24
ROMAN
The driveback to my apartment is quiet, but it’s not tense anymore.
My hand rests on Marnie’s thigh and I can feel her watching me.
“You’re staring,” I say without taking my eyes off the road.
“I’m allowed to stare. I love you.”
My hand tightens on her leg. Hearing her say it still hits me like a body check.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“Roman Varga, I am completely and terrifyingly in love with you.”
I pull into my building’s garage and park, but I don’t move. Just turn to look at her, trying to memorize this moment—her in my passenger seat, saying she loves me, looking at me like I’m worth keeping.
“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for weeks,” I tell her. “And now that you have, I don’t want to stop hearing it.”
“Then I’ll say it as many times as you want.”
“Good.” I lean across and kiss her, trying to keep it gentle even though everything in me wants more. “Because I love you too. So fucking much it scares me sometimes.”
Her breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” My hand cups her face. “Come upstairs with me.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
We make it through the lobby and into the elevator before I can’t help myself anymore.
I back her against the wall, careful of my shoulder but not gentle, and kiss her like I’ve been wanting to since the moment she walked out earlier.
“Roman,” she breathes against my mouth, her hands sliding up my chest.
“I know.” I press closer, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. “I need you.”
The elevator dings and I practically drag her down the hall, fumbling with my keys while she kisses my neck and makes it impossible to think straight.
“You’re not helping,” I mutter.
“Not trying to help.”
I finally get the door open and we stumble inside, mouths still connected, hands everywhere.
I kick the door shut and walk her backward, our bodies pressed together, her back hitting the hallway wall before we make it three steps.
I can’t wait. Can’t make it to the bedroom yet.
My good hand slides into her hair, tilting her head back so I can kiss down her throat. She makes this sound—half gasp, half moan—and her nails drag down my chest.
I pull back enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen, pupils blown, chest heaving. “I want you in my bed. Want you laid out where I can see all of you. Want enough room to do this properly.”
