Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
The second I left for my date with Rome, Demi texted me to take advantage of the opportunity to get closer to him.
I don’t think she meant to do that by letting his tongue get intimately acquainted with my molars or his hands with my ass, but knowing Demi, she wouldn’t disapprove.
And right now, the voice in my head that normally speaks with common sense and logic is suspiciously quiet.
But the niggling conflict of having Rome on my suspect list has dissipated, at least. While a part of me is pretty sure he’s been off the list for some time, the logical side has kept him on it, since we had no concrete evidence to the contrary.
But after he opened up about what got him here, his past, and his desperate need not to simply get back to Indy, but to earn his way back, I know in my gut he’s not doing this just to throw a temper tantrum.
The timing of that lack of guilt is great, seeing as right now, I’m pinned to the concrete barrier by Rome’s body with my legs wrapped around his waist as we kiss hot and heavy.
When I first ran down the stairs, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than getting down to the dirt to kiss him, to congratulate him, to celebrate with him.
Jumping the barrier was stupid, but as I somehow knew he would, he caught me.
But now that nervous energy has clearly morphed into something else, a need settling deep in my bones as his lips move down my neck.
It pools in my belly, warm and intoxicating and ready for a match to ignite it, and all I want is his skin on mine.
I move to unzip his suit, hating the thick material between us.
He chuckles, pressing soft kisses down my neck as I slide the material down his arms, letting it hang around his hips.
“Eager?” he asks, as my hips shift, the needy throbbing between my legs unable to ignore.
I let out an irritated groan, unable to get any kind of friction like this.
He must understand, because he shifts us so his leg a bit settles between mine, the same way he did in that closet.
A low moan leaves my chest at the perfect pressure where I need it, and pleasure pulses between my legs when a moan of his own leaves his lips.
“God, you’re phenomenal,” he moans, one hand moving to my hip to push and pull me, encouraging me along. With my thin shorts, I find myself exceedingly grateful for the thick race suit I was just annoyed by, because it offers the exact friction I need.
“That was so hot,” I say, my eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t believe you actually landed it.” It’s a lie, because I knew he could, of course, but seeing it in person is a whole other thing.
“Yeah?” he asks, lips to my neck as I ride his leg. “You liked that?” My hips arch as I try to get more, desperate to feel him everywhere.
“Yeah,” I groan. “I liked it.” His teeth nip my earlobe, and my neck arches to give him access, his hot-panted breaths ghosting along my skin.
“Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever seen.”
“So fucking cocky.” His hips push into me, and even through his suit, I can feel him hard.
“You have no idea, heartbreaker.”
“Show me,” I murmur, more confident than I’ve ever been with a man.
“Show me how cocky you can be, Roman.” His fingers dig into my hip.
My shirt has risen, and the tacky edge of his gloves along the sliver of bare skin adds another layer of sensation as I continue to glide my wet center over his thigh.
“My room,” he murmurs. I hesitate for the briefest moment, and with it, he pulls back.
Instantly, I miss his warmth. “We don’t have to do anything, really.
But you’re currently riding my leg in the middle of an arena, and while I don’t think Jackson would let people in, with everything happening lately, I don’t trust anyone fully. ”
His words pull me from the moment for a breath, reminding me why I’m really here, but it’s fleeting. The concern floats away as I shift my hips again, my swollen clit brushing against my panties.
I can have both.
“But if I want to?” I murmur, voice low, the words so out of character for me feeling right. He groans deeply, face burying into my neck as his fingers dig into my skin.
“It would be an honor, Lana. I would give up a lot of things to know what you feel like coming around me,” he says, and I might have a mini orgasm right then and there. I don’t express that, of course, since it would undoubtedly go to his head.
“Then let’s go to your room.”
I let out a giggle as he steps back, strong arms wrapping under my ass, holding me securely. I have no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his hips. He curses under his breath.
“Fuck, Lana, you’ve gotta keep under wraps, or I’m going to have to throw my plan away and bring you into the locker room.
” I tilt my head contemplatively, and he laughs as he jogs up the steps toward the exit.
“As much as I’m into that, maybe next time.
The first time, I’m going to fuck you proper. ”
“First time, huh? Kind of presumptuous, no?” I say with a tilt of my lips.
“Presumptuous or not, I already know one time with you would never be enough.”
“Oh, you’re good at this.” He pauses, then his face goes serious.
“Let’s get this sorted before we do anything else: this”—he grinds himself into me, and I moan—“is for you, Lana. I want you. No one has ever driven me as wild as you do. No one has ever made me want to be a better man, to do more, to be more, than you have.” My mouth drops open, both at his words and the sincerity written on his face
“Do you understand me?”
“Oh,” I murmur, and then it happens: the satisfied smirk that spreads across his lips as he watches mine.
“Yeah, she understands me,” he says, more to himself than me, despite my lack of acknowledgment. Then he sets me to my feet, pulls off his glove, and twines his fingers with mine before he starts leading me on the five-minute walk from the arena to the hotel.
My pulse pounds as we walk in silence, and he swipes a keycard against the lock, opening the door, only then letting go of my hand. He places it on my lower back, guiding me inside.
“It’s neater than I expected,” I say, looking around the pristine hotel room. His suitcase is open on the floor with perfectly organized packing cubes lined up inside.
“I’ve been traveling my entire life, more or less. You get good at it after a while.”
“Hmm,” I say, hearing him put the chain on the door but not really registering it.
For a moment, I realize I’m in his hotel room.
In any other case, it would be the perfect time to investigate.
But before I can mull that thought over, his hard chest presses against my back, one hand on my belly and the other pulling my shirt up.
I sigh into him, forgetting my momentary distraction, and tip my head to the side, giving his lips freedom to move along my neck.
There’s a mirror before us, and I note that he’s no longer in his suit, instead wearing the tee and shorts he wore under it.
My shirt goes over my head, leaving me in my shorts and a thin bralette, and my breath catches at the sight before me: Rome behind me, his face intense, his arm stretching across my front, corded muscles moving beneath tanned skin as his thumb grazes along the top of my shorts.
“But I don’t really want to talk about packing right now,” he rumbles, sending a shiver through me.
I take in a tiny gasp as he slips his fingers beneath the waistband of my shorts.
“What I really want is to see if you’re as wet as I think you are.
” The tips of his fingers slide down, and I hold my breath.
He pauses before going further, and his heavy breaths coast the back of my neck. “Can I touch your pussy, Lana?”
He says the words with such uncharacteristic politeness, as if it wasn’t clear just how desperate I am to feel his calloused fingers dip lower. I would probably laugh, but it seems all my snarky behavior has left the building.
“Yes,” I sigh instead, and before I can say anything else, I’m rewarded for my honesty when his hand slides down, fingers cupping my pussy. He groans, low and deep, and fills the room with the erotic sound.
“No underwear?”
“I don’t like them,” I whisper. His breath coats over my neck as my hips arch into his touch, his middle finger pressing along my seam.
“Just like I thought. Fucking soaked.” My body goes limp, his arm holding me in place, and the other moving to cup my breast. One finger slides over my center, brushing up and over my clit and pulling a needy sigh from me.
“Roman,” I whine.
“Fuck. You don’t know how long I’ve been dying to hear you say my name like that, needy and desperate.
” I want to argue, to tell him I’m not desperate.
It would be a lie, of course, but I can’t seem to find the words, not when he’s sliding a finger inside of me.
My mind goes completely and totally blank, unable to think about anything at all other than how amazing it feels.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, sliding his free hand up to cup my breast again and hold me tight against him. “Lips, baby.”
Without a thought, I turn my head, and his lips are on mine. Then he kisses me, deep and slow like we have an eternity to stand like this, one finger slowing fucking me.
It builds in me, slower and softer and heavier than in the arena, his back to my chest, his arms holding me in my place, his palm pressing against my clit every time his finger slides out and in.
I shift, spreading my legs further. He groans appreciatively into the kiss, sucking on my tongue as he adds a second finger, and swallowing my low moan.
When my breathing becomes too heavy, his lips move to my neck, nipping and sucking along the expanse of skin there.
His fingers roll my nipple beneath the thin bralette I’m wearing, and I tighten around his fingers.