26. Down Bad
Down Bad
Cam
Sunlight inched up my leg and licked across Romi's bare hip, turning our skin into a gold-and-brown gradient so pretty it hurt.
For a solid minute, I watched the rise and fall of her ribs, the micro-twitch of one foot peeking from the end of the covers, the way she'd gathered the top sheet in a pale-knuckle grip even though we'd done everything there was to do last night except get the cops called on us.
Her hair was wild, stretched halfway across the pillow like it'd been painted there in one frantic stroke.
There was lipstick on the sheets, and bite marks in places my imagination was still processing, and—okay, I might have been grinning like a maniac, but nobody else was here but us to call me on it.
I lay there, motionless. The rest of me was too tangled up in her.
My thigh draped over her leg, her back pressed to my chest, our knees knotted in a pretzel.
Her perfume still lived on my wrist from where she'd pinned my hand down, but now it mixed with sweat, and the faint leftover scent of us.
I wondered if she'd panic the second she woke up.
Or if she'd bolt for the door, heels in hand, the same way she always described "basic bitches" who couldn't handle a little morning light.
I didn't want her to run. Not this time. I knew it was psycho to think that, but there it was.
Her eyelids fluttered, then clamped shut again, bargaining with her own brain for ten more minutes. Her mouth, though—she made this tiny pucker with it, barely a movement, but the same mouth I'd kissed all night. My heart slid up into my throat, reckless.
I leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, just above the faintest scatter of marks where fabric dug in. She went rigid, then immediately soft, exhaled so slow it could've been a sigh. She turned her face halfway into the pillow. "How long have you been awake?"
"A minute," I snorted. "I was going to evict you for blanket theft, but I couldn't move my arm."
Romi made a noise that was almost a laugh. "If I was a blanket thief, you wouldn't have any left. Am I supposed to be impressed you're still in bed?"
"You're supposed to be whatever you want," I said, and I meant it. "I don't judge."
A minute of nothing. I could feel her piecing together the night before, taking stock of everything—who started what, who said what, who might have cried (not me, and definitely not her, except once when I kissed her collarbone and she called me her favorite menace).
She tensed again, just a shiver, then let her head roll back onto my bicep.
The room was a mess. Her heels were at opposite ends of the floor. My boxers hung from the desk lamp like a ghost. The nightstand was a crime scene of discarded clothing. I couldn't remember what the bed had looked like before we wrecked it.
Romi looked at me, or as much as she could from her angle. "So. What's the protocol here?"
I let my hand drift along her side, light, just enough to tell her I was paying attention. "You mean, what do we do now?"
She arched a brow, mock-businesslike. "You gonna tell the blogs? Sell the post-coital interview rights to MikkiLeaks?"
"I'm not the one with the pipeline to MikkiLeaks," I said, and she snorted.
Her hair had this tiny cowlick at the edge of her forehead, a thing I'd never noticed in all the years of watching her on stage, but up close it made her look soft. Young and sweet with those long eyelashes. I wondered if she'd punch me for saying it.
Romi said, "I meant professionally, Cam. You know we can't—" She gestured to the bed, to my arm, to the whole situation. "This."
I bit my lip, not ready to let the moment slip. "You want to go back to enemies? We can do enemies and keep this on the low. Or," I joked, "we can do whatever the fuck we want and let everyone else choke on it."
She twisted in my grip, rolled so we were face to face, both of us barely covered by the sheet. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and for the first time all morning, she looked scared.
"I don't do this," she whispered. "I don't even—"
I touched her jaw. "Hey, hey. I know. I don't either. Or at least, I didn't think I did."
She stared at me, a full ten seconds of pure Romi Dulce power play, but the effect was ruined by the pillow crease on her cheek and the smudge of mascara under one eye. "Can you imagine what my family group chat would turn into if they knew?"
"They'll find out eventually," I said. "It's only a matter of time before Skye spills it 'by accident.'"
"With all the air quotes." Romi rolled her eyes. "She lives for the chaos."
I propped myself up, careful not to unhook her leg from mine. "I'm being serious. We don't have to decide now. But I'm not letting you run out on me. Not after last night."
She looked down, let her knuckles drift across my collarbone. "That supposed to scare me?"
"No," I said, softer. "Just means I'm not done with you yet."
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the flush on her chest, the slow spread of plum up her neck. I grinned, couldn't help it. "You're blushing," I pointed out. "It's hella cute."
"Stop it," she whined, and buried her face in my shoulder.
I held her, let the silence linger.
Then, muffled: "I'm serious, Cam. I don't know what to do with this."
"With what?"
She peeked at me, lips curled. "I'm used to my enemies quietly leaving me the fuck alone. Not kissing my shoulder in the mornings."
I laughed, loud enough to make her groan. "That's what's got you stressed? The shoulder kisses?"
She smacked my chest, not hard. "Don't get smug. It's not attractive."
"I don't know, Romi. I think it's pretty cute. Not as cute as you, though."
She made a face, then came in slow to kiss me. A sweet, soft press, enough to say she wanted it too. When she pulled back, she said, "If you ever tell anyone I let you cuddle me, I'll have you blackballed in three industries."
I kissed her again, sweet and easy, until the sunlight cut a new stripe across her hip. Followed it with my fingers. "Too late. I'm telling everyone. Romi Dulce cuddles. Film at eleven."
She completely lost it, and for once I felt like I'd done something right.
We lay there, the city waking up in layers outside, and I let myself think that this didn't have to be a disaster. That maybe, against all logic, the two of us could make something work.
Even if it was only for a little while.
I shoved the little while out of my head and kissed her shoulder until she hummed.
Romi's braids were everywhere when she was half-asleep—across my mouth, my nose, down my neck like a crime scene nobody wanted to clean up.
I could have lived in that moment for a week: the two of us naked, warm, the bed smelling of sweat and sex and the last remnants of last night's perfume.
But instead, she did a slow-motion roll and fully faced me, forearm under her cheek, eyes slit like she was trying to see if this was a joke or a setup.
The sheet slid off her shoulder, and I watched goosebumps bloom all along her arm. I reached up and tucked a piece of her hair she sweated out behind her ear. She let me, didn't swat me away.
"I know you're not sure of what to do with this, and I respect it." I kept my voice quiet. "But I need you to hear me. Last night wasn't just sex. At least, not for me."
She looked at my mouth instead of my eyes, and her pulse jumped under my hand. "You know how many times I've heard that line?" she said, but her voice was more tremor than tease.
"Probably a lot," I admitted. "But I meant what I said. I want you."
She sighed, then bit the inside of her cheek. "Why do you like making me blush?"
"I don't know," I said, "but it's a good look on you."
Her mouth twitched. Then she kicked me under the covers, toes to my shin, but even that felt gentle. "You're insufferable," she said, smiling harder.
"Mmm. You keep saying that, but you haven't left this bed."
Her face got serious for a second, and I thought she was about to get up, ghost out, do the old Romi vanish.
But she leaned in and kissed me, soft then harder, fighting herself for control.
I gave her none. My hands found her full, perfect breasts, traced the line down her hip, and she shivered again.
Her thigh slid over mine, tighter this time, and when I moved my hand lower, she didn't stop me.
She arched into me, pressed her mouth to mine, and every other thought in my head fried out like a shorted circuit.
The kiss got hot real fast. Messy. She broke it to drag her mouth along my jaw, then down to the crook of my neck. "You smell like me and date soap," she whispered, kissing the spot where my neck met my collarbone. "It's not fair."
"You like it," I said, then yelped when her teeth grazed skin.
She growled, and the sound sent a shock through every part of me that was awake.
Blood rushed from my brain. I let her pin me back into the sheets, but as her hand slid down my chest and landed on my hip, I reached for her too—one hand cupping her breast, my thumb teasing her nipple, while the other slid between her thighs.
I nipped her ear and rolled my hips. Barely a movement. Needed to feel her.
Romi's breath broke against my mouth. Her fingers tightened against my thigh, quick and involuntary.
"Cam."
"What."
"I know what you're doing."
"I'm kissing you."
"You're—"
I did it again, a slow drag, and her sentence dissolved into something that wasn't a word at all, her hips tilting to meet me as I sank inside her. I swallowed the sound she made.
She found me wet, her fingers circling me and slipping inside, but I caught the way she gasped when my hand stroked her slickness, fingers pressing slow and deep. We moved together, hips rocking, palms rubbing, pleasure building in both of us—each gasp feeding the next.
"You're so easy," Romi said.
"Only for you."
She sighed, then paused—her fingers slowing inside me, face hidden against my neck. "Can I—can I tell you something?" she whispered, voice a little shaky.