Page 72 of Breakaway

“What happened?”

“You were at the game. We lost,” he bites out, pushing himself off of the bathroom counter.

“What happened after that?” I step further into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

“Nothing. I’m just in a bad mood.”

I move forward tentatively, holding his gaze even though it’s hard. The heaviness of his glare makes my steps feel like it weighs a ton. “Are you angry with me because I wore Drake’s jersey?”

Roman clenches his teeth, his nostrils flaring. “I didn’t like it, but it’s fine; you don’t owe me anything.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m telling you, everything is okay. My mood is just fucked up, and I want to be alone.”

Swallowing the ball of nerves that climbs up my throat, I step closer and look up at him, studying his face and hoping to see my Roman. That broken boy I’ve grown to like so much, it makes me wonder if it’s actually love.

“Why are you pushing me away?” I whisper.

His face contorts; his carefully placed mask is dropping. His eyes darken, and his features become narrower. “Because this is wrong.”

A pang of sorrow pierces my heart. He doesn’t mean that. I might be delusional, might indulge in wishful thinking from time to time. But I know what we have is real. People can’t control how they feel all the time, and neither can he. Especially not when he’s in such a vulnerable state, with his walls down and his damaged soul exposed for me to see. I know he cares, and that he craves my company just as much as I crave his. This is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and I refuse to give up on him. On us.

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me.” I press my palm to his chest, right above his heart. Its violent beat echoes in my ears, sizzling through me. “It feels all kinds of right.”

Roman watches me with his eyebrows pinched together. His emotional turmoil is written all over his face, and it makes my heart ache. I’d do anything for him.

Lifting his hand, he cups my cheek. His eyes are trained on my mouth as he tilts my face up to him. With a slowness that sets my body on fire, he slides his hand down my throat and wraps it around the nape of my neck.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers hoarsely.

“You won’t.”

“Nevaeh…” Roman growls, his lips hovering over mine.

“Don’t call me that. I’m your…Malyshka.” A smile spreads across his lips, and his hold on my neck tightens. “Talk to me, Roman.”

He bends to my ear and sucks my earlobe into his mouth. “I don’t want to talk now. I want to fuck…but I can’t promise to be gentle.”

“Who said I want you to be gentle?” I taunt. Then I press my lips to his, closing the distance between us. I’m tired of his games.

We kiss, his lips moving with mine. It’s anything but slow. It’s raw and passionate, consuming me completely. I’m losing myself in him, fading into this man without any regrets.

My tongue slips out of my mouth, and I trace his bottom lip with it. The saltiness I taste makes my eyes snap open. I pull away, gawking at Roman from under my furrowed brow. Has he been crying?

“Roman…” I whisper, cupping his face with my palms. “What happened?”

His eyes search mine, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening. Suddenly, he takes a step back, and my hands drop to my sides. My lips part, but my breath gets stuck in my throat when he snakes his hand around my waist, turns me around, and pulls me to his chest.

Guiding me toward the sink, he stops when my legs hit the bathroom cabinet. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, and all I see is animalistic need. His usually deep turquoise eyes look like a starless sky, dark and endless. Roman places his hands on my hips and pulls my cotton shorts down to my ankles, taking them off. I’m still in my panties, but he gets rid of those by ripping them apart. Again.

“You need to stop doing that,” I scold him, breathing heavily. “Soon I won’t have any underwear left.”

“Maybe I don’t want you”—he puts his hand on the small of my back and pins me down—“to wear any underwear around me.”

His hands move gently over my sides, sliding to my hips and lower, to my thighs. The moment he bends my right leg at the knee and lifts it, placing it on the countertop, I gasp. My nipples rub against the marble, ramping my desire up to an impossible level. I got high once, in high school, and damn if being with him doesn’t feel just like that.

“Be a good girl for me, Nevaeh,” Roman orders, sliding his palm between my thighs and feeling how wet I am for him. “Look at yourself in the mirror while I make you come.”

He gets on his knees, and all I see in the reflection are my flushed cheeks and my disheveled hair falling into my eyes. My anticipation grows stronger, and when he finally drags his tongue down my slit, I let out a loud moan. Fuck, this is everything.

Digging his fingers into my ass cheeks, he spreads me open wider. His tongue swirls around my clit, then he sucks it into his mouth and releases it with a pop. When he blows on it, it clears my head from thoughts altogether. This man…his tongue in my pussy is all I want. His strokes are long, like he’s doing it on purpose, licking my pussy and fucking me with his tongue as slowly as possible. I have no idea how he expects me to look atmyself in the mirror, because the pleasure is so good, I’m fucking levitating.

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