My insides tangled with need at his words, at the unspoken truth in them.
I rocked my hips over his hard length, my body trembling as his head grazed my clit. The warm water rained down atop us, sliding over our skin and making it slick.
“Roman,” I sighed his name, unable to put words to all I felt at that moment.
So I showed him instead.
I kissed him, claiming his mouth as he had mine earlier, relishing the feel of his tongue against mine as I continued to rock above him. I teased and tasted until we were both shaking with need. Until I couldn’t breathe from wanting him inside me.
“Fuck,” Roman growled as I took him in, inch by glorious inch until I’d fully sank atop him.
“Goddamn,” I mimicked his earlier word as I lifted and sank atop him again.
And again.
Slow, smooth strokes that allowed me to feel every delicious inch of him.
Torture, agonizing, beautiful, mind-splintering torture. That’s what making love to Roman Padilla felt like.
Like the most brutal need paired with the most satisfying edge.
A rainstorm with the power to cleanse my soul.
An unbreakable bridge where we met in the middle.
“Fucking beautiful,” he growled, holding onto my hips as he let me take control.
“God, Roman,” I moaned, upping my pace. I flicked my tongue over his lips before throwing my head back, gasping for breath. “You feel so good.”
The warm water drenched us, my body a sizzling live-wire of electricity on the brink of explosion.
Roman held onto me with one hand, freeing his other to trail his fingers over my body. Teasing my breasts, my abdomen, and lower until he found my clit.
I gasped, drawing my head back, our eyes locking as his fingers rolled and pinched and pressed until I was rocking atop him with abandon. Gone was my slow and steady pace, replaced solely with the undiluted need to fly over the edge with him.
Together.
“Come with me,” I begged, arching into that hand, feeling him harden to another degree inside me. “Roman,” I gasped. “Please.”
Roman flashed me a smirk as I pressed my forehead against his, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I rocked against him faster and faster. My breaths ragged, my body tightening so much I was certain I’d break right there above him.
He met my movements with thrusts of his own, hitting that spot deep inside me that I didn’t know existed before he laid claim to it. All the while his damn fingers expertly played between my thighs, sending me closer and closer to that sweet edge.
“There she is,” he said, his eyes on mine. “Say it, Teagan.”
I trembled, a crescendo of tension spiraling down my core. “I’m coming!”
“Again.” He thrust upward, driving me over the edge.
“I’m coming!” I gasped, gripping his shoulders like I might fly off the planet if I didn’t hold on. “Roman. Fuck.” Stars glittered on the edge of my vision as I shattered into a thousand pieces around him. My body trembled against him, my heat clenching his hard-as-granite length like a vise.
“God, yes,” Roman hissed, finding his own release inside me, the feel of which sent the sweetest aftershocks to each of my nerve endings.
My breath was ragged as I went limp against him, the warm water raising chills on my sensitive flesh.
“Roman…” I said when I’d caught my breath. “I have no words.” I pressed my lips against his, kissing him slowly, sweetly, a thank you for sending me into fucking orbit.
He smiled up at me, shifting us until we were standing again and directly beneath the stream of water. “And you don’t need any,” he said, sliding his hands over my body and between my thighs. “I’m here. I’m right here with you,” he said, accentuating his words with those sweet, gentle strokes.
That quickly, I wanted him again.
I bit my lip, wondering if it would be too much to ask for more when he’d already given me so much.
Another smirk shaped his lips as he read the intent in my eyes.
He shut off the water and wrapped me in a towel. I’d barely dried off before he’d scooped me up and rushed me back to his bed.
Where he proceeded to blow my mind.
Two more times.
Several hours later, with Roman peacefully, deeply asleep next to me, I quietly crawled out of bed.
My body was a loose, satisfied thing, but my mind? It was racing.
And not with the haunting memories of my past or the unanswered questions of my future…
But with color.
And images.
Burst after burst of that raw creative spark I’d been missing for months now.
I padded barefoot to the art studio Roman had so graciously given me, and painted.
Sure, I’d painted a few weeks ago, but it was a commissioned piece. This…this was an unleashing. This was a release of all the light and color I’d buried deep inside me due to the fear of ridicule. Due to that voice in my head, Rick’s voice, telling me I wasn’t good enough to make it as a real artist, but it was a cute hobby he didn’t mind supporting.
This was my resurfacing.
Emotions poured out of me with the brush in my hand. I painted how it felt to be touched by Roman, a slew of gentle and teasing pink tones.
I painted how his tongue felt sliding deep inside me, all fiery reds and rushing oranges.
I painted how it felt when he’d slid home the first time, the most brilliant shade of gold. Of happiness.
After losing myself in the art, in the sensation of truly being happy for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like myself again. I’d worked tirelessly to find that girl I used to be, for months now...but Roman...Roman had given me everything I needed to help rediscover who I’d always been. His selflessness, his compassion, his brilliant affection...all had helped me remember who I was. Who I’d always been.
Someone strong and passionate and wild.
Someone worth loving.
And I had no idea how I was ever going to repay him for all he’d done...but I couldn’t stop the smile stretching my lips as I thought of all the ways I wanted to show my appreciation for him.
11
Roman
The hotel bar was loud as hell, but we’d managed to carve out a somewhat quieter section toward the back. Nixon, Hendrix, and I held down a small table in the corner, and for once, not even Hendrix was drinking.
We’d lost tonight, which always sucked, but it had an especially bitter tone considering we’d been favored to win, and it was Monday Night Football. But it had been one of those games where nothing went right, where passes turned into interceptions, and handoffs morphed into fumbles.
Just to add to our spectacularly shitty day, bad weather had moved into Buffalo, and we were grounded until the morning, which meant I wouldn’t get to see Teagan tonight like I’d hoped. I’d only been gone two days, and I missed her like hell. Talk about going into withdrawals from an addiction. I was testy, distracted, and starved for her.
I rotated my left shoulder and groaned. That shit was going to be sore for at least a couple days.
“You take anything for that?” Nixon asked, breaking his post-game silence.
“Ibuprofen. It’s fine.” It hurt like hell, but I wasn’t going to whine about it.