Page 7 of Sinful Promises

His eyes shot open. Then closed. The slow and precise movements he’d had were replaced with hard and fast ones. He drove up and down his jackhammer with wild thrusts. He bent his knees and pumped. Over and over. With a deep, guttural growl, a stream of semen released from his cock and caught in the light as it squirted onto the tartan rug.

He kept going, again and again, until his cock softened in his hand.

It was a truly incredible thing to witness. It wasn’t dirty or nasty.

It was glorious and something I’d remember forever.

And the best part was, I could live with what just happened, and not feel slutty or wrong.

Luca and I shared a couple of awkward moments as we redressed. With a kiss on his cheek, I left him in the loft and made my way downstairs. Each step on my wobbly legs was a reminder of the explosive orgasms I’d just had.

As much as it was absolutely incredible, the fact that it hadn’t been enough to eradicate Roman from my brain scared the hell out of me. I’d thought that was a drastic measure.

How much more drastic could I get?

I had no idea.

But if I didn’t figure it out soon, I was in for hell.

Chapter Three

In the days after Luca, we cruised from France to Monaco, spent two nights in Florence, and finally arrived in Rome. And the entire time, Roman continued his brooding. He was ruining my plans to have the best possible final months in Europe, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.

Out of sheer exasperation, after we’d sorted all our passengers into our Rome hotel rooms, I turned to him with my hands on my hips. “Okay, enough is enough. You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“What?” He did that I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look.

“You know what. You’ve barely spoken to me in eight days.”

“We’ve spoken.”

“You know what I mean. Something is wrong, and I need to know what.”

He tilted his head and the lobby lights caught in his stunning eyes. “It’s nothing, Daisy.”

Damn it. The way he said my name had all sorts of wonderful sensations fluttering through me. My body was my enemy. Deciding on a different approach, I touched my hand to his forearm. “Roman, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

A frown wobbled across his forehead and he nodded.

Something was choking him up, and if I didn’t get to the bottom of it soon, it was going to crush the both of us. He needed a distraction. Fighting the urge to sacrifice my body with one mighty fine distraction, I cleared my throat and said, “If you don’t have anything planned for this afternoon, you could join me on a tour.”

His eyes brightened. “I’d love to.”

I giggled. “But you don’t know what the tour is yet.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“It’s the catacombs and crypts tour.”

“Sounds perfect.”

I slapped him on the arm. “Do you even know what they are?”

“Of course, I know what catacombs and crypts are.” His Italian accent glided off his tongue like liquid chocolate, rich and smooth.

He reached for my luggage, and turning together, we strolled toward the elevators. Stepping in, I looked up at him. He really was tall. “I’ll see you in the lobby in half an hour?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

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