Like always, I question my decision to be here when I could spend time with someone my age, or at least closer to it, instead of my best friend's fourteen-year-old sister.
I mean… that’s fucking weird, right? If anyone knew, surely, I would get shit for it. But when Amira breaks through the trees, wide eyes instantly landing on mine as she tries to tame her wild, windblown curly hair, I can’t find it in me to care what anyone thinks.
“Hey,” she mutters shyly as she drops down beside me, hand pressed against her chest while trying to catch her breath.
“Hey. Whose clothes are you wearing?” I ask, trying to rein in the jealousy that begins to taint my vision red.
“I think these are Liam’s,” she says softly, looking down at her oversized sweatpants and loose-fitting shirt.
“And why are you wearing his clothes and not mine?” I ask, unable to contain the growl reverberating in my chest.
“If my dad caught me sneaking in my room, he’d be furious, but if he caught me sneaking in wearing your clothes?! He’d kill me. I can’t risk being seen in your clothes, Roman,” she explains, but the only thing my mind can focus on is the image of her walking around in my clothes.
One day, that’s all you’ll be wearing, the devil in my ear whispers.
Woah.
She’s fourteen…
Chill, Roman.
Chill.
My mind wants to take me somewhere less horny, but the growing erection in my jeans doesn’t get the message.
Palming my dick as I shift on the moss-cloaked log, I start pulling out my late-night meal.
“Ohhh… you brought snacks,” Amira says, scooting a little closer as she peers at my food with hunger in her eyes.
I love the way her thigh feels pressed against mine, so I use the food as an excuse to bring myself closer to her.
“Here. Try these. My mom used to make these for me when we didn’t have strawberries or bananas anymore,” I tell her, holding out a container of sliced oranges coated in a hard layer of semi-sweet chocolate.
Amira scrunches her nose as she reaches a finger inside, sniffing the fruit cautiously before sticking the entire slice on her tongue.
Her reaction happens in slow motion. Once the milky, sugary chocolate melts onto her tastebuds, the biting sour taste of the orange overpowers her senses, wiping off the hesitant smile that lit up her face and replacing it with startling uncertainness.
“Do you like it?” I ask, grabbing a couple with my bare fingers and shoving them in my mouth.
Amira stares at the bowl in my hand with an undetermined grimace before tilting her head to the side. “I… I don’t know.”
But when she goes in for a second and a third, I think she’s made up her mind, which brings fucking elation to my life because other than my mother and I, no one else has ever liked my favorite snack before.
And for whatever stupid reason, it only makes me love Amira more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AMIRA
Adelighted moan drifts from my lips as the sweet and bitter chocolate melts over the tip of my tongue, the sound calling Roman to me like a siren’s song from the other side of the blanket. Heat flaring in his eyes as he watches me stick another piece in my mouth.
The biting acidic juices of the orange dribble down my lips, and before I get the chance to wipe the mess away with the back of my hand, Roman leans over to clean my face with his tongue.
I don’t know if it’s the cool breeze blowing across my heated flesh or Roman’s romantic gesture making cracks in my frail armor, but I don’t shrink under the weight of his tongue, nor do I draw back when he takes his hands from his sides and glides them up my waist to rest softly against the underside of my jaw.
The inside of his mouth is a sensation like no other. It feels like warm velvet with the faint taste of cocoa and an overwhelming flavor of desire that floods my insides with desperate want.
Taking the fruit from my hands, Roman drops it to the side and lifts me like I weigh nothing, seating me on his lap as he drives his tongue down my throat.
