Chapter Seventeen
Josie
I looked around Rome’s kitchen again while he dug through a cabinet. “You seriously live here?” I asked.
Rome glanced over his shoulder. “No, I broke in right before you got here. We’ve got about two hours before the little old lady who does live here gets gome from bingo.”
I laughed and leaned against the kitchen island. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the whole house felt warm. The kind of warm that came from old wood floors, soft lighting, and somebody who actually lived in the place instead of just sleeping there.
“It doesn’t fit you,” I said.
He shut the cabinet and turned toward me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I motioned around the room. “This. The house. The stained glass. The winding staircase. I thought you lived in a black cave with a motorcycle in the living room.”
Rome snorted. “You thought I slept next to my bike?”
“I thought there was a chance.”
“There is not.”
“Disappointing.”
A grin tugged at his mouth.
I liked that I got to see his smiles now. The first day I met him, I wasn’t sure the man knew how to smile. Now I knew better. Now I knew a lot of things.
And I knew I was falling for him. That thought should’ve scared me.
Instead, standing in his kitchen with rain falling outside and Rome looking at me like I was the only thing in the room worth paying attention to... I felt safe.
Rome came around the island and I watched him walk toward me.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Tattooed arms.
A man who looked intimidating to everybody else. A man who had never once scared me.
His hands landed on either side of me, caging me in without trapping me. “You got quiet,” he said.
I shrugged. “Thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
I smiled. “About you.”
That surprised him. I could tell by the way his eyebrows lifted. “Good things, I hope.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
I looked down, because suddenly I felt shy.
Which was ridiculous. I was thirty-six years old and somehow one tattooed man could still make me nervous.
Rome hooked a finger beneath my chin. “Hey.”
I looked up. “What?”
“What’re you thinking?”
I swallowed. “That I don’t understand you.”
His thumb brushed my jaw. “What’s not to understand?”
I laughed softly. “You look like trouble.”
“I am trouble.”
“But you’re...” I searched for the word. “Good.”
Rome frowned.
“What if I told you I rob old ladies on weekends?”
I laughed. “No, you don’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His expression softened.
I looked away. “That’s the weird part.”
“What is?”
“I trust you.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Rome went still.
The rain tapped harder against the windows, and I stared at the buttons on his Henley instead of his face, because admitting things out loud was terrifying.
“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” he said quietly.
I looked up. “I mean it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment like he was making sure. Like he understood exactly how hard those words were for me. Then he nodded once. “I know.”
And for some reason, that almost made me cry. I laughed instead, because crying in Rome’s kitchen would’ve been embarrassing.
He smiled. “You laugh when you’re nervous.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I hate that you notice things.”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words hit me square in the chest and my breath caught.
Rome stepped closer. His hands settled at my waist and his eyes were on me.
Not my shirt. Not my body. Me. That still felt impossible sometimes.
“You know what I see?” he asked.
I smiled weakly. “Here we go.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
His hands squeezed gently. “I see a woman who got knocked down and built something anyway.”
I blinked.
“I see somebody who makes everybody around her smile.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
“I see somebody brave enough to start over.”
My eyes burned.
Rome’s voice dropped lower. “And I see a sexy as hell woman who still doesn’t understand how beautiful she is.”
I groaned. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The glasses problem.”
Rome laughed softly, then shook his head. “I don’t have a glasses problem.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I see you just fine.” His gaze swept over me. Not quickly. Not hungrily. Just appreciatively. Like he was looking at art. He liked every piece.
I felt myself blush which was stupid, but there it was.
Rome smiled. “Cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“How about sexy?” His arms tightened around me.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and demanding, and I gasped against his lips. He tasted like sin, and I couldn’t get enough. His hands slid down my back, over the curve of my hips, gripping me like he needed to hold on or he’d drown.
“Rome-” I breathed, but he cut me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my knees weak. He worked my pants down, and I kicked them away.
“Up,” he growled against my mouth. “Now.”
He walked me backward until my ass hit the counter, his hands already working my shirt up over my head. I raised my arms, letting him strip it off, and the cool air hit my skin before his mouth did, trailing hot kisses down my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts above my bra.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his thumbs hooking under the lace and pulling it down. “Look at you.”
I wanted to cover myself, suddenly self-conscious of my softness, my curves, but he caught my wrists and pinned them to the counter on either side of me.
“Don’t,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Let me look. Let me see what I’ve been fantasizing about.”
He dropped to his knees, and I gasped as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to my stomach and down my thighs. His beard scraped against my sensitive skin, and I moaned, my head falling back. “Rome, please.”
“Please what, beautiful?” He looked up at me, those dark eyes burning. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” I whimpered, the words torn from me without shame. “Now. Please.”
He stood, tearing his own shirt off, and I got my first real look at him. Ink everywhere-sleeves of intricate black work, patterns I couldn’t make out, muscle rippling beneath decorated skin. He was beautiful. Dangerous. Mine, at least for tonight.
He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down, kicking them aside, and my breath caught at the sight of him. Hard and thick and straining toward me like a compass needle finding north.
“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” I said, as he lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing.
“You’re perfect.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest, and then he was kissing me again, his hands roaming over my body like he couldn’t decide what to touch first.
“Jesus, Josie,” he breathed, his fingers tracing the lips of my pussy, making me arch. “You’re so wet. So ready.”
“For you,” I gasped as he slid one finger inside, then two, curling them in a way that made my vision blur. “Only for you.”
He worked me with his hand, his thumb circling my clit in tight, devastating strokes, and I moaned his name like a prayer, like a curse, as my hips bucked against his palm.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice dark and thick. “Let me hear you. Let me know how good it feels.”
“So good,” I panted, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Rome, I need-”
“I know what you need.” He withdrew his fingers, and I whimpered at the loss, but then he was positioning himself at my entrance, the thick head of him pressing against me, stretching me open in the best way. “Wrap your legs around me and hold on tight.”
I did as he said, and he thrust into me in one long, smooth stroke, filling me completely. We both groaned, the sound mingling in the space between us, and he stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged.
“Fuck,” he gritted out. “You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect.”
“Move,” I begged, my nails scoring down his back. “Please, Rome, move.”
He pulled back and slammed into me again, the force of it rattling the dishes in the cabinet beneath me. I cried out, my head falling back, and he took the opportunity to suck at my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse point as he set a punishing rhythm.
The counter was hard beneath me, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me in place, and every thrust drove him deeper, hitting something inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes.
I could hear myself making sounds I’d never made before-high, desperate moans that seemed to spur him on, making him drive into me harder, faster.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, his voice strained. “I want to feel you come around me.”
I reached between us, my fingers finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The added sensation was overwhelming, building rapidly toward something explosive, something that threatened to tear me apart.
“Rome-” I gasped, my whole body tensing. “I’m close-”
“Let go,” he urged, his pace never faltering. “I’ve got you. Let go for me, Josie.”
I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me like a wave, my inner muscles clamping down on him as I cried out his name.
He groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest, and then he was following me over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate, until he buried himself to the hilt and came with a roar that seemed to shake the walls.
We stayed like that for a long moment, panting, resting, and sweating. His forehead dropped on my shoulder as we both struggled to catch our breath. My legs were still wrapped around him, and I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the wild rhythm of my own.
“That was...” I started, but trailed off, unable to find words adequate enough.
Rome lifted his head, his eyes finding mine, and the smile that curved his lips was slow, satisfied, and somehow tender all at once. “That,” he said, his voice rough, “was the best thing that has ever happened on this island.”