RAIN
Chapter twenty-four
The lamp glows beside me as I smile and pull back the comforter. Rome mumbles under his breath, sliding into bed beside me.
I think he’s beginning to understand that I’m not leaving unless he takes that pathetic bat to my head and drags me out himself. Considering he felt bad that he made my lip bleed, I doubt he’d run the risk of killing me.
Throwing the blanket over him, I grip his nape and waist, pulling him into me. I’m not surprised by his fight when I force his head to my chest.
“I’m tolerating you sleeping beside me. I don’t want to cuddle,” he grumbles.
“Too bad.”
I keep my hold firm until he admits defeat and lays against me. Gripping his arm that’s laying at his side, I wrench it across me.
“Rain,” he protests.
“Cuddle me.”
He releases a deep sigh and relaxes his arm. Can’t say the same for the rest of his body, though.
“Your cock was just in my mouth, and you dislike the fact I want to cuddle?” I ask, tracing the contours of his back with a featherlight touch.
“I’m not a big fan of cuddling,” he whispers. “I mean, I held my sisters while they slept when we were younger, but that was only to make sure they were okay.”
My heart flutters. “But never a romantic partner?”
“Connor, once.”
I grind my teeth.
After a few more minutes of slowly rubbing his back, he’s no longer a wooden plank, seeming to be enjoying it. His breathing has evened out, and his fingers are gently stroking my side. His eyes are even closed.
“You’re a good artist,” he compliments quietly.
I gently kiss his damp hair. “Thank you, baby.” I don’t know why, but he insisted he needed a shower.
“When did you start to paint?”
Well, well, well, Rome Aston wants to know me.
I keep my strokes light against his skin. “My mother loved to paint, and one day, when I was six, I wanted to do it with her. I apparently have a ‘natural talent’.”
The corners of his mouth lift with a smile, but it quickly falls. “You said loved…”
“Cervical cancer, when I was seventeen.”
My heart squeezes, not as hard as it once did when I’d talk about her, but the pain is permanent.
“It sounds like she was a great person.” He strokes my rib apologetically.
“She was. Beautiful, understanding, and an incredible mother.”
He lifts his chin to look up at me. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “Dad once said, an angel’s time on Earth will always be limited compared to that of a mere human.”
“Poetic.”
I’d always loved seeing my parents together growing up, their love for one another was undeniable.
Dad lost himself when she passed. We all did.
He dedicates himself to work now, trying to distract himself from that hole in his chest. His apartment is covered in pictures of her, and there were many nights in LA when I passed his room and heard the same video of her playing on repeat.
It’s as though he can’t sleep without hearing her soft voice beside him.
Dad once told me he saw a lot of my mother in Alexa, the same fiery energy and stubbornness.
That’s what drew Aaron Weston to Charlotte Rivers.
She was twenty-three and fresh out of finishing her Master of Architecture.
Her friend was interested in building a new house and consulted my mother for a design.
Two young women entered my father’s business, and my mother refused to leave until she spoke with the owner.
One step into the room, and she proceeded to lay out her drawings, telling my father, ‘This is how it will be done. I will expect nothing less than this design down to the millimetre.’
He played with her for a while but agreed.
She oversaw the construction, and he scheduled his week around the time he knew she was on site.
Each visit, he’d offer her a job, each with a higher salary than the last. My mother, being the negotiator she was, refused until he met a price she deemed worthy of her skills.
Many projects later, they were together, and he’d found her designs for her dream home.
Land was purchased, and construction started immediately.
Apparently, she didn’t like the original ceiling cornices.
My father took her there with a bag of her favourite Chinese food, got on a ladder, and removed them all, replacing them with the new ones she liked while she watched and ate her food.
I was apparently conceived that night. He was always aware of her location, so, I was always bound to adopt the habit.
Rome sighs, and my heart drums beneath his fingers trailing over my chest. “How did you come out to your parents?”
“Umm…I didn’t, really. I was twelve, and we were watching a movie.
Claire Forlani came onto the screen, and I said, ‘she’s hot.
’ My father agreed and got a stern look from my mother.
Brad Pitt then appeared, and I said he was hot too.
They were silent for a moment, and I think they realised that I was genuinely attracted to both actors.
My mother agreed with my comment, probably to get back at Dad.
She told him if he ever met his celebrity crush, he had a hall pass.
He looked at her so insulted yet so lovingly and said, Claire Forlani could pass me on the street and I’d have no clue.
You are all I see. He then swept her off the sofa and took her upstairs, and I turned up the volume. ”
Rome laughs quietly.
“You’re never getting a free pass, Rome. I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
“We aren’t together, Rain.”
“Your ass is mine, your cock is mine, lips, heart. Every fucking part of you is mine.”
He shifts a little, trying to pull away. I chase his body and pull him back to cuddle me. He groans, pushing his head against my chest.
I obviously haven’t made myself clear.
Threading my fingers into his hair, he inhales sharply as I fist the strands, pull his head back, and smash my lips against his.
My body hums as I lift my other hand and pry his jaw open.
His tongue now evades mine. So, I chase it, forcing him to taste me.
He pushes at my chest just as I catch his tongue and suck it into my mouth.
He releases an adorable, startled sound when I bite down, followed by a hiss.
His swollen lips try to detach from mine as I feast harder and slide my hand down his shuddering stomach to his cock.
Just like I expected. Hard.
Satisfied I’ve made my claim on his mouth, I release his hair. He jerks back and clasps my wrist like he doesn’t want me touching what’s mine. I want to touch it, so I will. I’ll fucking sleep with one arm holding him against me and the other holding his cock, just to reiterate it’s fucking mine.
“Tell me who you belong to,” I order calmly, despite my heart thumping.
“No one,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Try again.”
“Fuck. You.”
I follow as he tries to escape to the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around him as he pants and wriggles, trying to escape my hold.
“Don’t ever try and run from me again,” I say against his ear. He stiffens, his heart racing beneath my hand on his chest. “Am I clear?”
“I-I don’t want you, Rain.”
“Lies. Your cock sure does. Besides, you were asking questions about me. Why try to get to know someone you don’t want?”
“Get. Out.”
“Not a chance. Now go to sleep, baby. I’ll give you until morning to admit who fucking owns you.”
His chest vibrates with a disgruntled groan, and I press my hard cock into his ass.
“I’m not an object for you to own,” he argues.
I get comfortable, forcing my knee between his legs and pulling his head onto my arm. “You’re a god, baby. And you own me, too.”
“I don’t want to. You’ve come into my life and fucked everything up.”
“Fucked it up, or made you question things about yourself? Because they’re two very different things.”
“The former.”
“Have I sent your internal compass on a spiral, baby?”
He clicks his teeth shut before pulling the pillow over my arm to rest his head against it, grumbling, “You’re leaving tomorrow, and I never want to see you again.”
“You love knowing that at any moment, I could show up wherever you are. You look at every camera in every building you enter. I know you’re telling yourself it’s because you’re scared I’m watching you, but in reality, you’re secretly hoping I am.”
He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes being followed…watched. That’s what he’s getting high on right now, the knowledge I’ll continue to chase after him. Eventually, he’ll realise I caught him the first night he met me in that apartment.
I could see the fire in his eyes when he asked about Alexa, and I know that’s why he sent me that photo post-come, but never a video. He was showing me what I was missing while I was around her. I’m not sure he even realises why he did it.
I stretch my arm back and tap the lamp. He doesn’t move away while I do or fight my arm wrapping back around him. “Can I admit something?”
His muscles tighten, but I’m unsure whether it’s due to my question or my nose buried in his hair and inhaling the coconuts.
“I guess,” he sighs, masking his curiosity with sharp annoyance.
“It took me a while to understand why I was so drawn to you. I can usually find solutions or reasonings behind most things quickly. You intrigued me the first night I watched you play, but the deeper I dove into you and your life, the more intrigued I became.”
“Okay?”
I lean into his warmth, letting my eyes close. “Perfectionism, Rome. Your father demands it from you, just as mine does me.”
I hear him swallow. “You don’t seem like the type to care what others think.”
“I don’t. Even with my father now, I don’t…
but I once did. Actually, that’s a lie. There are times I still do.
I fought so hard to be the perfect son, but I realised in my late teens after each accomplishment that he would only raise the bar.
I would never meet his unrealistic expectations.
So, I stopped trying as hard but even still, I never asked for his help because I refused to allow him to see me as anything but capable and independent.
” I sigh into his hair. “What I’m trying to say is, I understand you want to not disappoint your father.
As much as you tell yourself you don’t care, and as deeply as you fight to convince yourself his opinion does not matter, there is a part of you conditioned to not allow him to view you as a failure.
” He clears his throat, adjusting against me and the uncomfortable truth, but he doesn’t speak, so I kiss the back of his head. “Goodnight, baby.”
“Night,” he whispers.