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“You must be hungry,” he said to Camila, sliding off his bar stool to go see what their dinner options were. She was strong, sure, but physiology wasn’t something you could outsmart, and they’d both missed dinner.
But she stood, too, and the look on her face made his thoughts crash to a halt. “I don’t want to eat,” she said, her voice breathy and soft, and fuck.Fuck, he didn’t have the restraint for this.
“Oh,” he said, his pulse ratcheting higher as she edged closer, her beautiful face tipped up toward his.
“I could have died today,” she said.
Roman’s instincts bucked at the thought. “I’m not letting that happen. Ever.”
“I know you’ll do everything you can to keep me safe,” Camila said. “But the truth is, there’s no way of knowing what might happen. You could have died today, too.”
She was, of course, right. Christ, if anyone knew how precarious life was, it was him. Still… “I didn’t, though. Neither did you.”
“No. We didn’t. We’re alive.” She closed the space between them until barely an inch separated their bodies, and Roman’s breath hitched at the heat of her, so tantalizingly close. “And I’m not taking that for granted anymore. I want you, Kai Roman, and I’m tired of fighting it.”
She stayed perfectly still, letting him make the next move, and God help him, he didn’t fucking hesitate to crush his mouth to hers even though he knew it might destroy him.
17
Camila knew this was impulsive. She and Roman had been chased. Shot at. Threatened with enough harm that they’d had to go into hiding. But as he stamped his mouth over hers and pulled her close, his body hard and hot and utterly perfect on hers, she couldn’t deny the truth.
Falling into bed with Roman might be the last thing she should be doing, but it was the only thing she wanted.
He slid his tongue over her bottom lip, a low grunt coming from his chest when she opened eagerly. The sound made her even bolder, and she darted her tongue out to meet his. He tasted as she took, the kiss growing deeper and needier until finally, Roman broke from her mouth with an exhale.
“Camila.” The way he said her name, all gravelly and low, sent a bolt of heat right between her thighs. “Be sure you want this.”
“I am,” Camila said. But consent was important, and it worked two ways, so she pulled back slightly to ask, “Are you?”
Roman’s laugh swept through her like it was on fire. “I’ve wanted you every single night for an entire goddamn year.” His pupils darkened in the overhead light, black on bronze. “If you knew the things I’ve dreamed of doing to you—”
“Tell me.”
Okay, so that had come out a whole lot bossier than she’d intended. For a second, she considered pulling it back even though she’d meant every word. She wanted to know what he’d fantasized about. What he wanted. What he liked.
And then Roman dropped his mouth to her ear, and Camila wouldn’t have taken back her demand for all the money in the world.
“I want to strip off your clothes, piece by piece”—he slid a hand to the neckline of her T-shirt, his index finger dragging over the spot where the cotton met her skin until she whimpered—“so I can learn what every single part of you feels like. I want to make you come with my hands. My mouth. Christ, I’ve spent so many nights dying to know how you taste”—his lips brushed her neck in suggestion, and oh, God, she was going to die or spontaneously combust or come from his words alone. Maybe all three—“I want to fuck that sweet, smart mouth of yours. But I want your pussy most of all. I want to know what you feel like on my cock, how you sound the second you start to come. I want to fuckingdrownin you, Camila.”
“Roman,” she whispered, reaching down to cup his face and level her gaze over his. “Start from the beginning. And don’t skip a single thing.”
He was moving before she’d even finished her sentence, reaching low over her hips to lift her off her feet. Camila jumped in time with his upward tug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist as he pulled her flush against him, his palms splaying over her ass to anchor her in place. The move brought Roman’s mouth in line with the spot where her neck met her shoulder, and he paused for a ragged inhale before starting to move. Every step toward the bedroom created the perfect storm of friction between his abs, her jeans, and her already throbbing clit, and by the time he kicked his way past the door, she was desperate for him to touch her.
Roman lowered her to her feet, taking a half step back. “So pretty,” he murmured, raking her with a head to toe stare that she felt on her skin like a touch. Just when she was certain she’d lose her mind and her patience all at the same time, he reached out, pulling her T-shirt over her head and tossing it to the floorboards. His fingers worked swiftly over the button and zipper on her jeans, and she toed out of her shoes as he tugged the denim low over her hips. A few strategic movements had everything but her bra and panties in a pile on the floor, and even though she wanted to lose them, too, a tiny part of her mind warned that she should feel vulnerable, being so exposed when Roman was still fully dressed. Camila reached for the hem of his T-shirt—if the feel of his abs through her jeans had been any indication of what lay beneath, she was all for him ditching his clothes, too—but his fingers circled her wrist and held firm.
“Camila.”
Worry sliced through all of the want building in her chest. But there was still enough waning daylight slipping in past the shutters for Camila to see his stare go dark over her lacy, cream-colored bra, then darker still as it dipped lower, and oh.Oh.
He was looking at her as if she were a gift and a goddess all at once.
“I’ve imagined you like this a thousand times,” Roman said, the gravel in his voice turning the ache between her legs into a bright, burning need. “But I wasn’t even close to how perfect you are.”
“You said you wanted to touch me everywhere.” Camila lifted the hand he still had curled around her wrist, guiding it to her shoulder and closing the space between their bodies. “So, go ahead. Take what you want, Roman.”
He didn’t hesitate, dropping his mouth to hers for a punishing kiss before trailing a path over her neck. His fingers slid between her shoulder blades, skimming the edge of her bra before freeing the hooks with a twist. Anticipation mingled with something a whole lot darker, both of them pulsing in her blood, and when he slid the pad of his thumb over one tight nipple, she arched into his hand to maximize the contact.
“Please,” she said, knowing she was begging but not caring in the least. “Please. Keep touching me.”
