CHAPTER FIVE
ROME
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Her words were on repeat in my mind.
“If you keep saying sweet shit like that, you’re going to make me fall in love with you.”
My cock throbbed beneath the sheet while my pulse pounded against my ribs. This was a dangerous fucking woman. Did she understand what hearing those words did to me? How they made me feel?
What they made me want?
They made me want things I had no business wanting from a woman whose real name I didn’t even know. I didn’t just want her pussy. I didn’t only crave sliding my cock into her mouth until she gagged on it.
I wanted more.
I wanted everything.
Her heart. Her mind. Her words. Her time. Her thoughts. Her prayers. Her very fucking soul. Every part of this woman needed to belong to me. I wanted her obsession. I needed her just as gone for me as I was for her.
When she’d told me she was stalking me, that should have set off warning bells, red flags. All I’d heard was wedding bells. This woman could stalk me all she wanted. Because as soon as I located her, I would do the same.
I wanted her attention. Her loyalty. I wanted to become the first person she thought about in the morning and the last person she spoke to at night. I wanted every filthy little outfit she wore during these calls to be for me and only me.
No one else could see her in them. I wanted to hear her laugh in person. Wanted to know what she sounded like without the voice modulator distorting her words. Wanted to see her without the mask.
I wanted to know the woman behind the screen. Wanted to know what she looked like, seated across from me in the morning, sipping coffee. Wanted to know what she looked like when she came apart beneath me. I wanted to hear her moan my name while I fucked her into oblivion.
Damn it. Where was this woman?
I forced myself to take a deep breath, but it didn’t help. I was past the point of self-control. The idea of her out there, somewhere, living a life that didn’t include me, made me feel angry enough to murder someone.
If she’d been in the room with me right now, I probably would’ve handcuffed her to the bed just to keep her from leaving. I wanted her locked in with me, all mine. I wanted to ruin her for anyone else.
This wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t normal. Even as I told myself that, I still pictured myself finding ways to make sure no other man ever laid eyes on my Juliet. I’d told myself this would pass.
That as soon as I figured out who she was, as soon as the mystery was gone, I’d lose interest and move on to the next thing that piqued my curiosity. But that was a fucking lie. The more I learned about her, the deeper I sank.
I swallowed hard, trying to regain some control over my thoughts. This was getting dangerous. Because the more attached I became to Juliet, the more I found myself wanting things I couldn’t ask her for yet.
Not until I found her. Not until I knew who the hell she really was. Not until I knew she wasn’t some elaborate setup sent to destroy me. Despite not having all the facts... I still couldn’t stop wanting her. Couldn’t stop craving more of her.
And the truly fucked-up part was, if she offered me her heart right now, I’d probably hand her mine in return without thinking twice about it. Normally, I didn’t do romance, didn’t do love, didn’t do forever.
I’d seen men fall hard, seen how obsessed they could become. Seen what those men did when the women they loved didn’t love them back. My dad was the first man I witnessed that with. I knew how destructive a relationship like that could be.
I’d grown up in a house that doubled as a war zone, watched my father destroy my mother piece by piece until there was nothing left to wreck. And even after she freed herself from his clutches, leaving us behind with him, he’d forbidden us from saying her name.
His twisted version of love had nearly destroyed him. I’d sworn I’d never let myself get caught up like that. My parents’ relationship had been the reason I’d never dated. Not once. Not in college, not after.
If I needed sex, I got it. No attachments, no promises of forever, no confusion. I’d convinced myself I was better off that way. The idea of a happy family, of a normal life, and love was something I’d put in the same category as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
It didn’t exist.
Love was a pretty lie people convinced themselves of to excuse their need for simpler things like compassion, sex, and friendship. Saying you’re in love with someone sounded better than saying I want to fuck that person’s throat for a few months and then move on.
Yet now, I saw my brothers falling in love with women who loved them back. I saw joy in my brothers’ eyes. Real joy, something that couldn’t be faked. I watched Cas heal thanks to Meka’s love.
Watched Raz soften up some thanks to Monique’s love. Even watched Leo become someone I barely recognized because of Toya’s love. I never saw Stefano and Enzo DeLuca smile unless the women they loved were with them.
The people around me were proof that love was real. And it didn’t only destroy lives. It could heal, too. It could bring joy. But only if that love was reciprocated. And that was the main part of the equation.
The person you loved had to love you back. Willingly. I was afraid of what falling for Juliet With Curves could do to me. She could either turn me into my father or my brothers. Loving her could either destroy me or heal me.
“Romeo, why have you gone quiet on me?” Juliet whispered. “Where did you wander off to in your mind?”
I wanted to tell her. I wanted to share every part of me with this woman. But I couldn’t. Not yet. For now, I had to keep our relationship superficial. I had to treat her as a potential threat.
I had to guard myself against her, even as my heart screamed to let her in. I stared at her panties again, reading the words stitched across them.
This Pussy Belongs To Romeo.
Yes, it did. And I couldn’t wait until it was in my possession.
“Take them off,” I ordered, wanting a glimpse of what was mine.
She didn’t move at first. Just sat there, kneeling on the bed, shirt bunched at her waist, legs parted. I truly wished I could see her face, read her expression. What was going on in that brilliant mind of hers?
I imagined her eyes fixed on me as she considered whether she wanted to give in or not. For a second, I thought she’d disobey. Thought she’d push back, challenge me, make me work for it.
Then softly, almost sweetly, she whispered, “Yes, sir.”
Desire struck me almost violently. My stomach muscles tightened. Pulse pounded. My cock twitched, wetting the sheet with precum. And then, instead of reaching for her panties, she surprised me.
Fingers clutching the hem of her shirt, she slowly lifted it over her head. The fabric dragged across her hardened nipples as she removed it. Inch by inch, more of her brown skin came into view until her breasts were finally bare before me.
I swear, I’d never seen a sexier woman. My attention locked onto the silver ring piercing her right nipple. Dangling from it was a small silver R. My initial.
This. Fucking. Woman.
For the sake of my sanity, I told myself that R could stand for many things.
Rome. Regret. Ruin.
All things tied to me, tied to her, tied to this moment. I hoped I didn’t come to regret this. I hoped she wouldn’t ruin things by being a threat to me or those close to me. As I watched her like a hawk, she reached for her laptop and lifted it carefully before turning away from the bed.
The camera jostled, giving me a shaky, perfect view of her breasts, the R charm swinging with every step she took. Where was she going? Was she switching rooms? She moved across the room and set the laptop down on a dresser.
Breasts still front and center, she typed something on her keyboard. The camera angle shifted, and suddenly I had a full-screen view of her body, head to toe. She stepped back so I could see all of her.
And fuck...
The sight of her body nearly ruined me. Her form was a work of art. From her full breasts that I yearned to cup, to tease, to lick. To the tempting curve of her hips that I wanted to trail kisses over.
And then there were her thick thighs that I couldn’t wait to have pressed against my face as I feasted on her pussy. Her hourglass frame had me hypnotized. I’d seen a lot of beautiful women in my life, but none of them looked like this.
None of them made me feel like this. She was temptation made flesh. A goddess deserving of a throne. And she was slowly turning me into a poet. Shakespeare had nothing on me. Moving slowly, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties.
I watched her lean forward slightly while dragging them down her body, inch by agonizing inch. The fabric slid over her hips... lower over those thick thighs... until they pooled at her ankles.
She stepped out of them, one foot, then the other, and kicked them off to the side. She straightened slowly, completely naked now. And fuck if she didn’t look like every fantasy I’d ever had come to life right in front of me.
Even if no one had sent her my way, she was still a threat to me. A threat to my self-control. A threat to my sanity. The way her body was shaped blew my mind. Her proportions were burned into my memory.
This woman was perfect. And then she turned around, and I realized there was a level above perfection. I didn’t know the name of it. I just knew she was on that level.
That ass!
Every time I saw it, I forgot how to think. I forgot that I was a well-educated man from a crime family and suddenly became a drooling voyeur. Unable to help myself, I scooted my laptop to the side and turned it so I could keep my eyes on her and she could keep her eyes on me.
I slid my sheet down and gripped my cock as she climbed onto her bed, giving me a beautiful view of her ass.
“Fucking you from behind is going to feel so damn good,” I groaned, gripping my cock tighter.
Her chuckle filled the air as she positioned her pillows how she wanted them, then lay back on the bed, propped up, facing me.