Chapter 11 #4
I tilt my chin up, leaning forward to meet his mouth halfway, and when my lips touch his, I can feel something in him snap.
He surges forward, pinning me to the tree as his mouth slants over mine, one hand cupping my chin as he devours me. The sound that comes from him is almost painful, vibrating against my lips, and I feel his hand in my skirt tug it upwards.
The silk slithers over my legs, the sensation suddenly painfully sensual.
The feelings tearing through me are wholly unfamiliar: heat and aching, as if my skin is suddenly too tight for my body, my heart pulsing through every inch.
I need something that I can’t explain, that I don’t have words for, and I whimper against Romeo’s mouth, my hips arching wordlessly against his.
“Shh,” he breathes against my lips. “I’ve got you, uccellino. Let me make you fall apart.”
His hand slides under my dress, finding the thin silk thong beneath it. I feel that low, desperate sound rattle from his chest again. Then his fingers are between my folds, teasing them apart as his thumb finds my clit and his first two fingers press against my entrance.
“You can tell me to stop,” he breathes raggedly against my lips, as I feel his fingers hovering there. “I swear I will, Savannah.”
I believe him, even though the sound of his voice says he’d struggle to obey. I can feel every muscle in his body straining, feel him throbbing against my thigh, and I lean in to kiss him again, my hips arching into his hand.
“God,” he groans, and then he’s kissing me again too, and I feel his fingers slide into me.
I’ve never felt anything like that before. I gasp against his mouth, rolling my hips into his hand as I seek out more of the friction against my clit, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of everything. I rock against his hand shamelessly, and he groans against my mouth.
"Fuck, Savannah." His voice is wrecked. "You're so wet for me."
I should be embarrassed. I should push him away. But instead I'm pulling him closer, my hands fisting in his shirt, trying to get him to touch me where I need it most.
"Please," I whisper against his lips. "Please, Romeo—"
"So tight," he murmurs, his forehead pressed against mine. "God, you're so fucking tight."
His fingers curl inside of me, and I let out a helpless moan. My body adjusts, accepting him. When he starts to move with slow, deliberate strokes that hit something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids, I forget how to breathe.
"That's it," he says, his voice low and rough against my lips as he kisses me again. "Take what you need. Show me what you want."
I'm moving against his hand faster now, chasing the pleasure building inside me, nothing like the careful, controlled person I've always been. His thumb rolls against my clit, and I nearly sob with the intensity of it.
"Romeo—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can take it." His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot again, and I see white. "You’re going to come for me like a good girl, aren’t you? You’re so perfect. I can feel it.”
I can hear music in the distance, the muffled sound of the gala continuing without us.
I’m viscerally aware of how easily we could be caught, and the danger of it—the wrongness of it—only makes it more intense.
I'm pressed against a tree in a garden a hundred yards from the gala, my dress hiked up around my hips, Romeo's fingers inside me, and anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.
Thad could find us.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through my body.
He deserves this. He deserves to lose the chance to take this from me.
I have no idea how I could possibly get out of my engagement; I don’t think I truly believe that I can. But right now, tonight, I’m making the choices. Romeo has already touched me like this before, but I can give him something else. Something that I want so badly to let him take right now.
Romeo's breathing is ragged now, his control slipping. I can feel how hard he is against my thigh, and I reach down between us, palming him through his pants. He hisses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"Savannah—fuck—you don't have to—"
"I want to." My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's breathy and desperate, raw with need. "I want to touch you."
I fumble with his belt, my hands shaking. He helps me with his free hand, his movements impatient, almost frantic. When I finally get his pants open and wrap my hand around him, he groans, turning his face into my neck so that I feel that deep, guttural sound vibrate against my skin.
I’ve never touched a man like this before, not even outside of clothes. Feeling Romeo in my hand now, hot and hard and so much bigger than I thought even from feeling the outline of him against me, and he feels foreign and right all at the same time.
I slide my palm down his length, feeling the soft, taut skin stretched over the hardness of him, and he lets out a sharp hiss. When my palm slides over the slick, wet tip, his hips jerk forward.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "Your hand—fuck, Savannah, your hand feels so good."
We're both moving now, hands on each other, mouths finding skin wherever they can. “I can’t—” He groans as I slide my hand over him again. “I can’t stop—fuck—”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I whisper, my hips arching, and he lets out a pained sound.
He pulls his fingers out of me, and I whimper at the loss, but then he's lifting me, his hands gripping my thighs.
"Wrap your legs around me," he says. I do, clinging to him as he presses me harder against the tree. The bark digs into my back through my dress, but I don't care. All I care about is the feeling of him between my legs, the heat of him, the promise of what's about to happen.
"Tell me to stop," he says against my lips. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll stop right now."
My arms are around his neck, my legs around his hips, and I can feel him pressed between my thighs, hot and throbbing.
I can't. I can't tell him to stop, because I want this more than I've ever wanted anything.
I want him to make me forget about Thad, about my father, about the life I'm supposed to want. I want him to make me feel alive.
"Don't stop," I whisper. "Please don't stop."
I swear I see his eyes darken again. I feel him reach between us, his fingers nudging my thong aside, positioning himself. I feel his tip pressing against my entrance.
"This is going to hurt," he says, his voice strained. "I'll try to be gentle, but—"
“I want you,” I breathe, and he groans, his mouth covering mine as his hips tilt forward, and he pushes into me.
It’s only the first inch, but I gasp at the stretch. It burns, but I don't want him to stop. I dig my nails into his shoulders, holding on as he works himself deeper.
"Breathe," he murmurs against my lips. "Just breathe, baby.
You're doing so well." I feel him shudder as he holds himself there, as if it’s difficult for him to stay still, giving me time to adjust. I can feel him trembling with the effort of holding back, and something about that, knowing he's barely maintaining control, makes me want him even more.
"More," I gasp. "I can take more."
"Fuck." He pushes deeper, and I feel something give way inside me. The pain is sharp and immediate, and I cry out before I can stop myself.
His hand covers my mouth again. "Shh. I know, I know it hurts. But you're taking me so well. So fucking perfect."
He sinks into me another inch, and another, until suddenly his hips are against mine, and I can feel that he’s fully inside me now, and I feel impossibly full.
He stays still, letting me adjust, pressing kisses to my face, my neck, my shoulders.
Every graze of his lips feels like a brand, like he’s searing a mark into me, claiming me, making me his.
“Are you okay?” he whispers against my skin, and I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The pain is fading, replaced by something else—pressure and heat, a desperate need for movement.
"Please," I whisper. "More."
He shudders again, moaning as he pulls back slowly, then pushes in again, and the sensation makes my eyes roll back. It's not quite pleasure yet. It's too intense, too overwhelming, but it's not pain either. It's something in between, something that makes me want more.
His rhythm is slow and careful at first, but I can feel his control slipping with each thrust. His breathing is harsh against my ear, his fingers digging into my thighs hard enough to bruise. "You feel so good," he groans. "So tight around me. Like you were made for this. Made for me."
The words should scare me. They should remind me of all the reasons this is wrong. But instead, they make me clench around him, make me meet his thrusts with my own desperate movements, my hips rocking against his. The pain has faded, and now all I want is him, more of him, as much as I can have.
I want it to last forever, and I also know that we need to hurry. We could be caught at any moment, any—
“Romeo—” I breathe his name against his lips. “Someone could come out, we should—”
“I don’t care.” His teeth scrape my lower lip, his hips surging up to fill me again with his cock, the wet sounds of arousal between us. “You're mine now. You understand that? Mine."
I’m not. I never can be. But right now, it feels like I am. And in this moment, with him inside me, pleasure building in my core like a storm about to break—I can't tell him any differently.
Right now, I am his.
His hand slides between us, finding my clit, and suddenly the pleasure isn't building anymore. It crashes over me in waves, my body convulsing around him as my head falls back against the tree.
“Fuck—” Romeo groans, shuddering as he thrusts again. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good coming on my cock—”
The orgasm seems to go on forever, each wave more intense than the last, until I'm boneless and gasping and completely undone.
He's still moving, chasing his own release, and I can feel him getting close.
His rhythm becomes erratic, desperate. His breathing is ragged against my neck. "Savannah—fuck—I'm going to—"
"Wait—" The word comes out strangled. "Romeo, wait—I'm not—I'm not on birth control—"
“I can’t—” He surges inside of me, and his voice breaks. "I can't stop. I'm sorry, I can't—"
He buries himself deep inside me one last time, and I feel him pulse, feel the heat of him filling me. He groans against my shoulder, his whole body shaking with the force of his release.
For a moment, we just stay like that—him buried inside me, both of us breathing hard, the reality of what we've done slowly sinking in.
"Oh God," I whisper. "Oh God, what did we—"
"Shh." He kisses my temple, my cheek, my lips. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."
But I can hear the lie in his voice. Because nothing about this is okay.
I just had sex for the first time with a man who isn't my fiancé. A hundred yards from the university gala where he still is. Where anyone could have seen us.
And Romeo just came inside me.