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“Look how pretty you are,” he said, focusing on the exact spot that made her moan, then sliding a finger inside the tight heat of her pussy. “Fuck, I can feel how much you want it. Come for me, Camila.”
He crooked his finger deep inside of her, letting her ride his hand while he continued to stroke her clit with his thumb. Her breath grew shallow, but then she tore her eyes from her pussy to look at his face.
“I wantyou,” she said. “Allof you. Please, Roman.”
He levered forward to bury his cock inside of her in one hard thrust. Her cry made him worry for a split second that he’d hurt her. But then he felt her trembling, her inner muscles squeezing and her thighs shaking against his own, and he didn’t stop. Angling himself so his cock would stay in contact with her clit, he held steady, fucking her in short, deep strokes. Camila gasped again, heat and wetness flooding the space where they came together, and in that moment, nothing could keep him from giving her everything.
Roman worked her through every shiver and sigh, until finally, she went lax against the bed. He kissed her softly, just a brush of his mouth on hers. But in the next breath, she grabbed his shoulders, using momentum to roll him to his back. The change in position gave him a perfect view of her, and she rocked her hips against his.
“This is us. Me and you, together,” Camila said, her pussy gripping him tighter from this new angle. “I want you to watch, too.”
Roman wasn’t about to deny her. His hands shaped her waist just above her hips, and he watched as she began to move. She tested a few different rhythms before finding one that made him moan—fuck, she felt so good, taking his cock so deep. She read him like a secret code, something made for just the two of them, instantly understanding what he wanted. What he craved. Camila placed a hand on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her on the opposite side to anchor her fully in place.
“So good,” Roman said, watching her move over him, his cock disappearing to the hilt with each thrust of her hips. His balls tingled, pulling up tight, but he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to.
And he didn’t.
Camila began to move with purpose, her eyes locked on his as he watched her fuck him in faster, harder strokes. The pleasure that had been building low in his body expanded, hitting his spine and moving up. Roman let go, then, giving himself over to every sensation—the heat of Camila’s body as she gave and took all at once, the primal slap of their bodies coming together. But it was the sight of her, so wild and passionate and perfect, that sent him over the edge. Roman’s orgasm slammed up from deep inside his body, the pleasure so intense that for a second, he couldn’t breathe. Camila broke into a grin—Christ, he came even harder—only lessening her movements when she’d wrung every last shudder and moan from him.
And when Roman finally found his breath, pulling Camila close in the shadows, the only word he could say was her name.
21
Camila had spent the last week in an FBI safe house. A thorough search of the scene where Thorn’s body was found—not the murder scene, according to forensics—had yielded no physical evidence to trace the murder to anyone, let alone Archer or Portia. The Intelligence Unit hadn’t been able to identify the gun used to kill Thorn, although they did know that ithadn’tbeen the gun used to fire those warning shots into the ceiling of Remington Financial, which ballistics had also matched to the warning shots fired at seven of the other robberies and counting.
It still wasn’t close to enough evidence to make a case against Portia and Archer without Camila’s testimony, though, and despite the fact that they’d had shockingly few tips come in on the BOLOs for both suspects, that meant she still had to stay in hiding.
Weird that she didn’t exactly hate it.
Putting her sketchbook down, she stretched and padded to the kitchen for a snack. Okay, yes, she hated that she couldn’t go outside or call Delia to promise she was really okay, and shereallyhated the idea that there might be a brother-sister murder duo just waiting for her to show her face again before slinking out of the shadows to silence her forever. But she felt safe here with Roman. Happy and secure in a way that she hadn’t felt…well, ever. Here, tucked away from the job she didn’t love and the familial disdain that had been crushing her for over a decade, Camila felt cared for. Accepted.Seen.
“Hey,” Roman said, sending an all-too-familiar thrill zinging through her chest. Wrapping an arm around her from behind, he peered over her shoulder into the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she admitted, melting against his chest and smiling. “You?”
“Sure.”
Camila grabbed the jar of salsa from the top shelf, then turned to take a bag of chips from one cupboard and a bowl from another. “It’s not Juan’s, but I guess it’ll do.”
“As soon as we get out of here, I’ll take you back,” Roman promised. “We can eat all the chips and salsa you want.”
A bittersweet pang unfolded in her belly, making her smile slip for just a second before she reclaimed it.
Of course, Roman noticed. “Being cooped up in a safe house can be really frustrating. Are you okay?”
“I think I’m a littletoookay with staying here.”
Her words had escaped before she could stuff them back down and, ugh, too many great-sex endorphins were addling her brain. “You know what, forget I said that. I’m in this safe house because there’s a credible threat to my safety. I don’t want that, and I’ll be really happy when Archer and Portia are caught.”
Roman nodded, picking up the bowl she’d placed on the counter and filling it with salsa. “You know, for the past six years, I’ve pretty much slapped a lid over every emotion I’ve had,” he said, the change in subject so abrupt that Camila could only blink. “I thought it was a good thing. You know, keeping myself safe from the emotions I knew were going to be really shitty to wade through. But I’m starting to learn that even complex feelings can’t stay inside forever. If now isn’t the time you want to air yours out, that’s okay. But when I said solidarity, I meant it.” He sat down on one of the bar stools at the counter, giving her room to sit beside him if she chose, but making it clear that itwasher choice. “You’ve listened to me spill some pretty heavy stuff. If you want to talk, I’m here. The field isn’t the only place I’m always going to have your back, Camila.”
The words, the true indivisibility with which Roman had delivered them, unraveled something inside of her, and she opened her mouth to let the words pour out.
“It’s not that I don’t want to go home. I do miss my space. These blank walls kind of give me the shakes.”
“Yeah, this place is definitely pretty bare bones.” Roman shook a handful of chips from the bag, placing them on a paper towel in front of her before digging back into the bag for himself. The gesture was so normal, as if they were talking about what to binge watch over the weekend or some new Thai place that had opened up around the corner, and it made it that much easier for her to keep talking.
“But when I’m here, I feel…I don’t know. Safe. Not just literally,” Camila added, “although the round-the-clock guards, high-end security systems—plural—and having you literally right here with me all the time helps.”
