He sounds a mix of forlorn and annoyed. I can understand that a man like Roman operates on a level where certainty is a given. He understands the world a particular way, its rules, its patterns, and how to keep his people and crew safe. My entry into his life has thrown him off course and he’s looking for a way back to the straight and narrow.
I can’t make up his mind for him.
“What do you want to do?”
“What I want is not possible, Abby.” His gaze drills into me, strips me raw, and leaves me a spineless mess on the metaphorical floor.
“Tell me what you don’t want, then.”
I expect him to say he doesn’t want me to go on that date. I need him to say that.
“I don’t want to feel your smile on my face when you come in for your shift or the brush of your arm against mine as you get off the truck. I don’t want my lungs to be filled with the scent of you. I don’t want to hear your laugh because it—and everything about you—makes me so damn crazy I can’t think straight.”
“Roman—”
Whip quick, he moves in, his hand cupping my hip, the heat of his touch imprinting on me through the fabric of my top. With lips brushing my ear, his whisper is delicious and decadent.
“I don’t want to feel like this anymore. So fucking desperate. So fucking needy.”
I place a hand on his chest, an attempt at comfort, though whether it’s for myself or for him, I can’t say. Nothing has ever felt so solid and masculine, so perfect under my trembling fingers.
His proximity, the intensity waving off him wraps around me like a gorgeous, weighted blanket. One twist of my head and my lips will rub against his dark cheek. He needs a shave, just like that night at the diner. Perhaps we can pretend we’re those people again. I want to feel that strong jaw between my thighs, the weight of him and the moment over me.
“You said it could be just S—” He breathes against the shell of my ear. “E—” Another touch of his lips against my temple. “X.” He finishes with a rough sound in his throat that instantly gets me wet. “Did you mean that?”
I said it but now I realize that was me trying to convince myself—and him—to take a chance on us.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, though I really shouldn’t admit that. We can’t date, yet sex might not be enough.
He turns, locks eyes onto mine, and breathes a hot puff of longing against my lips.
“How about we pretend that’s all it is?” His words are tentative as if he’s testing their viability to exist in a real sentence.
“You mean lie?”
“Is it a lie if we’re so … upfront about it?”
Be honest about the fact we’re lying, but pretend this means nothing all the same? If that’s what it takes to feel him inside me once again, I’m prepared to strike that devil’s bargain. I refuse to overthink it because that will produce a level of reason that’s so inappropriate to how I feel right now.
I tip my toes, he inclines his head, and our lips line up perfectly.
There’s still time to take a step back into sanity, but in this moment, pleasure and need are a two-punch with their hooks in me. I meet his kiss and fall into madness.
This kiss isn’t a lie. Nothing that hot and deep could ever feel like an untruth. It takes a hold of my senses and wrings them out until I’m gasping. I hadn’t realized how much I missed his mouth, the honesty of it.
“Still as sweet as cherry pie.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead to mine. “I shouldn’t want this so bad. Nothing good comes from wanting something this bad.”
“It’s okay to want things, Roman.” I’ve been telling myself that for years while I strive to take control of my career and the life I crave. We’re not hurting anyone, though the closer I get to Roman, the more I realize that someone could emerge from this damaged.
Me.
“We have tonight,” I say. “Let’s make it unforgettable.”
I seal the deal with another kiss, followed by a soft exploration of his jaw that previews coming attractions. Then I turn away, shaky as the leaves teased by the wind, and open the door.
In my apartment, my purse falls to the ground and when I turn Roman wraps me in his arms. Everything about him is solid, hard, and insistent.
I’m tall and well-built, but with Roman I feel soft and, well, cared for. He has my back at the station, on every call. The alpha protector thing is embedded in his DNA.
Who takes care of him?
Tonight, that’ll be me.
I push him against the door, my hands shaking as I fumble with his belt. No slouch, he unbuttons my blouse, pulls it apart to expose my bra-cupped breasts …
And groans.
“You are something else. A fucking vision.”
My hands unzip and pull his jeans down. He helps remove them, kicking off his shoes and socks. I fall to my knees, then work my way back up along the inside of one thick, hairy, hard-as-stone thigh. His muscles bunch with each press of my lips to his skin, and when I peel his boxer briefs down to free him, his entire body stiffens.
“You okay?” I ask as I pull his underwear off. Oh Lord, look at him.
“Define okay.”
“Not likely to collapse if I take this beautiful cock in my mouth.” I kiss the underside softly, moving my lips over the throbbing vein.
I hear him swallow. “No, not okay. Definitely not okay.” He curls a hand around my neck, moving his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “You don’t have to—fuck!”
“I know.” You were saying, Lieutenant?
I’ve always loved giving head. The taste, the feel, the power to give that much pleasure to someone while they are trusting you with their most precious possession. (Because let’s be honest, guys love their dicks.)
I suck him deep, and apply myself to tasting every solid inch of him. The musky scent consumes me, the solid weight fills me up, and knowing what this does to him takes me somewhere special. He groans, a long and heartfelt sound, and in it I hear his pleasure and his gratitude.
“Abby, yes, fuck—that’s so good.” He tunnels the fingers of one hand in my hair, while the palm of the other at the back of my neck keeps me in place, focused on his pleasure which is also mine.
“Baby, I’m going to come,” he warns, but I’m going nowhere. I suck harder, taking him deeper, and make sure he’ll never doubt my commitment to his need. The first drop to hit my tongue is hot and salty, and I drink him down through his howl of release.
Breathless, I rest my head against his thigh and let him stroke my neck and jaw for a few precious, quiet moments.
“Up,” he says, his tone raspy and rough.
Standing, I place my hands on his hips. His body feels like an anchor, something solid to hold on to. He curves his palms around my butt and pulls me in for a deep, wet kiss.
“Before this goes any further, I need you to do something for me.”
I blink at this weird attempt at bargaining for my orgasm. “Something else?”
He rubs his nose against mine. “Dump your date.”
“I could just stand him up.” Though I’d never do that.
“I know what that’s like. It’s not nice. Break the date. Then let me show you why it’s the best decision you could have made.”