Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
SHE UNDERSTOOD SO MUCH more about him now than even a week ago.
It was fascinating how such a short amount of time could leave her with the impression that she had burrowed into Roman’s soul, yet, there it was.
And she couldn’t say if it was attributable to the survival skills she’d gained in her short life—having to read people as a matter of course, to understand them, to know how they’d behave or risk being damaged beyond repair.
She’d become an expert in summing people up.
In meeting a person and calibrating her mind to their heart.
Kind. Selfish. Manipulative. Foster caring purely for the boost in funds.
With foster siblings, she’d become even more astute.
She’d had to. They were close in age to her, often bigger, stronger, and she’d felt like failing to understand them could be truly dangerous.
With Roman, though, it was something more.
An instance of his soul speaking to her soul, and communicating things on a level that defied rational understanding.
She knew, for example, that he put the dishes in the dishwasher himself as a small but important act of remembering.
He might live the life of a king, but he was not a king.
He was humble, and he’d always had to work for what he had.
He didn’t take it for granted, and doing small domestic chores reminded him of where he came from.
She sat at the bench, watching, one hand supporting her chin, her eyes unable to leave him. It’s just how it was. Somehow, over the course of the day, she’d given up fighting it and had come to accept that for the next week, she was utterly his.
It didn’t take long to clean up. Tia had done most of it when she was putting their sandwiches on plates. But he didn’t stop at the dishes. A moment later, he was spraying the benches then wiping them down, until the entire kitchen was immaculate.
“I thought you had a housekeeper,” she said, head tilted thoughtfully to the side.
“I do. But even when Evelyn is here, I clean up after myself.”
“Where is she?”
“Right now?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t seen her.”
His eyes lifted to hers, and held. “I sent her to another property of mine.”
“You sent her?”
“She goes where I need her. That’s the job.”
“And where did you need her, all of a sudden.”
His lips twisted. “Anywhere but here.”
“Roman Hayes,” Kate said, voice unsteady. “Were you trying to get me all alone?”
“Is that a crime?”
Happiness throbbed. She tried to contain it. Tried not to let it seep through her entire body, but it was impossible. It was a raging torrent and there weren’t enough defence mechanisms in the world to dam it.
“Roman.”
“Kate.”
“I think we should go to bed.”
He stopped moving, stared directly at her, then through her. “Do you?”
“You don’t agree?”
His eyes roamed her face. “No.”
Her heart burst. “No?”
He was striding then, around the bench, towards Kate, swivelling her on the bench seat and then standing between her legs.
“Fuck the bed, I need you now,” he said urgently, and before she could guess what he was going to do, he was kissing her, rough and hard, with the same desperate need that always flared between them, his mouth the most beautiful assault on hers she could contemplate.
His tongue didn’t just tease hers, it dominated, taking over her mouth and her soul, and then his hands were curled in the bottom of her sweater, lifting it, pushing it hard and fast up her body and over her head, groaning at the sight of her in her cotton bra. “I thought we agreed you’d stay naked.”
“Mmm. That would have been a nice surprise for Tia,” she panted, as his hands unhooked her bra and unfastened it, then curved over her breasts, his breath coming in rapid spurts as it appeared that he was coping with this. Touching her. Holding her. This moment of what was to come.
They were balancing on a precipice, and they both knew it.
He lifted her onto the edge of the bench he’d just cleaned so perfectly, his hands finding the waistband of her pants and pulling them down, rough and certain, each movement conveying his conviction.
She shivered at his raw, latent power, his masculinity, and then she was naked, her body on the bench, his hands running over her, heated and calloused, his mouth following them, kissing her shoulders, her breasts, moving to her flat stomach, his hands guiding her backwards before his mouth connected with her sex and she cried out at his easy invasion, his tongue so confident and right there, flicking and tasting then driving against her most sensitive cluster of nerves.
Her breath rushed through her body, unable to release fast enough, until she was spiralling and crying out and he was pushing up and saying, “You taste like a fucking queen.”
“How many queens have you gone down on?” she asked, but the sass of the question was lost in the heavy, frantic panting breaths.
He smirked, glancing up at her. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Well, there’s the whole contract issue to consider,” she pointed out.
“Precisely.”
He stood and pulled her thighs forward, so her sex connected with his arousal, a hard outline jutting against the fabric of his suit pants.
Even as he held her there, he was fishing into his pocket for a condom, pulling one out and tearing the top off, before unfastening his pants and pushing it in place.
She held herself propped up on her elbows, staring at him, aching for him, excitement a thundering pulse in her ears.
He paused though, running a hand slowly between her breasts, towards her belly button.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m big.”
She arched a brow, pushed higher, until her eyes landed on his—yep, definitely big—cock.
“I’m ready.”
His hands on her hips were insistent, as he moved his tip to her entrance and hovered there, teasing her, so she moaned and pushed forward, the coldness of the stone benchtop the perfect counter-balance to the heat he was generating.
“Fuck me, Roman. Fuck me like you promised you would.”
“When did I promise that?”
“A thousand times.”
“Yeah?”
“With your eyes and your smiles and your goddamn NDA. I’m so ready.”
He swore, the curse reverberating around the room and then he edged himself in a little, his eyes closing with the concentration of not going all the way.
But Kate was impatient and she wriggled further forward, wrapping her legs around him, pulling him nearer and then exulting in the feeling of fullness and completeness as he stretched parts of her she didn’t know existed.
As he hitched himself right into her and held there, his chest moving as though an ocean were inside of him with the force of his breathing.
“Okay?” The question was hissed from between his teeth.
She nodded urgently. “Better than.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” And then he was moving, in and out, his body taking hers, claiming it, changing her in a way she’d never known it was possible for one human to change another, his body somehow reshaping the entirety of her soul and being, and the very edges of the world.
His hands mapped her every curve, as though committing them not only to memory but proclaiming that these parts of her would always be a part of him too.
And when she came, he held her as though there was no feeling in the world he wouldn’t ride out with her, no experience he wouldn’t help her brace for.
She fell apart in his arms, once, and then again, and on the third time, he was right there with her, and she knew there’d never be another feeling quite like it.
“Jesus, Kate, what am I going to do with you?” he asked, lips against the curve of her throat, his voice reverberating into her body.
She was too spent to speak. She simply concentrated on breathing, her fingertips trailing invisible lines over his shoulders, her feet hooked together at the base of his spine, his body a pressure on hers that was a whole new kind of sensual awareness.
“More of that?” she murmured, eventually, when she could trust herself to speak.
She felt his lips curl against her skin. “Hmm, I like the way you think,” he said, and roused himself enough to stand, then to lift her, legs still wrapped around his waist, and carry her through his apartment, towards her bedroom.
Roman hadn’t slept well in a long time, and that night was no different.
For once though, he wasn’t being tormented by the ghosts of his life, his childhood, his parents, Grace.
He was lost on a strange, turbulent sea, with visions of Kate being attacked, the men who’d wanted to rape her, the way they’d spoken about her and to her forming sharp fragments in his mind, slicing him like blades.
He’d known anger in his life, and fear; he’d known determination, too.
And as he lay at Kate’s side, listening to her sweet, rhythmic breathing, he swore that even though their relationship was temporary, his protection of her would be lifelong.
He would never let anyone hurt her. He didn’t even really need to wonder why, or to worry that his concern might mean something.
Because he was a decent human being, and he had the power to make her life better: so why shouldn’t he?
That was all. This was about ability—and there was no way he’d let Kate walk out of his life without setting her up for a better future.
Yes, that meant money, the exact thing she’d said she didn’t want.
But so what? Roman knew first hand what money could do for a person, how it could change their fate.
With enough money? Kate could take over the whole goddamn world, and Roman was ready for that.