Page 64 of For The Weekend
He nudges me with my bags, prodding me out, and I lead him to my door, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. Once my door is unlocked, I don’t think twice. Whirling around, I ask, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
He nods. “I have some time.”
Inside, I’m finally able to take my bags from him so I can toss them on the floor. The door clicks shut behind him, and then he’s on me. His lips find mine but don’t stay there long, trekking down my neck.
“Bedroom’s this way,” I say, curling my fingers into his shirt, pulling him in the direction, and he follows willingly.
“Nice place,” he murmurs against my skin, clearly not having seen a single detail of my apartment. I smile, tilting my head to give him better access, breath hitching when he nips me.
“You haven’t even looked.”
He hums, the vibration sending shivers down my spine. “Show me later.”
My back hits the wall, and my breath hisses at the cool contact. Roman pulls away, dark eyes filled with heat.He’s so tall, so broad, so…everything. I want him even as my body aches from last night’s activities.
As if reading my mind, he cups my face gently, thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “You sore?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
A hot blush creeps up my neck. “A little.”
He slides his hand down, over my chest, stomach, and settles between my legs, squeezing my pussy like he owns it. After last night, I suppose he does.
“I should probably say sorry?—”
I interrupt with rushed words. “No, you shouldn’t?—”
“But I’m not going to,” he finishes, and I huff out a laugh.
“Good.”
“I’m a bastard,” he says, and I shake my head, but he goes on. “I should kiss you goodbye and leave, but I don’t want to. I’m not going to. That makes me a bastard.”
“Okay.” I twist my fist in the neckline of his T-shirt, dragging him down to me, speaking my words into his mouth. “So fuck me like the bastard you are.”
His grunt is downright sinful, and he bends, clamping his hands around the backs of my thighs, hoisting me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bed, where we lie down on my mattress. With his tongue in my mouth and my hands in his hair, I’m not sure who’s pushing and pulling, but we roll back and forth until his T-shirt is off and I’m down to my bra and underwear.
He raises himself up above me. “Where do you keep your vibrator?”
“That’s presumptuous of you to think I have one.”
“I bet you have more than one,” he says, finally taking a peek around my bedroom that’s ultra girly with fluffy rugs and a bunch of fake plants everywhere because I’d bedamned if I could keep a real one alive. He tips his chin back to me, hitting me with a knowing glint in his eyes. “I bet they’re all pink, and I bet you use one every night because an orgasm helps you fall asleep.”
I pout. He’s exactly right. “How do you know that?”
“You couldn’t keep your eyes open last night.”
“That’s because you made me come, like, eighteen times.”
He squints at me. “Like I’m eighteen feet tall?”
“It’s a good number for you, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he deadpans before sitting on the edge of the mattress to rummage through my bedside table drawer. When he finds my stash, he inspects the three before deciding on the dark pink rose.
“Lie back, sunshine,” he orders softly, climbing onto the bed next to me. I comply, my heart pounding with anticipation, skin rippling with goose bumps, all because he’s staring at me. That’s all it takes for my nipples to pebble and my stomach to flip.
