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He ran his fingers along her upper arm and the contact sent a zing of desire through her body. She’d slept in her own bed since he’d come home from the hospital. He needed time to heal andhealingwasn’t what he’d be doing if she was in his bed.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t want him. Living with him and not having him was torture, and she’d spent more than a few hours getting herself off while thinking about him.
Now he was right here, and she realized her mistake too late. The wall of his chest was arousing, his scent intoxicating. She could all too easily imagine how he would feel driving into her, taking possession of her mouth and pussy, occupying her body like an invading army.
“I’m fine.” His voice had gone low and hoarse and his hand slipped down her arm and against her side.
She fought the catch in her breath as he stroked the sliver of skin at her waist that had revealed itself where her T-shirt had crept up. “Want to watch a movie?”
“No.” He reached over with his other hand and tipped her chin until she was looking at him. Then he leaned down and placed a kiss on either corner of her mouth. “I want to be inside you.”
He kissed his way along her jawline.
“You need to rest,” she said weakly.
“Rested,” he said, nibbling at her ear.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, her pussy suddenly wet and alive with hunger for him. “The doctor said— ”
“What does she know?” He slid his hand under the hem of her shirt and ran his fingers along the side of her breast, his fingers inches away from her aching nipples.
“Your stitches…”
He shifted, rolling on top of her in a motion so smooth she was barely aware it was happening.
He was stretched out over her now, propped up on one arm so he wouldn’t crush her. He stared down at her and smoothed her hair off her forehead. “Fuck my stitches.”
He shook his head.
“What?” she asked, looking up at him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ruby. I could stare at you all day.”
She grinned. “Laying it on a little thick. You must really want to get laid.”
He laughed and dropped his head into her neck. “I fucking love you.”
She froze, could hardly breathe with the words hanging in the air between them. “Roman…”
He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “There’s nothing for you to say. I said it because I mean it, and I mean it completely divorced from anything you may or may not feel.”
She reached up and pushed her hands into his hair. The words were right there on her tongue, but there were other things too: her mom’s face, her dad’s grief after she’d been killed, Brooke’s words when she’d come to the loft.
…it kind of seems like you’re playing house with a guy just like the ones that killed Mom.
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” She said it because it was something true, something she could say without the complication of love, without the burden of their impossible future together.
He lowered his head and captured her lips in a kiss that felt like a brand.
She pressed against him, molding herself to his body as his tongue parried with hers, claiming her more fully with every sweep of his tongue.
She tightened her hands in his hair, pulling until he groaned in her mouth, his hands roaming the sides of her body until he grew frustrated with the barrier of their clothing.
He rose onto his knees and reached for the hem of her shirt, and she helped him pull it over her head, then wiggled her hips as he tugged off her leggings and underwear.
He looked down at her like a man worshipping at a long-sought altar, but she didn’t want worship.
She wanted him.
