Page 60 of Worth the Trouble

“You should have run, sweetheart.” He takes another drink of his water before leaning forward and setting it on the table behind me.

In one swift movement, he grips my ass and tugs me toward him, so I have no choice but to fall forward, gripping the couch over his shoulder. But his hands hold my hips at his face, and without warning, he dives his mouth to my pussy. Only, instead of feeling the heat of his tongue like I expect, I’m met with a cool chill that sends a shiver through the full length of my body.

“Rome.” I grip his shoulders.

He rolls the ice in his mouth over me. The alternating sensations of his tongue mixed with the frozen cubes throw my body into chaos. He grips my hips and twists us, tossing me back down onto the couch, before once more diving between my legs. It’s more than I can take.

His tongue rolls the ice over my clit before he slides it down and drives it inside me with a coolness that somehow burns hot. For all the credit Rome gets for what he can do with his fingers, the man works his mouth like he’s out to ruin me.

I dig my fingers into his scalp, trying to hold on—or maybe I’m trying to let go. I’m falling apart around him. Becoming the pieces he warned me he’d shatter me into.

Rome’s tongue goes wild as the ice melts between my legs, soaking the couch and his face as he works my clit like he’s pissed at the fact that he can’t maintain composure around me anymore. And I want to be the release for his rage. I want to feel the full wrath of him losing control.

His fingers grip onto my ass, and he holds me against his tongue and thrashes it. Relentlessly flicking over my clit and then driving inside me until I scream so loud it’s silent. And I fall apart just as he warned me I would. I shed every last bit of sanity as I dig my fingernails into his scalp. I’m left as nothing more than a mess beneath him, frantic and panting.

When I stop shaking, he finally lifts, kneeling between my legs and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he’s proud of himself. As he should be because I think I saw actual stars as I left my body.

Reaching down for the button on his pants, he smirks at me through hooded eyes. “I could get drunk on the taste of your insanity on my tongue.”

“Is that what I taste like?”

Rome reaches into his pants and strokes himself.

I see the same bulge I felt when I was sitting on him at the club, making me swallow at the nervous energy that rushes through me. He unzips his pants so slowly it feels like slow motion.

“Insanity. Chaos. It’s you coming apart. I think I’d like to do it again.” He tugs his pants down, freeing his large cock. And that’s when I catch sight of a bar running through the thick head, making me wonder if I’m really up for this challenge. “Except this time when I ruin you, I think I’ll do it with my dick.”

19

Lili

Romestrokeshispierceddick, forcing a bead to drip from the tip. The sight alone makes me feel like I’m going to pass out.

It might be that I’m still coming down from the rush of my climax, but sounds are fuzzy in my ears and my head spins at the sight of him. He kneels over me with his dick in his hand, stroking it, watching me. He’s still clothed besides his unbuttoned pants, and I see his tattoos travel even further down.

“Scared yet, sweetheart?” Rome asks, smirking at me, taunting me to see if I’ll call chicken on this whole thing and run for the hills.

What he doesn’t realize is I’m too far in for that to happen. Knee-deep with a man who is a sinkhole. Carefully standing here, knowing at any moment the ground beneath my feet is bound to cave.

I want to fall.

I want to break apart.

I want to be pieces for him.

I sit up and climb up to my knees, facing him. For some reason, it makes his smile drop, confusion pinching his face. I reach for the hem of his T-shirt, and he releases himself long enough for me to pull it up and over his head, revealing every inch of him.

His chest is a map of his past, etched in secrets and pain. And as I run my fingers over his skin and down his stomach, I want to fall into the history of a man who has traveled so many paths, I fear he no longer recognizes his own.

I move both hands downward until I’m wrapping one around his dick and feeling the full size of him. He swallows hard, watching me. My other hand traces the scar on his waist, feeling the ridges of something that must have hurt more than anything I’ve experienced, even if I don’t know the story.

But while I explore the feel of him hard and hungry in my hands, my eyes don’t leave his.

“I’m terrified.” It’s almost a whisper.

It’s honest.

I’m exposed.

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