Chapter 27
ELENA
Roman’s shoulders are a disaster.
I find this out at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night when he comes into my room and sits on the edge of my bed without saying anything.
I put my book down, look at him, and say, “Turn around. He looks at me for a second like he’s going to ask why, and then he turns around, and I put my hands on his shoulders and I feel it immediately, the hard, knotted tension running from the base of his neck across both trapezoids and down into his left shoulder blade where he holds his phone pressed to his ear for hours every day.
“How long has it been like this?” I say.
“It’s fine.”
I press my thumb into the knot above his left shoulder blade, and he makes a sound through his nose that is not agreement.
“That long,” I say.
I work through it slowly. His shirt is still on, and I can feel the heat of him through the fabric and the geography of where the tension lives, tight across the top, worse on the left, a hard point just below the base of his skull that makes him go very still when I find it and press carefully into it.
His hands are on his knees when I start. After a few minutes, they open.
He doesn’t talk and I don’t talk and the city does its late-night thing outside the windows and I work through the knots one by one with the focused attention of someone who has decided this is worth doing properly.
At some point the line of his back changes, something releasing that he has been carrying for so long he stopped noticing its weight, and he exhales slowly and drops his head forward an inch.
I press my thumbs along the base of his skull one more time.
He turns around.
I’m still kneeling behind him on the bed.
Without a word, he catches my wrist and pulls me forward until I’m straddling his lap, facing him.
My knees sink into the mattress on either side of his hips.
He’s already hard. The thick, heavy length of him presses firmly against the soft fabric between my legs.
“Feel how hard you make me,” he murmurs, voice low and rough against my ear. His hands settle on my waist, warm and steady. “Just from your hands on my shoulders. You have no idea what you do to me.”
A small giggle escapes me, surprised and warm. I rock my hips once, slowly, grinding down against the hard ridge of his cock. The friction sends a spark through me, and I do it again, slower this time, savoring the way his breath catches.
“That is dangerous,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice, and his fingers tighten on my waist, encouraging the movement.
For a long moment, we stay like that.
I grind against him in lazy circles while he watches my face, his eyes dark and open in a way I have rarely seen. The tension in his shoulders is gone. In its place is something quieter. He lets me set the pace, lets me feel how much he wants this without rushing.
Then he stands up with me still wrapped around him.
My legs lock around his hips, and my arms go around his neck.
He carries me the few steps across the room to the desk as if I weigh nothing.
The city lights glitter softly beyond the windows.
He sets me down carefully on the edge of the wooden surface and steps back just enough to look at me.
His fingers hook into the waistband of my soft lounge pants and panties together.
He pulls them down my legs slowly, inch by inch, letting the fabric slide over my skin.
When they reach my ankles, I kick them off.
I’m bare from the waist down now, the cool night air brushing against my heated skin.
He spreads my thighs wider with both hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin near my hips gently.
He drops to his knees in front of the desk.
His mouth finds me without hurry.
He presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh first, then another higher up. When his tongue finally licks a long, slow stripe up my center, I let out a shaky breath.
He takes his time, exploring me with broad, unhurried strokes, then focuses on my clit with steady, gentle circles.
Two of his fingers slide inside me, curling softly, stroking that spot that makes my hips lift off the desk. The pleasure builds gradually, deep and warm, spreading through my whole body.
“Roman,” I whisper, my hand threading into his silver hair.
He keeps going, licking and sucking until my thighs begin to tremble around his shoulders.
When the orgasm finally washes over me, it is slow and intense, rolling through me in long waves. I grip the edge of the desk and moan his name quietly as I come on his tongue.
He stands up, kisses me deeply, and lets me taste myself on his lips. The kiss is slow and filthy and perfect, his hand cupping the back of my head. While our mouths are still locked, he frees himself from his pants and lines up at my entrance.
He pushes inside me in one smooth, deep thrust. I gasp into his mouth at the stretch, the fullness. He stays buried inside me for several breaths, letting me adjust, his forehead resting against mine.
Then he starts to move—deep, steady strokes that rock the desk gently beneath me. His hands stay on my hips, holding me with care, always aware of the small curve of my belly. Every thrust is deliberate, unhurried, filling me completely.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs against my lips. “So warm and tight around me. I could stay right here for hours.”
I wrap my legs tighter around his waist and meet every slow thrust. The pleasure builds again, deeper this time, until it breaks over me in another long, shuddering wave.
I come with a soft cry, clenching around him, my forehead pressed to his shoulder. He follows right after, burying himself deep and groaning my name quietly as he finishes inside me.
He stays inside me for a long moment, breathing against my neck. Then he pulls out carefully, lifts me off the desk, and carries me back to the bed.
He sits on the edge, and I slide down to my knees between his legs without being asked.
He’s still half-hard, his cock heavy and flushed against his thigh. It has thick, long, and prominent veins running along the shaft. The head is smooth and already glistening from our earlier release.
I wrap my fingers around the base and feel the warmth of him, the solid weight that always stretches me so perfectly.
I lean in and slowly take him into my mouth. My tongue swirls around the head first, tasting the mix of us, then slides down the underside as I suck gently. I look up at him the whole time, watching the way his silver eyes darken as he watches me.
His hand rests lightly in my hair. His fingers thread through the strands, stroking softly.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, savoring the way his thighs tense under my palms. I use one hand to stroke the part I can’t fit in my mouth, twisting gently on the upstroke. My other hand rests on his hip, feeling the strong muscle there.
Roman’s breathing grows rough again. He lets out a low sound of pleasure when I swirl my tongue around the sensitive head.
I pull back for a moment, still stroking him with my hand, and reach down to cup my breasts through my shirt. They’re fuller now because of the pregnancy, heavy and sensitive, spilling softly over my fingers. I squeeze them gently, letting out a small sigh at the feeling.
Roman’s eyes follow the movement. His voice is low and warm. “Let me help you with that.”
I release his cock and lift my arms. He leans forward and slowly pulls my shirt up and over my head, then unhooks my bra and lets it fall away. My breasts spill free, full and heavy, the nipples already tight. He looks at me with open hunger and something softer underneath.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
I lean forward again, taking his cock back into my mouth. This time he cups my breasts with both hands, lifting and squeezing them gently.
His thumbs brush over my nipples, sending sparks straight down between my legs. He plays with them while I suck him, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers, tugging lightly until I moan around his cock.
The sensation is incredible. I take him deeper, sucking harder, my head bobbing slowly as his hands work my breasts. He groans my name softly.
After a while, he guides me back slightly. “Let me fuck them,” he says, voice rough with want. “I want to feel these beautiful tits around me.”
I nod, breathless. I push my breasts together, creating a soft, warm valley. He stands just enough to slide his thick cock between them. The sight is obscene and intimate at the same time.
His hard length disappears between my full curves, the head nudging against my lips with every slow thrust. I keep my eyes on his face as he moves, fucking my tits with long, deliberate strokes. His hands cover mine, helping me hold them together, his thumbs still teasing my nipples.
“You look so good like this,” he murmurs. “So soft and full for me. Fuck, Elena.”
The praise makes the heat pool low in my belly again. I lean my head down and lick the head of his cock every time it slides up toward my mouth. He groans deeper, his hips moving a little faster but still controlled.
When he gets close, his breathing turns ragged. “Elena… I’m going to come.”
I keep my breasts pressed together. He thrusts a few more times between them, then pulls back just enough.
Warm, thick streaks of cum spill across my chest, my neck, and my lips. Some land on my tongue as I open my mouth for him. He groans long and low, his hand still cupping one of my breasts as the last pulses leave him.
I look up at him, lips and chest glistening. He reaches down and wipes a streak from my cheek with his thumb, then brings it to my mouth. I lick it off gently.
He pulls me up onto the bed beside him, his movements slow and careful. We lie down together, and he tugs the sheet over us. He pulls me against his chest, and I tuck my head under his chin, my soft curves pressing warmly into his harder body.