I like that he’s strong. I like that he’s needy and possessive and playful.
It’s a wonder that before I met him, I hadn’t even really noticed I liked men. I appreciated a nice round ass or a washboard set of abs, but I never considered putting my mouth on another guy’s mouth.
Or his dick.
Or his ass, as I have done for Rome twice now.
He’s changed me in so many ways, it’s a wonder I recognize myself in the mirror, which is something I definitely do notmind.
Rome stares at me with a tiny smile, and he taps the side of my head. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Nothing.’
He raises his brows in a challenge.
‘About you,’ I tell him. There’s very little signing space between us, but I like that it’s tight and cozy. ‘How much better my life is because you’re in it.’
His face softens even as he rolls his eyes. ‘Sappy. Gross.’
‘You love it.’
‘I love you,’ he corrects, then kisses me again. We roll in the sheets for a bit, indulging in each other’s bodies but not really looking for any kind of conclusion. I want him all the time, but it’s easier to ignore that and just enjoy his presence now that we’re doing this.
Now that he’s moving in with me and we’re making a life together.
I thought I hated him once—or, at the very least, thought he was a major douche bag. And he can still be sometimes. He’s fussy and has little patience with most people.
But he’s different with me, and I’m realizing how rare that is.
And how important.
“We need a shower,” he says quietly, my hands pinned above my head by his own. “Together or separate?”
I swallow and lick my lips, and his eyes follow the motion. “Together,” I say.
He lifts a brow. “Will you be good?”
I grin. “Never.”
Rome bursts into laughter, then kisses me until I’m hard before pulling away and ignoring my cry of protest by turning his head so he can’t see my lips.
It’s too easy to follow him and grab him just before he getsto the door. And it’s far too easy to be happily—and deliciously—distracted by his talented hands once we’re under the spray of water.
He takes the edge off all my anxieties, even when the rest of the world is waiting just outside the condo to remind me that life will always be complicated.
After a romp in the shower and then washing up and getting dressed, I feel better. Rome’s dad—Gabriel—has chosen the diner on the edge of town that has signing staff.
Rome doesn’t seem thrilled with it, but only because I know he’s not a diner kind of guy. But he’s always more relaxed when he doesn’t have to rely on me to order for him in hearing spaces.
‘Is there anything I should know about your dad before we go inside?’ I ask, pulling him back away from the restaurant doors.
He taps his chin. ‘Well, he’s a serial killer…’
‘I’m being serious!’
Rome laughs and leans in to steal a kiss. “Relax,” he murmurs against my lips before pulling all the way back. ‘My dad is a good person. He raised me alone for years. He speaks four languages and signs two. He built his business from the ground up and loves sci-fi and fantasy movies. He grew up with rabbits and sheep, and someday wants to get one of those small, fluffy marshmallow-looking dogs to carry around with him when he officially retires.’
I smile. Clearly, Gabriel is not like Rome at all, but I can absolutely see how a man like that raised the person I’m wildly in love with.
