Page 63 of Saved By the Billionaire

“You won’t.” And she moved her mouth over his length, his size much harder to accommodate there. But it didn’t matter, because with Roman and Kate, there was something beyond biology and physics; there was a connection that just meant things worked, and as she moved her mouth, his hand eased to the back of her head, not to push her but almost as though he needed the support. He sat lower in the chair, shifting himself forward to give her more access, and she relished the intimacy of this, slowly driving him to the point of insanity, to the point where her name tripped from his lips and then the hand on her head became insistent, as his hips began to move of their own accord, almost against his will, and she felt him in her mouth, so huge and everywhere. His voice was a husk, and she held her mouth right down, her lips against the flat wall of his lower abdomen and then, he was swearing from deep in his belly, his hand pulling her head away, staring down at her like a caged animal let loose on a field in the savannah.

She hadn’t even realised he’d had papers on the table until he shoved them aside and lifted her easily, placing her on the hard wooden surface then bringing his body over hers, kissing her mouth, tasting her, the weight of him pressing her down, his body the most perfect, intoxicating, aching thing she’d ever known.

“Stay here,” he groaned, pushing up from her and striding away, so she scrambled up to her elbows to follow him. But by the time she had done so, he was already on his way back, condom in hand.

“How about we stash those near every table and kitchen counter for the next few days?” Kate suggested impishly, as he tore the top off and sheathed himself, before driving into her in a way that made her see stars.

“Holy crap, Roman,” she cried.

“Too much?”

Yes. But not because of him, or his size. Because he was splintering apart barriers that mattered to her. Barriers that had kept her safe for a long time, barriers that kept her alone. But with Roman, she felt complete. The word breezed through her and it was the last thing she thought of before sensory awareness obliterated everything else. Before the sensations his body invoked in hers took over and she was powerless to fight them.

Spiral after spiral, whorl after whorl, she was sucked into a vortex and she let it carry her away, come what may.

Roman lifted her as he had done so often, his chest thundering at holding her near like this. He didn’t need to carry her. She’d walked so much better this morning, but he liked having her against his body, he liked this part of them. Or maybe it was just that she was like a queen, and she deserved this. To be slavishly worshipped and…

He cut off the thought, his heart pounding from a familiar—but long forgotten—sense of panic. It gripped him, making breathing hard, making his eyes flood with stars and his throat constrict, nausea rising in his throat as the world became uncertain and he lost sight of himself. He concentrated on the physical. His breathing, his muscles, the gait of his walk, the burn in his thighs, the feel of her robe against his palms; he thought of the carpet beneath his feet, the details of this apartment, and he placed her down on the sofa as though nothing were wrong.

He wanted to crouch down at her level and look into her eyes, to ask her how she was, how she’d slept, if she was comfortable, but instead he walked away as his body processed the feeling of powerlessness.

“Coffee?” he called over his shoulder.

“Mmm, yes, please.” Her voice, in contrast to his tightening coil of anxiety, was languid and relaxed. Like a woman who’d been thoroughly pleasured, he thought, and despite himself, he smiled, flicking the machine to life and starting the grinder. The noise was a welcome distraction; it drowned out the cacophony of blood in his ears. He started to make the coffee, watching the liquid drain through, then frothed some milk, and carried the mug to her.

She was sitting up now, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, making his throat go bone dry. “You didn’t come to bed last night.”

He arched a brow. “Didn’t I?”

“You didn’t stay in bed,” she corrected, cheeks flushing pink. “Why not?”

“I don’t sleep well.”

“You’ve slept with me other nights.”

He didn’t tell her that he’d slept fitfully, and mostly stayed so he could hold her, knowing then she’d sleep better. She sipped her coffee, eyes on his.

“Do you regret it?”

He took a drink of his own coffee—thick, strong and black, then placed the cup on the table beside him.

Her eyes dropped. “What happened between us, I mean.”

“You mean, do I regret it so much that I took you three minutes ago on the dining table?”

Her cheeks went a darker shade of puce. “That was sort of my idea.”

“Yes, yes, it was.” He took another drink of coffee.

“Are you deliberately not answering me?”

“Do you really need me to?”

She lifted one shoulder in a silent shrug and his chest seemed to hollow out, realisation dawning. It was so easy to look at Kate and see only the bravado, the veneer. The confident image she projected and had perfected over the years. The sense she gave off that no one could touch her, that she didn’t care what anyone thought. But beneath that was the same Kate who’d lost her mother as a young girl and been handed from foster home to foster home, who’d never known stability or true love, who’d been made to think that was somehow her fault. Beneath the veneer of sass was a woman who’d grown up expecting to be pushed away at any given moment—including this one.

Roman Hayes wasn’t known for his heart—sometimes he thought it had shrivelled up years ago—but in that moment, he felt it twist and tighten for Kate, sympathy making him reach out and put a hand on her thigh.

“Look at me,” he said, the command coming naturally. Her eyes flitted to his but he saw now that there was wariness in their depths, even when her features were perfectly placid. Such a good actress, so well-practiced in convincing people that she was fine. “The only thing I regret,” he said, voice a deep husk, “Is that it took us a goddamn week to reach this point. You got that?”