I lick the bulge, his rough stubble, and I would’ve gone on to do more if he hadn’t wrapped my braid around his wrist and pulled my head back.
If he hadn’t made me look at him.
I shiver at the look on his face.
I shake with fear and anticipation.
His eyes have gone all dark like the night around us and his jaw has morphed into a true V. With his angry bruises, he looks so dangerous, so gorgeous that I whisper again, “Please, Roman.”
At my plea, his gaze falls down to my lips and I think I hear a growl.
I can’t be sure because it’s low and thick and in the next second, I don’t have the mental capacity to think about it anyway.
Because his mouth is on me.
His taste, all spicy and vodka-laced, explodes on my tongue and God, it’s so delicious that I want to keep tasting him.
I want to keep analyzing other nuances of his flavor and his soft, warm mouth but just then, the sky opens up.
With no warning or forecast whatsoever, it starts to rain and we break apart.
Panting, we look at each other and I don’t know what he’s thinking.
I don’t know if he’s mourning the loss of my lips as I’m mourning the loss of his.
But again, he takes away my ability to think when he picks me up.
He lifts me off the ground and because we’ve done this move a thousand times before during my dance practice, I don’t even hesitate to wrap my legs around his slim waist. And as soon as I do that, he puts his big hand on the back of my head and makes me huddle into his chest.
He makes me seek shelter from the rain in his big body.
And all I can do is take it and hug him tightly.
My Roman.
My gorgeous,gorgeousvillain.
As he begins to move, I mumble, “My bag.”
I wouldn’t usually care about it, my backpack.
But it has something inside it. For him – not the first aid kit – and I don’t want it to get wet.
Smoothly, while still carrying me in his arms, Reed bends down to pick up my bag. When he has it, I thank him and kiss the pulsing vein on the side of his neck. I hear him inhale sharply as he walks me to the back door of his Mustang.
He opens it and carefully deposits me inside the car, away from the rain, before getting in himself. He throws my backpack on the floor and I don’t even wait for him to shut the door properly before I crawl over and straddle him.
It’s such a bold move but I don’t care.
I don’t really care about anything tonight except being close to him, taking care of him.
Taking all his pain from the fight and his loneliness away.
My hands are on his shoulders, fisting his damp t-shirt, and his find their way back to my waist, clutching onto my wet dress. I stare at the water droplets that sluice down his dark, rain-slick hair to his beautiful face. They stream down his cheeks and the side of his neck, disappearing into the V of his t-shirt.
And God, I was right.
He’s got muscles for days.
