He shrugged. “You left the bedroom door unlocked.”
“That doesn’t mean?—”
“I needed to see you,” he interrupted, his voice low rough. “I couldn’t wait Juicy. You stopped responding to me.”
My chest tightened. “I’m not obligated to respond to you.”
“You are.” His voice rumbled. “Juicy, don’t act like that towards me.”
The nickname sent a shiver down my spine again.
“Romelo, you need to leave,” I said my lacked with conviction.
“For what?”
“Because Trecee is right down the hall.” I uttered barely above a whisper over the running water.
“And because you’re scared.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. But he was right.
I heard movement. Footsteps on the tile. And then the shower door opened. Steam billowed out and through it. Fully clothed still—the white Dior monographic collar shirt and Dior shorts. The white Alexander McQueen shoes were still laced on his feet too. The Van Cleef necklace around his neck was glistening too, like the few on his left wrist.
“Romelo,” I gasped, feeling the cool air rush in.
“Tell me to leave,” he said with his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll go.”
My mouth opened, then closed. The words wouldn’t come. Because I wanted him here. I wanted him near me. He stepped closer to me, still fully clothed, immediately soaking his shirt, plastering it to his body. The thin fabric became transparent, revealing every ridge of muscle, and every tattoo etched into his skin.
“You’re getting wet,” I said stupidly.
“I don’t care.” He moved closer to me. The water cascading over the both of us now. “I only care about you. I don’t give a fuck ‘bout nothin’ else.”
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. Water dripped from his waves, running down his face. His touch was gentle, like I was something precious.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his face inches away from mine.
I parted my mouth to speak, but words didn’t escape. My heart thumped so loudly through my chest—so loud that I thought he could hear it. I was desperate for him—yearning for this. Yearning for his touch.
He knew it too. He knew me. He didn’t suffice either, so when he leaned in and kissed me I didn’t pull away.
The kiss was nasty. Desperate like me—longing too. Like we were both drowning and each other was the only source of air.
His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every ridge of muscle through his wet shirt. The hardness of his body was solid against my softness. His dick was already hard, pressing against my stomach. His hands hungrily touching my body, glued to my skin. He broke the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it out the shower, with a wet slap against the tile. Then his mouth met mine again, kissing me sloppy, as if we were on a timer, waiting for it to gooff, counting down the seconds. He was dominating it, making me knees grow weak.
“Romelo,” I gasped against his wet lips, drenched in my shower water and my spit. “We can’t.”
“We can,” he gripped my ass, then his hands firmly caressing my love handles, groping me. “We are. We will.”
His hands began to mesmerize every curve. His fingers dug possessively and I knew there would be bruises tomorrow. The gesture made me wetter. My body being wet casted a difference between the juice swarming down my thighs.
“What about?—”
“Fuck ha,” he growled, then slithered his tongue down my neck, where he began to suck hard enough to draw blood. I gasped at the sharp pain, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. “Fuck everybody,” he whispered into my ear. “Right now, there’s only you…only us.”
Romelo released my neck, then gently pushed me back until my back hit the cool marble wall of the shower. The contrast between between the cold stone and his hot body was making my pussy throb. My nipples hardened into small pebbles and his eyes dropped to them, with an undisguised hunger, like a baby waiting to be breast fed.
“I want you,” she spoke.
