Chapter 27 #3
I stretched lazily, still heavy with sleep and satisfaction, arching my back. “What time is it? How long did we sleep?”
“All day.” He gestured toward the window, where thick curtains the same color as the rich velvet bedding concealed the world outside. “There’s a stunning sunset just beyond those.”
He settled back against the pillows, propping the platter in his lap, and popped a grape between his lips, chewing slowly. His tongue darted out to catch a drop of juice, and I couldn’t help but stare.
“I’m famished,” he said, his gaze flicking to mine, filled with that familiar, smoldering heat. “You?”
“Not quite awake yet,” I murmured, my voice still husky from sleep. I shifted closer, draping my leg over his, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.
Roman tore a piece of succulent chicken from the bone and held it to my lips. “Try this. It’s delicious.”
I opened my mouth, and he slid it inside, his thumb brushing my bottom lip as he pulled away. My stomach growled, and I let out a soft moan. “Mmm. So delicious. It tastes like it was seasoned with bacon.”
His eyes darkened slightly at the sound of my moan. “I think it was,” he said, tearing off a drumstick and biting into it, juices glistening on his lips.
I ripped a piece of bread from a fresh-baked loaf, the crust warm and flaky against my fingers. “Oh, my God,” I said through a mouthful, my voice muffled by pleasure. “So good.”
Roman chuckled, giving me a playful side-eye, his gaze lingering on my mouth, on the way my lips parted as I chewed. “Speaking of bacon,” he murmured, watching me too closely, too hungrily, “I loved your twenty-first-century bacon. And coffee. God, the coffee was divine.”
I licked a drop of honey from my finger, savoring it on my tongue, knowing exactly what it did to him when I did. “Coffee and bacon,” I echoed, tearing off a piece of tender breast meat and sinking my teeth into it. “I was fond of them, too. What else did you like to eat?”
Roman licked the flavors from his fingers, his tongue flicking over the pad of his thumb in a way that made my stomach tighten with something other than hunger.
“Let’s see,” he mused, reaching for a piece of cheese smeared with honey and handing it to me. “Waffles.” He nodded as if coming to a profound realization. “Waffles and maple syrup. That was delicious.”
I took the cheese between my teeth, my lips brushing against his knuckles as I plucked it from his grasp, feeling the slight flex of his fingers against my mouth before I bit into it.
The tangy cheese and sweet honey melted on my tongue, and I let out a satisfied hum, savoring the contrast of flavors.
As I chewed, my fingers traced the inked pattern on his forearm, following the precise lines of the dagger etched into his skin.
“I love this tattoo.” My voice was soft, admiring, as my fingertips brushed over the ridges of muscle beneath it. “Where did you get it?”
“Lee took me to a tattoo shop in Fremont.” Roman leaned over, reached for a deep amber liquid carafe, and poured some down his throat.
I watched his Adam’s apple bob, mesmerized by how his thick neck flexed, the veins standing out beneath his bronzed skin.
“A man named Sebastian the Great did the honors.”
He handed the carafe to me.
“What’s this?” I tilted it to my lips, taking a welcome sip, the warm, honeyed burn sliding down my throat.
“It’s mead.” Roman took the bottle back, his fingers brushing mine, the lingering heat sending a quiet pulse through me. “Wine is ghastly in this period. I was spoiled by the wine in your time.”
I devoured the sight of him, the way his throat worked as he drank, the strong, elegant curve of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell as he exhaled, his muscles flexing with every movement.
Roman was a delight to behold, and he damn well knew it.
I took another sip of the heady drink, then handed it back to him, rolling onto my side to retrace the dagger tattoo.
“I do worry about this, Roman.”
His gaze dropped to where my fingers ghosted over the dark ink.
“Worry? Why?” He rested the half-empty carafe on the floor beside the bed, turning to me fully, his blue eyes dark with curiosity.
I sighed, pressing my palm against his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath it. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s a dagger. You’ll instantly be a suspect if a Timehunter sees this marking.”
A ripple of unease slithered through me, my spine tensing.
Roman’s easy expression darkened, his brows drawing together as he frowned. “I see your point.” He tapped his full, tempting lips with his fingertip, thinking.
“I’ll keep it covered when we’re out,” he said, considering. “And if a Timehunter accosts us, we’ll say we are Timehunters, too.”
I arched a brow. “That’s your plan? Pretend we’re Timehunters?”
“Why not?” He smirked, but his eyes were thoughtful. “We can say we’re searching for the man who owns this dagger, that he’s dangerous. A threat to society.”
I let out a breath, my fingers still tracing the intricate ink on his forearm, the symbol that could mean our downfall if the wrong eyes saw it.
“Don’t you think the Timehunters know who’s in their network?”
Roman’s gaze settled on me, his expression unreadable. “The technology you have in your time hasn’t been created yet, amore.”
He shifted onto his side, pressing a warm, reassuring palm against my hip. “Yes, they have detailed drawings of poisonous plants, but do you think they have detailed sketches of every member?”
I hesitated, my fingers idly stroking the fine hairs on his leg, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. “I don’t know.”
Roman’s thumb swept circles against my waist, his touch soothing, grounding.
“I’d rather we didn’t find out,” I murmured. “Keep it covered.”
He gave a small, knowing smile but nodded. “As you command, my warrior queen.”
We lapsed into companionable silence, continuing to nibble at the food, our bodies still tangled, still pressed together in a cocoon of intimacy.
The mead swam pleasantly in my head, its golden burn spreading through my limbs, making my body feel languid, heavy, warm. I snuggled closer to Roman, resting my cheek against his solid chest, inhaling his deep, familiar scent.
“Oh!” I said suddenly, my voice breaking the hush between us. “Did you know Marcellious and Emily got married? And Emily is pregnant.”
Roman’s fingers, tracing lazy circles along my back, stilled.
“What?” His voice was thick with surprise.
I grinned against his skin, enjoying his reaction. “It was hard for her when she thought Marcellious had gone to the dark side and joined forces with Balthazar. He was convincing, parading Dahlia around as if she were his lover.”
Roman’s entire body tensed beneath me. His head snapped up, eyes wide, suddenly very, very awake.
“Dahlia?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze, my lips curving into a satisfied smirk.
“Yes. Dahlia. I killed her.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You killed her?”
I nodded, feeling a surge of dark satisfaction.
Roman’s expression shifted instantly. Before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapping me in a fierce, crushing embrace.
“I’m so proud of you, my warrior woman,” he murmured against my hair, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper—something reverent.
At his words, a pulse of pure, unfiltered pride crashed through me. For so long, I had felt broken and powerless but hearing him say it—feeling the raw conviction in his voice—made me realize the truth.
I had conquered my darkness.
I had won.
“Thank you, Roman,” I whispered, brushing a soft kiss against his jawline, feeling the slight rasp of his stubble against my lips.
His smile flickered, but his expression darkened just as quickly.
His hand drifted over my stomach, his fingers flexing gently.
Roman’s voice was low, pained when he finally spoke. “I saw you through my dagger when you lost our child. I watched Balthazar throw you against the ground.”
His expression twisted into rage, his jaw tightened, and his veins strained against his skin as if remembering it made him wild with fury.
A searing bolt of pain tore through my heart, acute and merciless, and I squeezed Roman’s hand, needing his grounding presence.
“It was so awful, Roman.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but it shook with memories too dark to carry alone.
“And coupled with your absence… I don’t know how I made it through that time.
” My brows knitted together as I swallowed hard.
“I do know. I wouldn’t have made it had Malik not rescued me. ”
Roman exhaled, his grip tightening as he pulled me closer. His arm curled protectively around me, anchoring me to him.
“We have much to thank Malik for.” His voice was still edged with barely restrained emotion, but acknowledgment was also there. Gratitude. “He has saved us each. And… he saved and cared for our daughter, Rosie.”
“Yes.”
My fingers idly traced the crease in his thigh, my touch featherlight, teasing, the need for comfort morphing into something else.
Beneath my fingertips, his cock stirred, hardening against my touch, responding instantly to me, as he always did.
I wrapped my hand around him, firm but gentle, feeling the pulse of heat and hardness in my palm.
Roman let out a low groan, his eyes darkening with desire as he drew my hand up to his lips, kissing my knuckles with reverence, with promise.
“We’ll make another baby, amore, I promise.” His lips brushed my skin, lingering. “We can have as many children as you desire. After we defeat Balthazar.”
His words sent a shiver of longing down my spine, the mix of tenderness and possession making my breath hitch.
“Yes,” I breathed.
But just as the moment thickened with desire, Roman chuckled, his voice shifting to something lighter, more amused, though his grip on my hand remained possessive.