Chapter 20 #4
I trace my finger over the three of swords card, its pierced heart gleaming under the soft light. "Roman, these cards suggest you've experienced deep heartbreak. You've kept your soul locked away."
Roman's jaw tightens as he nods once. "It's not what you're thinking."
"Tell me what I'm thinking," I challenge.
"That I'm damaged goods." His voice drops lower. "That I push women away because my mother died when I was four and my father abandoned us. That I'm just another rich guy with daddy issues." He meets my eyes. "Maybe that's part of it, but there's more."
I tilt my head. "What more?"
He looks past me, his gaze distant. "I've dated incredible women—beautiful, brilliant, kind.
Perfect on paper. But something was always...
missing." His fingers drum against the blanket and he takes another sip of his champagne.
"I could never shake the feeling that my perfect match was out there somewhere.
And I refused to settle for almost-right, only to meet her later when I'd built a life with someone else.
" A muscle in his cheek twitches. "I couldn't bear creating that kind of mess—hurting someone who deserved better than to be my placeholder. So I waited."
I smile, my lips curving upward involuntarily.
What he's trying to express through his careful, measured words—without dipping into what he'd dismissively call my "Woo-woo language"—is that deep down, he's always believed his perfect match existed somewhere in this vast world, breathing the same air, gazing at the same stars, waiting for their paths to finally cross.
He refused to compromise his heart for anything less than that cosmic connection.
The realization washes over me like a warm wave—I've held that exact same belief, cradled it close through every disappointing date and lonely night.
Finding your soulmate must be as miraculous as catching that elusive green flash at sunset, that split-second emerald burst when the sun kisses the horizon.
My fingers hover over the tarot spread, touching the edges of each card—The Lovers, The Sun, The Star, The Ten of Cups.
I glance at Roman beside me, his profile lit by the candle between us.
His breathing has slowed, and I wonder if he feels it too.
Something clicks when we're together, like finding the right key for a stubborn lock.
The cards only confirm what I've suspected since that first day at the bookstore: this grumpy, beautiful man with his unexpected moments of kindness wasn't a random encounter. Some part of me has been waiting for him.
“What about Serafina? Were you serious with her?"
Roman's shoulders lift in a casual shrug.
"Caspian's sister was off-limits from the start.
Should've known better." He meets my eyes, his voice softening.
"Never told anyone this stuff before you.
It's... different with you. I can tell you things I wouldn’t tell anybody else.
" His fingers drum against his thigh. "Serafina and I burned hot—all chemistry, no substance.
When she said 'I love you,' I couldn't say it back.
Not gonna lie to a woman about that." He exhales slowly.
"Marriage was on the table. Thank Christ it fell through.
" A shadow crosses his face. "Started thinking maybe scorching sex was all I'd ever get from a woman, you know?
But something felt wrong about settling.
" His mouth quirks up at one corner. "When she cheated, I felt nothing but relief.
Gave me the perfect exit without Caspian coming after my head.
" He taps his temple. "Dodged that bullet. "
A contented sigh escapes me as I nestle against Roman's chest, the rhythm of distant waves rolling in.
Something shifted in the air between us when he just confided in me—his voice lower, more vulnerable than I've ever heard from the infamous Kensington temper.
He's letting me see behind the walls, and my heart flutters at the privilege.
Twilight deepens around us, the last traces of sunset having faded into memory. Roman's gaze finds mine, his dark eyes revealing what words cannot. A current passes between us—recognition. The missing piece found.
My voice quivers slightly as I ask, "You wanted something deeper than just physical attraction, and..."
"I searched for it with Serafina and every woman before her. Never found it. I'd stopped believing it existed at all." His eyes lock with mine. "Until you."
I close my eyes as warmth floods through me, from my chest to my fingertips.
This man—this powerful, complex man who could have anyone—has never felt this way before?
The connection between us vibrates like a plucked string, resonant and true.
I can't find words for the symmetry of it, how perfectly our broken pieces align.
His fingers thread through my hair, and when his lips claim mine, the kiss resonates through me like a struck bell, the sensation spiraling from my lips down my spine to the soles of my feet, each nerve ending humming in perfect harmony.
His mouth is soft yet demanding, tasting of salt and something darker—whiskey, perhaps, or just the essence of him.
My fingers clutch at his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and when his tongue brushes mine, I can't help the small sound that escapes me, a surrender and a demand all at once.
The sweetness of it borders on pain, a delicious ache blooming in my chest as if my heart has forgotten how to beat properly.
Roman draws me onto his lap, his mouth never leaving mine.
I feel his strong hands slip beneath layers of fabric, finding the ties of my bikini with practiced ease.
My breath catches as he deftly unties the knot.
With quiet confidence, he helps me out of my sweater and coverup before laying me gently on the blanket.
Despite the cool coastal air, I'm flushed with warmth—his body heat radiates between us like a living thing.
His lips trace a path downward, and when his mouth finds my breast, I arch toward him instinctively.
The precise circles his tongue makes send currents of pleasure through me, first one side, then the other, each touch deliberate and knowing.
Heat pools low in my belly, and I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, hoping this moment stretches into forever.
His voice drops to a reverent whisper. "Your breasts are so beautiful.
" His fingertips trace the curve where they swell from my ribcage, eyes drinking in what I've hidden under baggy cotton for most of my life.
At five-foot-four and 110 lbs, my DD cup size has felt like a cosmic joke.
I remember the burning shame of eighth grade gym class, layering three compression sports bras until I could barely breathe, the elastic cutting angry red lines into my skin.
I remember the whispers in hallways, the leering gazes of fathers picking up their sons after school.
His palms cup their weight now, thumbs brushing across my nipples as he murmurs, "They're absolutely perfect. " I almost believe him.
His voice is dreamy, reverent—a low, honeyed rumble that vibrates against my flushed skin like the first tremors of an earthquake, making the fine hairs on my neck stand at attention.
He kisses a slow, deliberate path down my stomach, his five o'clock shadow grazing the sensitive hollow beneath my navel, each press of his full lips leaving a trail of silvery goosebumps in its wake.
When he reaches the apex of my thighs, his warm breath fans across my most sensitive flesh, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something uniquely him—mingling with our shared arousal before his tongue finds my core—tentative at first, then bold, tracing intricate patterns that make my toes curl.
His fingers, calloused from years of surfing, slip inside me, curving upward with knowing precision against that perfect spot, and the dual sensation sends electric sparks racing up my spine, igniting every nerve ending until I'm arching beneath him, fingers clutching the blanket beneath me, my body a live wire of pleasure that threatens to short-circuit my very consciousness.
He peels off his sweater in one fluid motion, revealing the sculpted bronze torso that made my breath catch in my throat the other night.
The moonlight traces the ridges of his abs, highlighting the thin scar that runs along his left side—a surfing accident from his youth.
When he spent that night in my bed, his fingertips had hovered just above my skin, never quite touching, respecting the invisible boundary I'd drawn.
But tonight, his midnight eyes hold mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
Waves crash as my heart pounds. We're tucked away in this cove, black rocks curving around us like a shield.
Salt hangs in the air, catching on his lashes, dampening the sand under our feet.
The ocean matters to both of us—to me, it's rhythm and connection; to him, it's where he and his brothers played before everything changed.
The tide moves in and out, like the pull between us that won't let go.
I swallow hard and close my eyes as he hovers over me, his breath scorching against my core.
My heart hammers wildly as the velvet steel of his manhood burns against my inner thigh.
God—the sheer size of him. I knew from the way his tailored suits strained across his body what waited beneath, but feeling him now, thick and pulsing against me, sends electricity crackling through every nerve.
His muscles lock tight above me, a predator barely restraining himself from devouring his prey.
I gasp, unable to breathe, unable to think, my body trembling with desperate need.