49. Roman
CHAPTER 49
ROMAN
I groaned when he wrapped his lips around one of my nuts and sucked. First one, then the other. They slipped from his mouth with a subtle pop before he painted my body with his tongue. From the tip of my cock to my hole, he tortured me. Taking his time, he nipped and bit, then soothed the tiny hurts with soft licks and kisses.
He parted my ass cheeks, teasing my hole until it twitched. Emptiness took hold of me, and I groaned, burying my face in the pillow I dragged under my body. I wrapped my arms around it, hugging it to my chest, while I stilled myself to the onslaught.
I’d always heard warriors like Carson were front sight focused. I never really understood what that meant until now. Now, I understood perfectly.
All his attention was focused on the job at hand—on me. To be the sole focus of all that intensity… holy hell, it was intoxicating.
My cock throbbed, pulsed, and twitched in time with the rhythm he found, and I thrust back into him, grinding my ass into his face. The beard surrounding his mouth and covering his jaw burned and rasped against my sensitive skin.
He fucked my ass with his tongue until I was a whimpering, begging mess, edging me like a pro. I’d get to the edge, and he’d pull me back only to shove me toward it once again. The sloppy, squelching noise, a pornographic symphony, helped keep me on the precipice.
“Carson!”
I wrapped my hand around the base of my dick, squeezing it to stop the orgasm that rushed through me like a freight train. My blood pounded in my veins and roared through my ears.
The snap of a bottle cap drifted toward me on a wave of lust, and I fought like hell to hold off. I wanted him in me when I came. I lost that battle as soon as he opened me with his slick fingers. For someone who’d been a virgin a month ago, he locked on my prostate like a missile, drilling it instantly.
My ass spasmed and clenched as I came. The emptiness was overwhelming, but before I could complain, he slid into me. All at once. One thrust. The head of his cock nudged me, and a shower of pleasure rained down, and the orgasm that had just barely faded away came rushing back at me like a tidal wave.
I got lost in the waves and the ebb and flow of the movements; my face buried in the bed under me. One of his hands gripped my hip, the short blunt nails biting into the skin. The other hand wound around the back of my neck and held my head in place as he railed my ass.
I reached behind me, gripped his throat as he’d done mine earlier, and pulled him down to me. Our mouths met. We ravaged each other savagely.
He grabbed my spent dick and pulled back to look at me.
“Come for me, Carson. Fill my ass full.”
As if waiting for permission, he clenched his teeth, threw his head back, and did as I ordered. The tendons and veins in his neck stood at attention like good little soldiers.
He never uttered a word, not even when he fell forward into my arms. I bit back the hiss as he left my body. Neither of us would be able to walk tomorrow, but that was a problem I’d worry about later.
“We need to shower,” I grumbled.
“That’s not possible. My legs are numb.”
I raised up, but he pulled me back down. “Quit being a doctor. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “How is the rehab going?”
“Doc, nap now. Questions later. Much, much later.”
I smiled, pulled him into my chest, and kissed him. “Dried cum is no fun.”
“Jesus Christ,” he laughed. “I never took you for a nag. C’mon. Let’s get your ass clean, and then we can nap.”
I followed him from the bedroom to the bathroom and stopped dead in the doorway. A whistle slipped past my lips. White marble ran across the floors and up the walls. The dark vanities with marble tops matched perfectly and flanked an enormous clawfoot tub, sitting under a large clear leaded diamond-paned window.
“Damn. Fancy.”
Carson looked back at me as he flipped a handle just inside the glass-enclosed shower.
“Flipping houses is a hobby.”
I glanced around again. A hobby?
“This looks like a professional did it, not a hobbyist.”
“I won’t say I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands, but what I’ve had, I put to use.”
He opened the shower door, and steam billowed from the glass enclosure. We stepped inside, and I spun to take in the room because it was much too large to be called anything else.
There were more shower heads than some locker rooms had. Or maybe a mini carwash, but for a person? You could probably step inside naked, hold your arms up, spin in a circle, and get clean. More marble covered the floors, walls, and ceiling. A long bench seat ran along the back wall under decorative shampoo niches.
I’d never seen anything like it. Not even the bathrooms in the miniature castle-like house my family owned before my dad killed himself had been this fancy.
Carson’s soapy hands circled my waist, and I jumped. I was so distracted by the room. I couldn’t wait to see the rest of the house. I’d missed it on the way in and been too much of a Nervous Nellie to give the outside more than a cursory glance.
“I never thought I’d be jealous of a bathroom,” he joked.
“This isn’t any bathroom.”
He laughed and kissed me. His bare soapy hands washed away the already drying cum, and I returned the favor. Love bites, bruises, and nail marks littered both our bodies, but the hissing and burning when the soap rolled over the worst of them was well worth it.
We got out of the shower. He pulled a towel from the rack on the wall and handed it to me. I marveled at the warmed material, and he laughed at me, shaking his head. He used the other towel to scrub his hair, beard, and body before wrapping it around his slim waist.
He opened a drawer on the vanity littered with his dab kit, holding out a toothbrush to me. I wrapped the towel, still hanging from my hand, around my waist like a dumbfounded idiot and joined him at the sink. We brushed our teeth together, and I marveled at how right this small moment of domesticity felt.
He moved away, and I watched him go.
“Carson?”
He turned at the pocket door I hadn’t noticed earlier.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The lines around his mouth and eyes crinkled and deepened as a smile stretched his face. He rushed toward me, pulling me into his arms. His mouth took mine. He owned me. Possessed me. As if I hadn’t been his since I was a scrawny twenty-year-old beanpole.
When we parted, I rested my forehead against his and closed my eyes, just happy to be with him at this moment. Happy to tell him, finally , how I felt about him.
“Doc, I love you too. Hell, I’ve loved you for more than half my life. You own me: heart, mind, body, and soul. I am yours. I always have been. I always will be.”
He felled me with his declaration.
“Did you just quote Jane Austen?” I asked with a laugh, trying to stave off the waterworks.
It was no use. Tears gathered in my eyes anyway.
He blushed, ducking his head as he said, “Mr. Darcy had style. But it was more of a paraphrase than a quote, I would say.”
Move over, Jane Austen. There’s a new Mr. Darcy in town.
My hillbilly boy turned real-life hero read Austen and could spout romantic prose. He just kept surprising me at every turn.
I was truly and utterly bewitched. But that was nothing new.
THE END