Page 62 of Worth the Trouble

And he does, as his body collides with mine and our eyes lock gazes. I see past the rock star. I see past the scars. I see past the persona.

And all that’s left is Rome. A man who chases life with such fullness he resurrected the dead parts within me.

His jaw clenches, and I bring my hands to his face—to hold him or this moment, I’m not sure. I want to frame it and keep him when this passes, and when I leave this city. I want to remember that even though there was nothing left but dead soil inside me, someone had the power to grow something better with their sunlight.

Rome’s speed slows as he dips his lips down for a kiss. And even though the hard thrusts have eased, there’s more intensity to it. He crawls inside me and burrows himself. He hands me a part of him. His thrusts get uneven, and he clenches as he spills inside me before collapsing.

But his lips don’t leave my own.

We live in this secret as long as we stay like this. A moment that doesn’t need to end. With no room for air and no space for regret.

His fingers release my ankle, and I bend my leg, sitting it over his shoulder as he holds me.

I’m paralyzed with fear all of a sudden. It rushes through me, the same way my need for him flooded my system. Because I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to feel anything other than what he brings out in me.

Rome breaks the kiss and lifts up, hovering over me, and I trace the tattooed wings on his throat with my fingers as he does. His expression is tight, and I can’t tell if it’s him already shutting down because it’s still so difficult for me to read him.

“So…” I let out a breath that sounds almost like a chuckle, even if deep down I don’t feel the lightheartedness of it. “Am I finally out of your system?”

Why I’m asking him this while he’s still inside me is baffling, but I can’t help myself. I need to know if I’m in his veins too, swimming through his blood.

He traces a finger along my hairline, tugging stray hairs off my face, and looking me over while I memorize this expression and hope the darkness in his eyes doesn’t do what he said it would.

“Am I out of yours?” he asks in return, instead of offering me an answer, which hurts a little when I need his truth.

But, I brought this on myself.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he says, brushing his lips against my mouth. “Because you’re like fucking fuel in mine.”

One sentence, and even though I know he’s going to incinerate it, I hand what’s left of my soul over to Rome Moreno.

20

Rome

Youcanhearasong a hundred times and think nothing of it. It could be background noise. But all it takes is hearing it once at the right moment for it to strike a chord and make an impact.

One time when the sounds hit differently, and the lyrics give purpose to something in your chest. And in that moment, you don’t just listen, you feel it. So deep that years later the same song holds the power to drag you back in time.

Sex is like music to me. Always has been. It’s an expression, a release, a changing of energy. It’s a way to pass the time or get familiar with a different side of yourself and someone else.

I’ve sampled every genre, appreciated a spectrum of sounds and lyrics. All bright colors and good feelings.

But then there was one.

A beat, unlike anything I’d heard before. A song with new lyrics, and a tempo all its own. Soft and controlled with an undercurrent of wild energy.

Lili fills my silence with her heartbeat. She’s neon lights painting a dark room. Moans and sharp inhales and chaos. I could listen to her beautiful sounds all night.

Fucking perfection.

“You done yet?” Lili tries to peek down at her ribs.

I hold my hand so she can’t see what I’m doing. “Not yet.”

She laughs in an octave that shocks my system. The sound is melodic. Haunting the most broken parts of my bones.

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