“Roman—”
He looks up, eyes dark and shining. “Come for me, love. Let me taste you.”
The words shatter me. I arch, crying out as the orgasm rolls through me in long, gentle waves. Roman works me through it, his tongue lashes softer now, his suckles slower, more loving, like he’s more focused on savoring how I taste.
When he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure out of me, he stands, undoing his belt with those big, gorgeous hands of his. His cock springs free—thick and hard, pre-cum on the tip, making me lick my lips.He steps forward, guiding himself to my entrance, rubbing his head against my wetness.
“I love you,” he says again.
I’ll never get tired of hearing those words.
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, eyes locked onto mine. The stretch is pure heaven, as always, and I wrap my legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. We both groan when he bottoms out, hips pressed against mine.
He leans in and kisses my shoulder as he pushes in and out with long, measured thrusts that drag over every sensitive spot. Roman’s hands move all over my body, cupping my breasts through my dress, his thumbs teasing my nipples before sliding down with both palms to grip my hips and hold me steady as he drives into me.
“I love every bit of you,” he says. “Every curve. Every breath. All of you.”
Tears prick my eyes again. “I love you too. So much.”
He kisses me hard, swallowing my moans. The pace stays steady, sensual, building slowly, another orgasm rising. His hand slips down, fingers circling my clit in perfect time to his thrusts.
“Roman, I’m so close.”
“Me too. Come with me, my love. Together.”
I nod, clinging to him. The wave crests. It’s powerful, my walls fluttering around him as I come with a quiet cry. He followsinstantly, thrusting deep, spilling hot and thick inside of me. He groans as his cock pulses, hips grinding as he makes sure I take every last drop.
When we’re done, we stay like that, joined, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Roman wraps his arms around me, holding me close. I can feel his heart pounding against mine.
“I love you,” he whispers once more.
“And I love you. Always.”
He kisses me slowly. The studio lights glow softly around us, the future ahead wide and promising.
EPILOGUE I
AMALIE
Eleven months later…
The kitchen smells divine—like vanilla and butter.
“Babe, you might want to flip that one.”
“I know what I’m doing. Not my first pancake breakfast, you know.”
Roman stands at the stove in nothing but my favorite gray sweatpants, the ones that cling to his hipsjust soand hug his assjust right.
Our son Theodore—Theo, as we all call him—is nestled in my chest carrier, his hands gripping the straps as he watches with his big, gorgeous eyes. Sasha is seated nearby, offering cooking advice.
“Papa,” he says, pointing toward the pan. “That one is too brown.”
“It iswell-done,” Roman replies over his shoulder. “And I happen to prefer them that way.”
The sight of him cooking with no shirt on is enough to make me want to feast on something other than pancakes. I can’t resist sidling over to him and stealing a quick kiss, one he smiles into without missing a beat. I reach past him for the bowl, stick my finger in, and pop the dripping batter into my mouth.
“You are a menace,” he says, shaking his head. “Flouting the rules of my kitchen.”
