Page 42 of Heartbreaker

And his.

I’m wholly and completely Roman DeLuca’s.

“Do you want it in your tight little cunt, or on your back, painted on you?” he asks. I let out a low moan at his words, my pussy inexplicably tightening once more.

“I don’t…” I start, and an agonized chuckle leaves his lips.

“You like both ideas, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admit, my legs tightening, trying to get the friction I need to fall once more as his thrusts have turned to shallow movements.

“How about this first time, I come deep in your pretty pink pussy. Next time, I can come all over your tits. Or maybe your face.” I tighten again and mewl, unable to make words come. “Mmm. She likes that. Okay, baby. One last one for me, and I’ll come deep in this pussy.”

“I can’t—” I start, a puddle on the bed, but one of his hands lets go of my wrists, then slides between us to strum at my clit.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, yeah.”

“Roman,” I whimper.

“Come for me right fucking now, Lana. Come. For. Me.” And even though I’m drained, I do.

I come hard, though not as hard as the last one. I’m glad for it because it means I’m still aware of my surroundings when Roman slams in deep and fills me, moaning out my name. I would have hated to have been too lost in my own pleasure to miss that, and I file it away for a lifetime as the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

We stay there as we both catch our breath, and eventually he slides out. I hiss at the feeling, at the loss of him, and go to shift. “Stay there,” he murmurs, then presses a kiss to my shoulder, my wrist, my lower back, my ass cheek.

Then his fingers are at my entrance, slowly grazing before they slide in. “You keep all of this inside you, baby,” he says, almost a whisper as his actions register in my mind.

He’s stuffing his cum back inside of me.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Why is that hot? It should absolutely not be hot, right? But it is all the same.

It’s even hotter when he comes back a minute later with a warm cloth. Then, he wipes me clean, moves and tucks me into his bed, and pulls me to his side. We lay there, exhausted and wrung out and perfectly content, before he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” he says, voice low.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. In fact, I didn’t do much of the work at all,” I say. He laughs, and I feel it against his chest before his fingers brush my hair back.

“I meant at the arena. Thank you. For being patient. For cheering me on.” I don’t look up at him, somehow knowing he doesn’t want that, and instead snuggle in deeper to his side.

“Anytime, Rome,” I say, and I find, inconveniently, that I mean it.

TWENTY-TWO

I wake before the sun’s up. My biological clock is terrible at sleeping in, which is something that, based on the soft breathing beside me, Roman doesn’t struggle with. I try to settle back to sleep, both because I’m comfortable and because we were up late last night, but I know it’s a lost cause. My mind can’t stop rolling over a new angle for the case. It’s been sitting there since my conversation with Rome at the mall, a small moment that didn’t fit into the narrative Demi and I had.

But what if it was because our narrative was wrong?

What if we’re stuck on this case not just because we’re coming at it from the wrong direction, but because we’re focusing on the wrong timeline?

Knowing there’s no way I’ll fall back asleep, I slowly slide out of Rome’s warm embrace, melting when he grabs my pillow and pulls it into him. Once you get through his tough exterior, he’s like a big puppy, cuddly and sweet. Part of me thinks I should wake him, let him know where I’m going, but I don’t. I want to get to my room with minimal distractions, and Roman is nothing if not a distraction. But also, I kind of like the idea of seeing how he reacts to being left alone the morning after. It seems even now that we’re some version of together, I won’t stop pushing at his buttons.

Quietly shuffling in the dim room, I grab his tee off the floor, slip it over my head, and pull on my shorts. Then, I use the bathroom and get an idea. It’s incredibly nondescript for the most part, other than an electric blue toothbrush sitting on the counter. Smiling, I take a mirror selfie.

Before I hit post on my social media as a story, I add a text overlay reading, “ready to kick @romanempire’s ass today!”

Finally, I quietly leave his room, a smile on my face and a spring in my step as I walk toward my own hotel room.