Chapter 31
Eloise
In the two weeks since Roman and I reunited, I’ve rarely stayed at my own apartment.
So much so that he bought me my own toothbrush and toiletries, making sure I have my shampoo and conditioner.
In return, I convinced him to start wearing moisturizer and stop using a three-in-one body and hair wash.
Soon, I’ll have those luscious locks of his shining and healthy. I comb my fingers through the nearly black strands as he rests his head on my chest, one arm slung around my waist, the other tucked up under me. My personal weighted blanket.
We spent the night with the entire extended Stone family at Griffin and Andi’s house, where I ate way too many servings of Nicole’s sweet potatoes fried in butter and cinnamon, and laughed so hard at Clara’s impression of Batman during charades that my cheeks still ache.
There was more fun and love in this one night than I think I’ve experienced in my own family in all the years combined.
My mother had called and left a voice mail about attending Thanksgiving dinner at her house, but didn’t say anything else, didn’t reference anything I told her when we previously spoke about how she treats me. So I ignored it.
And while it makes me uncomfortable to disappoint people, my chosen family more than makes up for it.
I trace my fingers along Roman’s arm, over the dark ink of his forearms and up to his biceps then back to where he has his mother’s tattoo next to mine.
I smile to myself at the outrageously adorable animal then splay my palm over the balloon, thinking about Violet Stone and how she must be so proud of Roman. Of all her kids. Her entire family.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” I say, breaking the silence, and he shifts his weight so he can look at me while still lying on top of me.
“It was fun. I’m glad you came, that you’re with me.”
“I guess it’s a good thing that your family already likes me. I don’t have to impress anyone.”
He levers up over me, his muscled arms holding himself up, and I wrap my hands around his thick shoulders, his hair falling like a curtain around us, as if giving us even more privacy. “Did you think you had to? Do we need to play our game again?”
“No, I don’t need to name anything I’m good at.” He arches his eyebrow dubiously, and I laugh. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking about things.”
“Things like what?”
“Your mom, and what she would think of me.”
“I think she’d love you.”
“You think she’d be upset by how fast we’re moving?”
Since my own mother disapproves of my choices, I would hope at least his mom would be okay with them. That she’d approve of Roman and me being together. That she’d want us to be happy.
“You think we’re moving fast?” he asks, and when I shrug, he lowers himself back down to lie on me, his face against my throat, legs settled in the pocket of my thighs.
“I’ve never done what is normal for society, so I’ve never considered it.
But if we are moving too fast, we can slow down. We can go at whatever pace you want.”
I focus on the ceiling of his bedroom. All the walls are white, and there is no personality anywhere to be seen. “You should paint in here.”
“Okay,” he agrees, lips ghosting over my earlobe.
“The only room you painted so far is Mazie’s room, right? You need to do all of them. They’re so sad. Like a hospital with all the white.”
“You volunteering to pick out colors?”
“Yes.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, his beard scraping in the hollow behind it. “Not too fast, then?”
“My brain goes two thousand miles an hour. You could never keep up with me.”
He leans up on his elbow, accepting the challenge with a cluck of his tongue. “No?”
“Pfft. I’ve thought about every possible scenario already.”
“Like what?”
“A wedding.”
He nods, eyes never leaving mine. “Laid-back, with no first dances or assigned seats. Outside, with comfort food and disposable cameras for everyone to take pictures.”
I grin. “You remembered all of that.”
“I told you. I remember everything you say. Like how I would be invited, but I’d have to bring a date.”
“I did say that,” I murmur, as he strokes his index finger across my cheekbone and down to my lips.
“Too bad for you, you’re my forever date.”
“You want to get married?”
“Definitely,” he replies without hesitation, toying with my bottom lip, rubbing the pad of his finger back and forth across it.
“What about more kids?”
“I’m forty. Seems a little old for a baby.”
I shrug. “I’m thirty, and that biological clock is almost out of battery.”
He pinches my chin, holding my gaze. “So you want some?”
“I’d like to. If you want more.”
He ducks down, speaking his words into my mouth. “Only with you.”
Then he wraps his hand around my throat, angling my head to kiss me, unhurried and almost lazy. For a conversation about how fast we’re moving, we’re at a glacial pace now.
My limbs are heavy, my body weighed down by the holiday dinner.
I didn’t plan on having sex tonight, but I don’t try to stop Roman when he tugs my sleep T-shirt off, revealing my breasts to his hungry attention.
He uses his hands and mouth to love them, squeeze and kiss and suck until my hips are bucking off the bed, and then he shucks my pants, leaving me naked and on display.
He kneels between my legs, licking his lips as he admires me, and I’ve never felt so beautiful as I do under his dark gaze.
He reverently strokes his hand over the roundness of my stomach and down to my thigh, running the backs of his fingers along the sensitive inner flesh, inching closer and closer to where I want him with every pass but never meeting.
I squirm, reaching out for him, but he shakes his head. “Hands down. Let me enjoy.”
It’s difficult to stay still, but I try my best as his mouth follows the same path his hand did, his hot breath wafting over me, his tongue wet, lips soft.
His beard tickles, and he intentionally rubs it over certain spots since we both like seeing the red reminders there later, before finally backing up to kneel on the floor, tugging me to the edge of the bed so he can give the aching flesh between my legs the same treatment.
Soft licks of his tongue, too-tender kisses that send shivers down my spine.
Blood pools low in my belly, his quiet hums echoing in my bones.
I’m hot and on edge by the time he leans over me, his lips shiny and swollen.
“On your side,” he directs roughly before digging into the nightstand drawer for lube and a small silicone plug that makes my insides flutter with anticipation.
He strips then settles on the bed in front of me, drawing me close with my leg over his hip, leaving just enough room for me to slip my hand between us to fist his erection.
He grunts quietly when I squeeze it, whispering, “Daddy.”
“Careful, sunshine. I want to go slow with you tonight.”
And my already overinflated heart grows another three sizes, practically bursting out of my chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he says, then carefully squeezes out the jelly, working it between my legs and up to the back, prodding and circling until I’m begging him for more. That’s when he slips the plug in and drives his length inside me.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling, the bite of pain and the rush of pleasure. He fills up every part of me, careful with each inch.
The man who looks like he could kill, brought low by a bit of sugar and a whole lot of pink.