Page 57 of Watched

He practically leaps to the ceiling from a knock at the door.

“Rome?” a soft voice calls.

Another swallow works his throat as he spins to answer it. Hanging my towel in the bathroom, I follow behind. He cracks the door just enough for his body to be seen, so I grip it and pull it open, placing a hand above his head on the door frame.

Indie’s emerald eyes flick to me, then back to her brother. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers.

I grin. “Hey, munchkin.”

Her brows pinch. “Did he just call me a munchkin?”

“Sure did.”

She folds her arms over her chest. I’m surprised her hair isn’t standing on its own, those fuzzy pink pyjamas are sure to create constant static. “I’m sixteen, not six.”

“You’re still a munchkin.”

Rome sighs, banging his head against the door frame.

I grip his nape and lower my mouth to his ear. “Don’t ever hurt yourself.”

“Let. Go,” he orders through his teeth.

I let go of his neck by sliding my hand down his toned back. This man is utter perfection, and I crave how he shivers beneath my fingers.

Indie raises a brow, and Rome clears his throat. “Go back to bed, princess. I’m fine.”

She stays rooted in place, still throwing me daggers. “Who are you?”

“Oooh,” I tease. “Should I put a lamp on a table? Am I about to be interrogated?”

“Bed,” Rome orders.

Indie steps backward toward the stairs. “Do I need earplugs?”

“Yes.” I smile.

“No,” Rome snaps.

The second she’s out of sight, I wrap my arm around him and pull him back to me.

Bergamot, mandarin, and fucking coconuts.

He stiffens as I spin him and back him into the closed door. His staggered, minty breath fans my mouth as I cup his warm cheek, and while he’s distracted raising a hand to grip my wrist, I crush my lips to his.

His moan vibrates against my lips as I force my tongue into his mouth. He says he doesn’t want me, but he’s kissing me back. Not as forcefully, but his tongue still chases mine.

Indie should be thankful that I’m eating every fucking noise he makes.

I trail my finger down his shuddering stomach to the waistband of his grey sweats. His tongue steels and then practically recoils, like his brain decided his tongue was enjoying me too much. He attempts to pull back, only to be acquainted with the door again. Realising retreat isn’t an option, he pushes against my chest, the bloody cloth long forgotten.

“If you don’t want me to continue,” I tease the top of the fabric keeping me from what I want, “then say no right now.”

His breaths only spiral further out of control. “I…” he trails off, throwing his head back against the door.

I wrap my hand around his throat, wrenching him from it. “What did I fucking say?”