ROME
Chapter fourteen
Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I watch Indie pirouette centre stage, the sequins on her tutu and bodice glinting under the moody stage lighting. Her partner takes her waist, and she raises to pointe as her other leg flows backward into a full split.
My lip twitches when her partner grabs her inner thigh. I’m aware it’s a part of the dance, necessary for him to touch her that way, but that doesn’t mean I like it. The dramatic music intensifies as they continue the school’s rendition of Swan Lake.
Regardless of my busy schedule, I attend all her performances. While our parents choose to sit in seats with the best acoustic sound, Kilah and I opt to sit in the back row on the first floor of the theatre.
Adjusting the flowers in my lap, I keep my gaze on the stage when the seat to my left in the corner becomes occupied.
“Hey, baby.”
I jump and snap my head to that familiar voice and grinning face. He growls low, eyeing my pressed white button down and black trousers—he, too, is dressed the same, but his jacket is still on.
Heart leaping in my chest, I drop my wide eyes to his lap. One bouquet of red roses, another of white lilies. “What are you doing here?” I demand quietly.
His eyes roll back and he groans, “Rome.”
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
“I want to be involved in your life.” He lifts a finger to his lips to shush me and then points said finger to the stage.
We’re only fifteen minutes in, and he truly is insane if he believes we’re sitting beside one another for almost two hours. There’s a snicker to my right, and I throw a glare at Kilah as heat courses through my veins, the crowded theatre suddenly uncomfortably warm.
Her lips press together as she adjusts her navy silk dress, leaning into me. “He’s cute.”
“Shut it.”
I’ve always been thankful for my sisters.
They accept who I am wholeheartedly but have made a habit of pointing out attractive guys whenever we’re in public.
As much as I hate to admit it, Rain certainly isn’t bad looking.
Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve never seen a man with a jaw so sculpted and full lips that demand your attention, but his charming looks don’t outweigh that he’s appeared in my life and started to fuck everything up.
I fist my hand, leaning into him. “Foyer. Now.”
“As you wish, baby.”
He stands, slides the bouquet of red roses under his chair, and stalks down the steps, disappearing around the corner toward the foyer.
“Use protection,” Kilah teases as I throw my bouquet into her lap.
Gently closing the door, I scan the empty foyer and spot him leaning against a wall further down a hall to my left, flowers held nonchalantly at his side.
Forcing down the anger so as to not drive my fist across his face, I stalk toward him. “What the fuck, Rain?”
He pushes off the wall, extending the bouquet. I slap at it, causing a few petals to come loose and float to the ground.
“I’ll just get another,” he taunts, stepping into me, his warm, minty breath fanning my lips. My heart trips, and I take a rigid step back.
“Leave,” I demand.
“No.”
“Rain.”
“Baby.”
When I called the police two days ago, I refrained from going inside until they’d thoroughly inspected the house. They dusted the door handles and looked for any DNA.
Nothing. Not a single fingerprint or strand of hair.
He’d cleaned up. Not just put away a few things that haven’t been a priority—he cleaned everything, including my bed sheets. He wiped every surface, mopped my floor, organised my fridge, and scrubbed my bathroom. He even went as far as to hang new curtains in my bedroom.
I’d left at 5 AM to start my day and changed away from home before meeting my family for lunch, leaving him with eight hours to do everything, including place a new bouquet of white lilies on my dining table.
“Please,” I beg. “Just…leave.”
The last thing I want to do is call the police and ruin this for Indie. She’s the lead performer this year, something she’s been working on for five years. If this performance goes well, and she can impress the company scouts attending, she could go professional next year.
“Now,” I order through gritted teeth and turn to walk away.
A strong hand grips mine, and I’m ripped back around.
Flowers drop to the floor, and he snatches my startled face.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I’m shoved back against the wall, the force knocking the air from my lungs.
His body invades my space, and I raise a hand to push at his chest, my own rising and falling rapidly.
His soft lips capture mine. My lungs lock, and my lids fall shut as a forceful wave crashes through me, buckling my knees. His groan draws my own as his tongue slides past my lips, forcing its way into my mouth.
For a moment….one moment…I ball the soft cotton of his jacket in my hands and slide my tongue against his.
Dick pressed against my zipper, I force myself into reality and push him back. As I gasp for air, his eyes flick around my face before holding steady on my lips. He pants, his bruising hold on my cheeks tightening as he tries to pull me back in.
“N-no,” I stumble over the two letters and grip his wrists, trying to pry his warm hands from my burning face.
His jaw pulses, and he exhales a frustrated breath before finally releasing me. Swiping the flowers from the ground, he gently extends them to me.
“No.” I firm the syllable this time, still trying to breathe through the adrenaline.
“Fine.” He stalks to the bin to throw them away. “I’ll be sure to purchase a bigger bouquet next time.”
“I’ve missed enough of her dance.” I look toward the foyer to ensure no one saw. “Please leave so I can go support my sister.”
“I’m staying. I happen to be a fan of ballet.”
“Bullshit.”
He invades my space with his woodsy scent, eyes narrowed. “It’s your parents, isn’t it? They make you feel like shit for who you are? The only thing stiffer than you around them is my cock around you.”
“Leave.”
He steps past me, and I inhale sharply when his fingers brush mine. “I’m staying. Now, let’s go watch your sister put the other dancers to shame.”
I bite my still-tingling lip as he confidently walks toward the door and holds it open, dark eyes ordering me back into the theatre.
Unless I knock him out and drag him out of here, I know he won’t leave. Just sitting beside him won’t draw any suspicion…right?
A hand shoves my shoulder, pushing me down into his seat in the corner as Rain steps past to take mine. My still-racing heart skips when his jacket drops to cover my lap and half of his. Doing the best I can not to draw attention, I grip his hand sliding onto my thigh beneath the fabric.
He arches a dark brow as his hand squeezes my thigh. My dick jumps as the heat from his touch spreads throughout my already sweltering body. Sliding my hand under his, I interlace our fingers.
If holding his hand will cease its wondering, then so be it.
“Mmm,” he hums quietly, the heat of his breath fanning my cheek. “Are you hard, baby?”
“No,” I lie.
His hand pulls. I grip it tighter, digging my fingers between his knuckles.
“Harder,” he growls quietly.
I twist my head to him, only to be met with his face a centimetre from mine.
My stomach flips, and I snap my head back forward.
His thumb strokes mine, the simple action coating my skin in a nervous sweat.
Closing my eyes, I draw a deep breath and blow it out, which would normally calm my heart, but the habit seems to fall short around Rain.
After another five minutes, my hand is a puddle, although the beads of sweat don’t seem to deter him at all. Ripping it from his, I slide it back out and dry it on his jacket. I’m sure the psycho will enjoy the fact I’ve put my sweat on something he owns.
My stomach knots, and I choke on my next breath when his fingers caress the inside of my thigh.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and I want to say yes, but I don’t. “Rome,” he presses in a soft voice. I shake my head. “Is that no you don’t want me to stop, or no don’t touch me?”
“Don’t stop,” I breathe out like a fool. The hairs on my neck stand when he starts slowly rubbing the aching bulge over my pants.
“Liar,” he whispers.
His large hand stays rhythmic, the music amplifying the heat simmering in my veins. I slide my hand away to allow him more movement.
I shouldn’t, but it feels too goddamn good. Connor was light with his touch. Rain is ravenous and demanding. He’s rubbing, squeezing the crown and massaging my balls, all in the same movement.
My chest aches from being forced to control my heavy breathing as I slide down a little and spread my legs farther apart.
“That’s it, baby,” he praises against my ear.
I shoot my hand out to strangle the left armrest, and my eyes hood as I glance past him to Kilah, who’s intently watching Indie on stage. Soft cotton glides beneath my hand stretching over his thigh beneath the jacket.
A triumphant grin spreads across his face.
I push my head back against the seat, unable to control my lips parting and brows dropping when I continue to harden beneath his hand. No longer focusing on the performance, I stare at his bewildered expression.
“I—I-,” I choke on the words and clamp my mouth shut, too afraid a moan will slip free.
“You?” He arches a brow with a playful smirk.
I rest my sweaty forehead against his and whisper, “I need to come.”
“There’s a handkerchief in my inside pocket. I want it back when you’re done.”
I release his thigh, frantically feeling for the pocket. Hitting a box of some kind, I locate the soft material and pull it out, undo my belt, un-tuck my shirt, and stuff it in my underwear.
“Shit,” I breathe out. The temporary parting of my lips allows a small whimper to break free.
His fingers dig into my jaw, mine grasping his thigh as the fiery wave crashes through me. My lids flutter shut, and hips roll against his hand as I fill his handkerchief with cum.