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His legs tangle with mine as he kisses me, his hand cupping my jaw.
Half of me wants to lie here with him all night, traveling and sampling one another’s bodies until the sun comes up. The other part of me wants to feel him in the deepest parts of me. That part wants him to fill me to the hilt, to not stop until we’re deliriously spent.
Reaching toward my nightstand, I pull out a condom. I’m no stranger to occasional hookups, and I always keep a box on hand in case. It also prevents guys from using the excuse that they don’t have one on them—not that Roman would be that type.
Without protest, he takes the gold packet from my hand, rips the foil between his teeth, and slides it down his shaft.
My sex pulses in response.
Positioning himself between my thighs, he teases the tip of his cock against my entrance before sliding it all the way in, one throbbing, generous inch at a time. Once he’s all the way in, he exhales, crushes my mouth with a punishing kiss, and sinks into me again and again.
My hips meet his thrust for thrust as I dig my nails into the hot flesh of his muscled lower back. I guide him deeper, deeper still, and it’s still not deep enough.
“Harder,” I whisper into his ear before giving it a playful nibble.
He rams his shaft into me, this time with more vigor.
“Harder,” I whisper again. “Deeper.”
Roman slides his cock out of me without warning, quickly motioning for me to get on all fours.
“You want me to go deeper?” He caresses my ass cheek before giving it a soft smack. A moment later, his cock presses against my sex from behind, slipping back into my warm wetness.
I let out a soft moan before biting my tongue.
Burying my face into my pillow, I release a soft gasp as he thrusts into the deepest parts of me, faster and faster still.
“I can’t fight it anymore,” I say, gasping against the tangled mess of sheets in my clenched fist.
“Then don’t,” he says, driving into me. “Let go . . .”
With his words, I do exactly that. I let go. I come harder and longer than I’ve ever come in my life. He groans with his final thrusts, emptying himself of every last drop.
I collapse on my stomach, facedown, questioning whether I left my body a moment ago because I’ve never had an orgasm so intense.
“You okay?” I roll over, brushing the hair from my sweaty forehead and taking a closer look at Roman. A brisk chill sweeps over my naked body—a body that very much expected to be lying in his arms as the last little orgasmic earthquakes work their way from between my thighs.
Instead, he’s perched at the foot of the bed, silent but still very much naked.
My stomach sinks.
Is he regretting this?
Did we take it too far?
“Yeah,” he says, a second later. When he turns back to me, I spot his phone in his hand. “I was just making sure Harper got my text earlier about being late. And I just told Antonio he’s off the clock for the night.”
A cold sweep of panic zips through me.
He can’t stay the night—I can’t keep Margaux locked away in her room for that long.
Speaking of Margaux, the house is still oddly quiet . . .
“Just going to Uber home,” he adds, almost as if he sensed my panic, though I can’t imagine how.
Gathering my sheets, I pull them around me. He was literally inside of me less than thirty seconds ago, and now he’s talking about the logistics of how he’s getting home? What happened to basking in the afterglow?
I’m not one who needs cuddles after sex, but I’ve never had a man switch gears this fast.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask again.
He shoots me a look, as if I’m the one not making sense here.
“I think I hear the oven timer.” Climbing out of bed, I dig a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from my dresser drawer, pull them on, and head to the kitchen.
Between the hand mixer, the sex, and the oven going off, it’s a miracle my sister hasn’t come out to investigate even once. She’s always been a light sleeper, something she would constantly advertise at childhood sleepovers so no one would mess with her if she passed out first.
I take the cake out and place it on a trivet, letting it cool. After that, I head to the bathroom to clean up. On my way out, I stop at Margaux’s door, twisting the knob as softly as I can and peeking in.
Only Margaux isn’t there . . .
. . . which means she hasn’t been home this entire time . . .
. . . which also means she could come home at any minute.
