Page 21 of The Roman's Woman (A Singular Obsession)

Gio must have felt the change in her. He caught her urgency, plunging his hands in her hair and clenching them into fists. Beneath her, his hips worked overtime, lunging up forcefully in harsh strokes. Her channel gripped him firmly as she rode him, undulating on his lap in a striking counterpoint. The move deepened and intensified the hot pulses at her core until the ecstasy surged and crested.

She threw back her head, too out of breath to cry out as Gio buried his face in her neck and groaned. Mouth gaping, she bore down, grinding against him in an effort to prolong the high.

The feeling held for a few more precious seconds until it finally spun away, leaving her hazy and weak.

Distantly, she registered his climax. He groaned gutturally as his cock swelled and pulsed inside her, teasing her G-spot repeatedly as she came down from her orgasm with a final convulsive wrench.

He collapsed on the bed with her in his arms. They lay there quietly, breathing hard as he softened inside of her. Eventually, he turned to her and frowned. He reached out and wiped away the tears on her cheeks, which she hadn’t known were there.

“Bella mia, are you okay?” His voice was hoarse and concerned.

Nodding, she swallowed and took a deep breath. “I often cry during sex,” she lied.

“Oh.” He relaxed, toying with her hair before moving down to cup her ass—his hand’s favorite resting place. “Why don’t we jump in the shower and order room service,” he suggested, nibbling at her ear and neck.

She wrinkled her nose. “Bad idea. If we shower together we’ll take forever. I’m starving and this place doesn’t have room service.”

Gio's mouth turned down. “No room service?”

She shrugged. “That's what you get when you go with a charming and historic bed and breakfast instead of a luxury hotel.” Rolling over onto her stomach, she tugged the sheet over her butt.

His hand snuck up to twitch the sheet back down again.

She smacked his hand. “Why don’tyoujump in the shower, then, and I’ll look for a place nearby on my phone. I’m pretty sure we already missed the breakfast here,” she said, squinting at the digital clock on the bedside table.

He stood with a grin, unashamed of his nudity. “I’ll be quick,” he promised before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Once he was safely out of sight, Sophia collapsed face-first on the bed, burying her nose in the mattress.

Her vacation fling had become so much more.

What am I going to do?

What was wrong with her? Why did all of her entanglements with men always get so off track? She couldn’t even handle a vacation fling. Other women did rebound sex just fine without getting emotionally involved. Why did she have to be different?

In a few days, she was going to have to go home and it was going to crush her to leave him behind.

The weight in her chest seemed to grow heavier with each breath. She was already mourning Gio’s loss, and he wasn’t even gone yet.

Rolling over, she stared at the ceiling, blinking back more tears. What if he doesn’t want things to end, either? He had certainly been acting very possessive since last night. Before then, actually.

He can’t have you back, you’re mine.It had certainly sounded like he meant that. What if he was serious and somehow she could keep him?

Stop acting crazy.

It would never work. Gio was a street performer, for heaven’s sake. Even if by some miracle he was willing to relocate, could she be with someone so different?

How did you date a man without ambition?

She was honest enough to admit that dating someone beneath her professionally would be a problem. It would be embarrassing to take him to work functions and have him mingle with her academic friends—and she had no others. Gio would never fit into her life…unless he gave up street performing.

Maybe he was already considering it? Why else would he have gotten a second job moonlighting as a bank teller? What if he applied for a job at a bank near her in Oxford? Could he give up his devil-may-care artist lifestyle for a boring nine-to-five job?

Not if he did it for you.

She couldn’t ask him to give up his life. He’d never be happy as a square peg in a round hole. Artists needed freedom and the right to express themselves. She’d be taking his wings and clipping them. She had to let him go. She couldn’t be that person who became involved with someone and tried to fundamentally change them.

Like Richard tried to do to you.

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