31. Roman
ROMAN
I ’ve wanted to put my mouth on Juliette’s again since the moment I climbed onto her balcony, and my heart is tripping over itself with the possibility of it happening right now.
But right before our lips touch, she stops me.
“Roman,” she whispers.
My stomach sinks, but I grin anyway. “Say my name again, Little Rose.”
Her eyes spark, and my hand that’s threaded through the back of her hair grips tighter, positioning her head so her lips are angled up and her throat is exposed.
It would be so easy to dip down and taste her. Mark her.
The door behind us jolts, and it pushes her into me, throwing us both off-kilter and making our noses touch instead of our mouths.
“Ow, what the fuck?” someone mutters from the other side.
Alarm rips through me, and I grip Juliette’s hip, pulling her away from the door. Her eyes widen, panic spreading over her features, and I can feel that she’s about to run away from me. But I can’t have that, not right now, not when I was so close to having her where I want her.
“It’s locked, you absolute idiot.” Another voice filters through the wall, muffled but close.
I move my hand from Juliette’s hip, slipping it around her fingers instead. If we weren’t rushed for time, I’d probably focus more on the way her palm fits in mine perfectly.
Instead, I pull her down the hallway and out the back exit until we’re in the alley behind the bar. There’s not much out here, just two blue dumpsters, a small shed, and a few chairs scattered in the left-hand corner like this is where the employees come out to smoke.
Juliette’s gaze is scanning everything like she can’t decide where to look: the line of cars, the wooden fencing along the left side of the building, the concrete wall to the right, or the puddles on the ground from yesterday’s rain.
I grip her hand tighter, because I don’t want her to run away. I know that we shouldn’t be seen together. Not because I particularly care at this moment, although I probably should, but because she would care.
And that’s a knife in my gut, knowing that no matter what I do, what I say, how worthy I become, I’ll never be good enough for her.
Just like I wasn’t good enough for my father.
The air is thick with humidity, and I feel it in my lungs. I pull her alongside me as we walk to the corner of the building and around the side of it until we’re completely out of sight if someone comes out the back door. I glance around, making sure nobody else is loitering, but we’re all alone.
Just us and an oddly high number of empty cars parked back here.
“That…was so dumb,” she whispers, ripping her hand away from mine and smacking me in the chest.
She glares like she’s mad at me for what just happened.
My eyes widen. “How was that my fault? I’m not the one running off at a random bar and pulling on locked doors.” I step closer to her. “You should be thanking me.”
She scoffs. “I didn’t ask you to follow me.”
I throw my hands out to the sides. “Yet, here we are.”
She chews on her lip. “Clearly, being close to you in public isn’t a good thing.”
“You didn’t seem to mind all that much a few seconds ago,” I point out, grinning lewdly. Another step closer. “I know we have to lie to everyone else, but you don’t need to lie to me , Juliette. I enjoy knowing you fantasize about me.”
“Oh my God , you never give up, do you?” Her cheeks flush, and she groans, palming her face. And then she breaks out into laughter.
I smile, happy that I can make her do that. It feels personal, like its sound is meant just for me.
“I’m sorry,” she says, straightening. “I’m mad that things are so complicated with us, and it’s confusing, and I just… I don’t want it to be.”
My heart twists. “I get it.”
Juliette glances around the back area, her brows furrowing. “Wonder why there are so many cars parked back here. Is this place really that busy?”
Shrugging, I follow her line of sight. She’s not wrong. “Maybe they’re here for something else.”
She cocks a brow. “What else is on this street besides a few houses and shops that close at five?”
“You have a point.” I purse my lips. After being in that back hallway with her and seeing people come up from a locked basement door, I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t something else going on. Something that nobody is telling me.
It’s not just a bar.
That’s what Merrick said.
She runs a hand through her luscious, black hair, the curled ends falling over her shoulder and brushing against the top of her breasts. I fight like hell to keep my eyes gentlemanly.
“So, you want to tell me why you were snooping, Sherlock?” I ask.
“I wasn’t snooping.”
“Right.”
She pouts. “If you’re planning to argue with me the whole time we’re back here, then you should just leave.”
“We can kiss instead, if you want.”
Her face blooms and she hits me that be serious look that she loves to give. “You’re lucky I’ve even held your hand.”
“You’re right,” I agree, holding my fingers up in front of my face and moving them side to side. “My hand isn’t worthy enough to touch yours, if we’re being honest. But it did, so now we have a problem.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“I’ve realized that holding your hand isn’t nearly enough.”
Her cheeks flush again, and she glances at the ground, then peers up at me from beneath her lashes. “Some people would argue holding hands is more intimate than kissing. Hands are what saints use to show devotion.”
She holds hers in front of her, palms toward the sky.
I quirk a brow. “Don’t saints have lips, too?”
She nods, placing her hands together. “Ones they use to pray.”
I move closer until the tips of my shoes touch hers, and my skin prickles from the proximity. “I’m praying to kiss you.”
Her chest lifts with a heavy breath, and her mouth parts in invitation.
Heat floods through me, electricity snapping between us like little stabs of lightning.
“I’m no saint,” she murmurs, her eyes dropping to my lips, then slowly rising again. “But if I were, saints don’t move, even when they grant the prayers.”
My stomach flips, nerves sizzling beneath my skin. I reach up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, just like before. “Then don’t move while I act out my prayer.”
I brush my mouth against hers: a gentle caress, barely enough to curb the insatiable ache to taste her.
She leans back, her shaky exhale painting itself across my lips.
“That tasted like a sin, not a prayer,” she says, her tone breathy and inviting.
My stomach cinches tight, anticipation zinging through my nerves and heat coiling through my body, making me tense with need .
“Then give me my sin again,” I rasp.
This time, she doesn’t hesitate.
Her hands slide around my neck and tug me closer until every inch of her is pressed against me.
I groan, mouth parting as she pulls my bottom lip between hers, teasing me with the softest bite.
She’s right—this does taste like sin—and when she moans, I nearly lose it.
My arm slips around her waist, my other hand angling her jaw as I kiss her deeper. Grip her tighter. Our tongues brush, and my cock jerks.
I skim my palm down her side, hitching one of her legs around my waist, anchoring her to me as I lean back against the exterior wall of the building, and enjoy the way her weight falls into me so perfectly.
She fits like she was made for me. Like this is always where she’s belonged.
And all I can think about is how it would feel to bury myself inside of her.
To wake up next to her; her leg tangled over mine, and her arm flung across my chest like she’s claiming me in her sleep.
To hear the quiet sigh she makes when the sun hits her face, or the way she hums without realizing it while she writes her stories.
To be allowed to know those tiny, ordinary moments like scripture.
To have all of her. Not just in the dark, but in the light—in front of everyone—soft and real and mine.
The sound of a door flying open rips us apart. She flies away from me, her back slamming against the concrete like she’s terrified to be seen. Her eyes widen, chest heaving, her lips swollen and her hair a mess.
She’s so gorgeous like this, it makes my chest ache.
Juliette’s fingers reach up and brush against her puffy mouth, like she can’t believe what just happened. Or maybe she’s remembering how good it felt.
A guy’s muffled voice floats around the corner. “Come on, babe, just give me five minutes.”
Then, a heady giggle that half turns into a moan. “I can’t. I have to close tonight.”
I stiffen, recognizing what it is that we’re hearing. I turn to signal to Juliette that we should sneak away while we can, just loop around the other side of the building and back to the front, but she doesn’t move.
Her head is tilted, her expression shifting like she recognizes the voices. Then she’s moving past me, brushing so close her ass drags against my groin, and I swear under my breath because the universe clearly gets off on making me suffer when it comes to her.
There are loud smacks of two people making out, and then a grunt and a moan, and whoever is out there is clearly about to fuck, and honestly, it’s not helping my situation.
Juliette leans forward even more, peering around a corner, and my eyes drop to her ass.
Jesus Christ.
“Art, cut it out.” The girl’s voice giggles. “I have to go back in.”
Juliette straightens, and I jump back like I wasn’t two seconds away from grabbing her and pushing into her like a caveman.
She spins toward me, grasping my forearm and dragging me away quickly until we’re walking around the opposite side of the building.
I don’t question her, because quite frankly, I’m pretty sure that I would follow her anywhere right now.
When we get far enough away, she stops. We aren’t back at the front, and we’re still hidden from view, but now we’re close enough where I can hear the people out front and the cars driving down the street.
Juliette’s hands press into her eyes, her face scrunched up. “Oh, God . I want to bleach my brain.”
A car door slams, and she stiffens again like she’s realizing how close we are to the public eye, no longer secluded. She takes a giant step back.
I narrow my gaze at her. “Don’t say it.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t say anything.”
Sighing, I slip my hands into my pockets and look at the stars before focusing back on her. “It’s fine. You can’t. I get it. Honestly, I can’t do it, either.”
“Because of your sister?” she asks.
The reminder is like an uppercut to my jaw. If she’d just sign the goddamn papers, I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore, and she’d be taken care of.
My mom, though…
“Among other things. Just…go before I do something stupid.” I wave my arm toward the front of the bar.
“Okay.” She pauses, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I don’t want to go, though—you know that, don’t you?”
Groaning, I grip the roots of my hair. “Don’t say that to me right now.”
I glance around, making sure nobody can see, and then I drift forward, lowering my voice. “I’m drunk. And you’re… so fucking beautiful. And for some reason, every time I’m near you, it feels like I might die if I don’t touch you.”
She sucks in a breath, her cheeks flaming that deep pink I love.
“And I’m trying—really trying—to respect this invisible line we drew, but clearly, I suck at it.”
“Why?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know.
“Because every time you smile,” I say, “every time you give me that little look like you can’t decide if you want to throttle me or kiss me, I want to keep you forever.”
Her mouth parts. “ Trouble …”
I reach out, pressing my thumb to her lip. “Stop explaining yourself, and just…walk inside.”
She hesitates, her eyes shining. “I wish we could be more, Roman.”
“We are more, Juliette.”