“Here’s fine?—”
“No.” I break the kiss and she actually whimpers. “I’ve been planning this for four days. You’re getting a bed and enough time to fall apart properly.”
I take her hand and practically drag her down the hallway. I’ve barely been holding it together—every cold shower, every night lying awake hard and aching, feeling her squirm on that bus—I’m hanging on by a thread here.
In my bedroom I flip on the lamp and turn back to find her already pulling her shirt over her head.
“Slow down,” I tell her, even though every instinct is screaming to let her rush. To get her naked and under me as fast as possible.
“I can’t slow down.” Her hands are shaking as she reaches for her bra clasp. “It’s been slow for four days?—”
“And it’s going to be slow for another twenty minutes.” I catch her wrists, hold them gently. “Because this is going to be good. Better than good. But only if you let me do this right.”
“Roman, I’m going to die?—”
“You’re not going to die.” I release her wrists and reach for her bra myself. “But you are going to beg. And scream. And forget that anyone ever came before me.”
I undo the clasp slowly, draw the straps down her arms, let it fall. Then I step back to look.
She’s breathing hard, chest flushed, nipples already tight. Just from anticipation. From knowing what’s coming.
“Jeans,” I say. “Take them off.”
She does, pushing them down with her underwear in one motion, and stands there trembling. Wanting. Trusting me to make this worth every agonizing minute of the last few days.
I’m still fully dressed and the contrast does something to me—her completely vulnerable while I’m still armored in denim and cotton.
“Get on the bed,” I tell her. “On your back.”
She climbs on, settles against the pillows, and I just look for a moment.
Marnie. In my bed. Finally.
I pull my shirt over my head but leave my jeans on because if I take them off right now this will be over embarrassingly fast.
I kneel on the bed beside her and she reaches for me immediately.
“No.” I catch her hands, pinning them gently above her head. “You don’t touch. Not yet. This is me making you fall apart. You just lie there and take it.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“Fair?” I lean down, teeth grazing her earlobe. “Nothing about the last four days has been fair, Moxie. I’ve been hard for you since Philadelphia. Waking up at 3 AM thinking about the sounds you make. Taking cold showers that don’t help. Lying in hotel beds trying not to touch myself because if I do this whole thing falls apart.”
Her breath catches. “You’ve been?—”
“Suffering?” I kiss down her neck. “Yeah. Welcome to the club.”
I work my way down her body slowly, kissing and biting and learning her skin. The hollow of her throat. The curve of her collarbone. That spot just below her ribs that makes her gasp.
My hand slides down her stomach and she tenses immediately.
“Please—”
“Not yet.” I kiss lower. “I told you. You’re going to beg first.”
“I am begging?—”
“Not nearly enough.”
