Page 80 of Only for Him
Those lips had been on mine not so long ago. They demanded, then consumed, and ultimately obliterated any shadow of resistance that might have still remain in me. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and probably never will feel again.
That’s why I’m determined to draw this out as long as I can before putting him away.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
Fuck.
“Seriously? Tonight’s the night you don’t bring flowers?” I try to keep the snark in my voice so that he can’t see how my breath hitches.
He smirks.
“Do I look the part?” I ask.
“You do.” He steps closer, changing the air pressure in the room.
“One more thing,” he says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a long silk scarf: deep red, the color of blood.
He holds it in the hand I bit, the fabric covering the mark I left.
But we both know it’s there.
He steps behind me, drapes the scarf over my shoulders, and slides the ends forward to knot it at my throat. His hands linger, fingers brushing the pulse point.
He could choke me with that,I think, excited and anxious.One tug and my lungs belong to him. My pussy, too, apparently.
I want him to. I want him to take me to the edges of my threshold and then drag me even further. I know he can. He’s proved that. Being around him, I don’t want to inhale and exhale.
I want to explode.
Instead, he ties it in a perfect, elegant knot. The silk is cool against my fevered skin, still burning where he touched me.
“Perfect,” he says, stepping back to admire his work. His muscles are tense, the suit barely containing them. I think, again, about handing Arata the vial. It still feels wrong, like I tilted the board against Roman.
Too late now.
I glance down at the red against the black. It looks like a warning label. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I’m not the only one,” he says with another smirk. Before I can respond, he gestures at the mask on my coffee table. “May I?”
I nod, and he picks it up with delicate care. Far gentler than he’s ever touched me, and I shudder when I think of howthatmight feel. I shiver.
What would he be like with tenderness?
What would it do to me?
He holds the mask to my face, and I let him tie it behind my head. For a second, his hands are in my hair, tugging it into place.
The world goes dark at the edges, the only thing left is his scent, his hands, and the cold bite of the mask against my cheekbones.
He leans in, voice a whisper against my ear. “Ready?”
No. Never. But I nod anyway.
I follow him down the stairs, the echo of our steps crisp in the dead-of-night silence.
Outside, parked at the curb like it owns the block, is a black Lamborghini. Purring like a jungle cat. It’s overkill. Which, really, is just Roman in a nutshell.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “Seriously?”
