“Then we agree.”
He pushes his hand higher and finds me wet and bare for him.
I choke on the sound that comes out of me.
“Christ,” he says, and this time he really does sound pleased with himself.
“Don’t.”
“You’re soaked.”
I close my eyes. “Roman.”
He rubs two fingers through me, slow, thorough, like he’s reminding himself exactly how my body works. Maybe he is. I can barely think long enough to care.
“You walked in here like this,” he says.
“I didn’t walk in here for you.”
“No?” He circles my clit once, and my knees almost give. “That’s not what your body’s saying.”
I make the mistake of opening my eyes.
He’s watching my face. That always feels more intimate than it should.
I reach for his belt because if I keep standing here being touched while he’s still mostly dressed, I may lose my mind entirely. He catches my wrist before I get far.
“Bedroom,” he says.
I barely have time to process the word before he’s lifting me.
I gasp and wrap my legs around his waist on instinct. He carries me down the hall like this, kissing me every other step, one hand under my ass, the other braced at my back. By the time he gets me to the bedroom and lays me on the bed, I’m so worked up I could cry from it.
The room is bare like the rest of the apartment. Dark linen, low lights, no decoration that matters. The kind of room built for sleep and secrets.
Roman stands at the foot of the bed and strips off his tie first, then his shirt, and I hate the sharp little sound I make at the sight of him.
He’s bigger than I remember.
Or maybe memory just failed to do him justice. Broad shoulders. Hard stomach. Scars I don’t remember or didn’t know how to read then. His body doesn’t look polished. It looks used. Dangerous. Real.
He watches me watching him. “Still want to leave?”
I should say yes.
Instead, I push my dress up over my thighs and spread my legs.
That answer is enough.
He’s on me again in seconds, dragging the dress higher, kissing me until I can’t keep track of whose breath is whose. His hand closes around one breast through the fabric, and then he pulls the dress down, drags my bra with it, and takes my nipple into his mouth.
I cry out.
He sucks hard, tongue rough and clever, and my hips jerk up into him. He switches sides, one hand holding my breast, the other already sliding down between us.
I’m so wet for him that it’s almost humiliating.
He seems to enjoy that. His fingers find me and stroke once, twice, just enough to make me shudder and beg without meaning to.
