SEVEN
When she yanked him close, he didn’t even hesitate. Every argument he’d built against this woman in the last three days were gone the second she touched him.
He crushed his mouth over hers, tongue seeking, plundering as her soft body arched against him. Christ, the taste of her was more intoxicating than any alcohol, and her sweetness left him with a deep ache that had more to do with his chest than his cock.
She raked her fingers over the back of his skull and dug into his shoulders, anchoring him where she wanted him. The sweep of her tongue over his sent shockwaves of lust through his whole system.
He should stop now. No matter what his cock was demanding, this was a terrible idea.
But if he stopped, he’d storm across the hall and barge into her room to claim her anyway.
Tearing his mouth away, he stared down at her, chest heaving. Her eyes were hazy with desire, and he damn near stripped her right there and took her against his door.
He searched her eyes for any sign of protest or caution, but they only sparked like green fire and gold stars of passion.
With a groan, he pushed off the door.
Taking her with him.
Capturing her mouth again, he walked her toward his bed, hands locked on her waist. She matched every step like she’d been waiting for him to stop being an asshole long enough to get here.
The backs of her knees hit the mattress. She pulled back from the kiss, panting, eyes burning up at him. A dark curl had fallen across her cheek.
He reached up and slid it aside.
Surprise flickered across her beautiful face, gone in a split second as she locked it back down. He filed away this new knowledge of her but didn’t comment.
“You’re still looking at me like I’m a problem.” Her voice came out as a puff of air.
“You are a problem.”
“Rome—”
He kissed her again. Slower this time.
When he kissed her against the door, that had been about finally releasing something he’d been white-knuckling since the moment he walked into her life. This one was different. Deliberate.
She made a soft sound against his mouth that he felt at the base of his spine.
Holding her gaze, he lowered her to the mattress and braced his weight over her. Both of them stilled, her eyes tracking over his face the way they always did, reading him, looking for parts he’d spent years making sure nobody could reach.
“Rome…”
A spot in the center of his chest cracked open.
He pressed his mouth to the corner of hers. Teased kisses down the delicate line of her jaw. Swiped his tongue over the pulse hammering in the side of her throat.
Her breath hitched and she arched her neck, curling her fingers into his shoulders.
He worked her shirt up and she helped him pull it over her head. Running his hand up her side, he took his time learning the shape of her.
When he found the small, raised bump on her left ribs, he stopped.
Her breath stuttered out of her. “Old scar. Got it climbing a fence.”
He ducked his head and pressed his mouth over it.
The sound she made wasn’t a gasp.
It was small enough to burrow deep into his veins.
He dealt with the rest of their clothes—stripping her methodically and staring at every inch he uncovered before moving on to the next. And he couldn’t lie and claim that his hands were entirely steady.
When she was bare beneath him, she didn’t attempt to cover herself. She just looked at him, all that toughness right on the surface, but the tenderness deeper in her eyes chiseled away at the crack in his chest that got wider by the second.
He’d been cold with her. Short with her.
Told himself it was the job, but knew it was fear.
Not of her. Of this.
Of what long-buried things she could pull out of him.
He pressed his lips to her collarbone and worked lower, sweeping his mouth over her breasts. When he swirled his tongue around her nipple, she clutched his hair and her hips rolled, seeking friction he wasn’t giving her yet.
He sucked on her hard nipple and trapped the other between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it in sync with his sucking pulls.
“Rome!” she gasped.
Inching lower still, he learned her with his mouth and hands. He reached her inner thigh and dragged his beard stubble against the sensitive skin, making her issue a low cry.
He locked eyes with her. Saw her breaking apart before he ever gave her what she needed.
He parted her thighs, and dipping his head, he pressed his tongue to her slick folds.
“Rome!”
He burrowed deeper, gathering her flavor and rumbling a groan that she echoed with one of her own. As he swept his tongue up and down the seam of her pussy, he learned what made her knees shake, what made her arch.
What made her buck.
He sucked on her nubbin, taking her higher and higher. Working two fingers into her soaking heat, he felt her go rigid beneath him.
“Rome.” His name came out splintered.
He found the rhythm she needed and didn’t let up, sucking and finger-fucking her. She rocked against his hand, gripping the sheets, her breath coming in short bursts.
He threw himself into pleasuring her with his mouth and tongue—and a graze or two of his teeth that made her tremble—until she stopped fighting the climb and gave up all at once.
With a muffled cry, a full-body shudder shook her as he coaxed her over the edge.
“Oh god! Rome!” She jerked into his mouth and hand, taking, taking, until the final cry tore out of her and she collapsed.
He pressed a tender kiss to her inner thigh, fighting to control the need to sink into her clenching walls as he waited for her to come back to him.
* * * * *
Stina stared at the ceiling and tried to find the parts of her that just split apart.
Rome moved back up the length of her body, unhurried, his mouth grazing her hip, her ribs, the scar he’d kissed like it was a war wound that deserved acknowledgement instead of a silly slip when she was jumping a fence to join her friends on private property.
And for that…she knew she was in serious trouble.
He settled over her, letting her adjust to the weight and heat of him. Just when she thought her pulse had finished racing, he pressed his hard cock against her thigh, and her body was wound tight again, aching for the thing it wanted from the first time she locked eyes with him.
She hooked her leg around his hip, shifting his cock to her center. And he made a grating sound against her throat that moved through her like a current.
He skimmed his hand up her side and met her stare. “You sure?” His voice was hard in a way she’d never heard from him, even when he was giving orders like a drill sergeant.
She answered him by dragging his mouth back to hers.
The kiss wasn’t soft—it was claiming and all-consuming, spiraling on for long minutes. When she rocked her hips against his, it brought the head of his cock to her entrance, and they both froze.
He jerked as if she’d scalded him, and he threw out an arm to rip open the drawer of his nightstand.
He pushed onto his knees and attacked the condom wrapper like it was a sworn enemy. Then she fully saw Rome.
All of him.
All impressive eight—nine—ten?—inches of him.
Her pussy clenched with desire to feel him filling her.
After he had the condom rolled over his length, she wrapped her arms around him and dragged him back to her.
With a groan, he captured her mouth and her body in one solid glide.
Her walls stretched around him, making her exhale in a broken rush. He stilled, forehead dropping to her temple, gripping her hip hard enough to leave a mark she was already deciding she didn’t mind.
She brought her fingers to his cheek, and that was all the answer he needed.
He moved.
Long, deep strokes that she felt everywhere—up her spine, at the backs of her knees and in her chest in a spot she was going to have to deal with later.
She dug her fingers into his muscles and held on for every mind-blowing thrust.
He buried his face in the side of her neck, breath rasping hard in her ear.
This man…her protector and now her lover…was ripping her apart. Not because of what he was doing, but because of what holding back was costing him.
She turned her lips into his. “Rome.”
He drove deeper and she gasped against his cheek.
After that, her mind blanked. There was only the push and pull, the low rumbles he made against her skin and her answering whimpers. And the tension that wound tighter and tighter until she let it take her a second time.
She wrapped her arms and legs around his hard body, clutching him like an anchor. His name lodged in her throat, but she couldn’t do more than open her mouth wide as her second orgasm tore through her in a sharp wave.
He stiffened, hips jerking hard and his cock buried deep. Then he issued a guttural sound, his whole body releasing even as he gathered her closer.
They rode the tide of pleasure together, locked in each other’s arms. For long minutes, neither of them moved.
She waited for him to roll away and create the distance he’d been engineering since the beginning.
He didn’t.
She breathed in the scent of him and tried to make sense of what was happening. The man who was always ready to keep her out…had just let her in.
He traced a slow line along her hip, making her wonder if crazy things were going through his head too.
The concrete walls of the base muffled sounds, but she picked up boots on the floor and the small noises that reminded her that a world existed beyond this door.
And they were both going to have to put the shattered pieces of themselves back together, and hope that no one noticed when they walked out there again.
She turned her head and found him watching her, his jaw tight as if he waited for her reaction—verdict, fallout or whatever else was coming next.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence should have felt awkward.
Instead, it felt fragile. One wrong word might crack whatever bubble surrounded them and send them falling to the floor.
Stina caught his smirk.
“You look pretty pleased with yourself.”
A smile tugged harder at the corner of his lips. “You look pretty pleased with me too.”
She snorted. “Cocky.”
He only gave her a self-satisfied grin that echoed on her own face. His stare never left her, and the intensity of it made her pulse trip faster.
The man was impossible.
Unfortunately, impossible looked really good naked.
Suddenly, he gripped her hip and rolled her to her side. When he looked at her backside, she wiggled. “What are you doing?”
“Your tattoo. It’s flowers.”
“My birth flower. They’re cosmos.” The daisy-like flowers seemed to sway on slender stems.
“Month?”
“October.”
He gave her another satisfied look, and she turned her gaze back to the ceiling before he could see her expression. The last thing she wanted him to see was that she liked that he knew her birth month.
Then his arm came around her, cradling her against his body.
She told herself she’d move in a minute.
She didn’t.