, it kills me seeing him like this. My Damon, who never flinches and never cracks, now falling apart under something I can’t reach.
“Come on,” I whisper, desperate now. “Come back to me, baby. Please . You’re okay. I’ve got you. I swear to fuck, I’ve got you.”
My fingers slide up, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his damp cheeks. I lean down, nose to his, breath shaking as I try to anchor him with every word and every touch. “I’m here,” I say again, voice breaking. “I’m right here. Just breathe with me, okay? In and out. Just like that. In and out.”
He’s still trembling, but his movements slow and the tension in his jaw starts to ease under my hands. His lashes flutter. A sound catches in his throat—something wrecked, but real and present.
“There you are,” I whisper, relief crashing into me so hard my own eyes sting. “There you are, Damon. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes open, unfocused at first, wide and glassy. He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. Like he’s still halfway stuck in the dark.
“Roman?” he croaks, his voice hoarse and broken.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, breathing out a massive breath. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.”
His eyes dart around the room before settling back on me, and I can see the fear still lingering there. “I’m here,” I say again, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You’re safe.”
He swallows hard, his hands reaching up to grip my wrists like he needs to anchor himself. “Fuck,” he whispers, his voice shaky.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I admit, my heart still racing as I climb off him and sit on the edge of the bed. “What the hell was that?”
He doesn’t answer right away, sitting up slowly and dragging a hand over his face. “I… I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. My boy looks wrecked, his face pale and drawn, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller.
“Damon,” I say, my voice softer now. “Talk to me.”
He shakes his head, his hands trembling as he clasps them together. “It’s nothing,” he says, but the crack in his voice betrays him.
“Don’t give me that,” I say, shifting to face him. “You were fucking terrified. I’ve never seen you like that before.”
He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the floor. “It’s just… shit from before,” he says finally, his voice tight.
“Before what?” I press, but he shakes his head again, his jaw clenching.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, and I can hear the edge in his voice, the way he’s trying to shut me out.
But I don’t let him.
I reach out, grabbing his hand and lacing my fingers through his. He flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t pull away.
“Hey,” I say, squeezing his hand gently. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But you don’t have to deal with it alone either.”
He glances at me then, his green eyes shadowed and guarded. “I don’t know how to…” He trails off, his voice breaking again, and I feel like my heart’s being squeezed in a vice.
“You don’t have to,” I say firmly. “Not all at once. But I’m here, okay? Whenever you want to talk, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere, baby.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, his grip on my hand tightening as he lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Always, babe,” I say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple.
The shower’s already running when I step into the bathroom, the room thick with steam. Damon’s standing under the spray, head tilted back, water cascading down his body, and for a moment, I just stop and stare.
The guy is unreal, all sharp lines and hard muscle, tattoos covering so much of his skin that it’s impossible not to let my eyes wander. There’s that black widow on his pelvis that I love to lick, and the ink that trails up his arms, disappearing into the mess of curls clinging to his neck.
“Gonna stand there all day?” Damon drawls, not even looking at me, but I catch the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe,” I shoot back, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it onto the sink. “You’re a hell of a view, Trouble.”
That gets his attention. He turns to face me, his green eyes locking onto mine, and fuck, the look on his face makes my stomach do a weird little flip.
“Get in here,” he says, his voice rough.
I don’t need to be told twice. I shuck off the rest of my clothes and step into the shower; the second I do, Damon’s hands are on me. He grabs me by the waist, pulling me under the spray with him, and the warmth of the water is nothing compared to the heat of his body against mine.
“Missed you,” he mutters, his lips brushing against my ear.
I roll my eyes, even as my hands slide up his chest. “It’s only been a weekend, babe.”
“Too long,” he says, his tone possessive as hell, and I know he means it.
He doesn’t waste any time. His hands grip my hips, pinning me against the cold tiles as his mouth crashes into mine.
“Fuck, Damon,” I groan against his lips, my hands fisting in his wet hair. “You’re acting like I’ve been gone for a month.”
“You might as well have been,” he growls, his teeth scraping against my jaw before trailing down to my neck. “But I think you need reminding who you belong to.”
I laugh, even as my head falls back to give him more access. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
“Shut up,” he mutters, biting at the mark he left on my shoulder last night.
The sting makes me hiss, my body arching into him, and Damon’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my hips like he’s trying to hold me still.
“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and dangerous as his hands start to wander.
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, my hands sliding down his back. “That’s kind of the point.”
Damon’s laugh is dark, his lips trailing lower, and I can feel every bit of him pressed against me, hot and hard and completely unapologetic.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing my collarbone. “One day I’m gonna shut you up for good.”
“Promises, promises,” I tease, but my voice comes out shakier than I’d like.
He pulls back just enough to glare at me, and fuck, the look in his eyes is enough to make my knees weak. “You think I’m joking?”
“No,” I admit, my heart pounding in my chest.
Damon smirks, his hands sliding down to grip my ass, lifting me slightly so I’m pressed even closer to him. “Good.”
The water runs over both of us, the sound of it filling the small space, but all I can focus on is him—on the way his body moves against mine, the way his hands roam like he’s memorizing every inch of me.
“You’re gonna make me late for class,” I mutter, even though I don’t mean it.
“Like you give a shit,” he says, his lips trailing along my jaw.
I don’t. Not when he’s looking at me like this, not when he’s touching me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“Damon,” I say, my voice softer now, and he pauses, his eyes meeting mine.
“What?” he asks, his tone losing some of its edge.
“I missed you too,” I admit.
“I know,” he says, his voice quieter now as his lips brush against mine. “Don’t make me wait that long again.”
I laugh, pulling him closer. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”
He doesn’t answer, just kisses me again, and I decide right then and there that if this is what it means to deal with Damon Ward’s possessiveness, I’ll take it. Every damn time.
We finish the shower with a lot of teasing and just enough restraint to keep things from escalating again—barely. By the time we’re out, I’m wide awake, my body still buzzing from his touch.
As I towel off, I catch Damon watching me, his eyes tracking every movement like he’s memorizing me. He’s shirtless, a pair of low-slung skinnies hanging off his hips, and the way his tattoos stretch over his skin makes my mouth go dry.
“You’re staring,” I say, smirking as I pull on my jeans.
“Can’t help it,” he says, his voice unapologetic. “You’re fucking distracting.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing my shirt and tossing it over my head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly easy to ignore, either.”
“Good,” he says, his smirk turning into a full grin. “I’d be pissed if you could.”
“Possessive much?” I tease, and he shrugs, unbothered.
“Only when it comes to you,” he says simply, and the sincerity in his tone sends a shiver down my spine.
I don’t respond, but the look I give him says enough.
By the time we’re dressed and ready to leave, we’re both in a good mood, the tension from last night and this morning replaced with something lighter, something almost… normal.
As we head out the door, Damon grabs his keys and his bag, throwing me a smirk over his shoulder. “Ready to make everyone jealous?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Always.”
And just like that, we’re back to us, back to whatever this crazy, messy thing is.