Roman Holiday: The Adventure Continues by Ruthie Knox

her. She pulled up to kneeling and lifted her ass in the air. “Put it on.”
    She turned her face to watch as he rolled the condom down his … yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she’d been neglecting this part. She should have been looking at Roman, naked in the yellow-orange light. That hard body, the intensity on his face, his way-better-than-adequate cock rising out of its nest of black hair. Yum.
    His hands slapped down onto her hips. “You want me like this?”
    “I want you every conceivable way.”
    “Me, too, Ash. You have no idea.” Hands to the bed, he lowered himself over her. “But do you like it from behind, or are you offering because you think I do? Because I want to get you off again, if I can. If you don’t want—”
    “Roman,” she interrupted. “This is not the time for overthinking.”
    “Right. Turn over, then.” His mouth caressed her cheek, the rasp of his skin sweet andintimate. “I want to see your face.”
    She turned, surprised because her eyes were misty, tears close. She felt as though she’d spent every day for years and years in layers of padding, gauze-wrapped, and Roman had just yanked hard on the loose end and sent her spinning around, a dizzying whirl that left her bare, her skin tender, her heart open.
    I want to see your face
.
    Who had ever said that to her before?
    No one
, her mind whispered.
No one but him
.
    Earlier, perched on a tree branch, he’d looked at her in the dappled moonlight and told her,
You have me
, as though that was a thing people said. As though they were ordinary words, and he could simply offer them up.
Whatever you want
.
    It went both ways. Whatever he wanted, she would give him, and somehow it wasn’t scary with Roman. There were no sharp edges, no cliffs to drop off if she failed to take care. She’d been warned about this man, but she couldn’t be afraid with his soft hair under her palms, the warm hard muscles of his back rippling when he moved, his mouth so patient and caring when he kissed her that every stroke of his tongue sent little eddies of joy right through her.
    You have me
, she thought, looking into his dark eyes and finding him there, that boy who’d never been loved, this man she’d found to be so different, so much more, so much better than she’d expected.
Whatever you want
.
    He pushed inside her, slow and steady. Withdrew partway, shifting the angle, and then back again, deep and sure this time, all the way in, slicking up moisture as he pulled out and came back, so right, so good.
    “Holy shit.” She squeezed around him and relaxed, adjusting to his size and her crazy, crazy need to keep him right here for the rest of her natural-born life.
    More tears. She blinked them away, unimportant.
    “Ash,” he gasped.
    “Just Ash?” Another squeeze.
    He groaned. “No, more like I’m-not-gonna-last-long Ash.”
    She lifted one knee, shifted beneath him to interlock their legs, and then inhaled, openmouthed, because it worked a little too well, that change. The pressure and friction on her clit the next time he thrust were good enough to blow out a few brain neurons.
    “S’okay,” she slurred. “Thirty seconds. All I need.”
    She wasn’t even making sentences anymore. Just fragments that she hoped were English.
    “You’re kidding. Thirty seconds?” Roman rose to his hands, straight-armed. “I thought you’d need—”
    He stopped talking, possibly because she’d started stroking his chest and his stomach, mesmerized by the sight of their joined bodies, and then she surrendered to the whim telling her she needed to rake her nails down his sides and over his ass, then lower, between his legs to cup his balls.
    Roman dropped to his elbows, so sudden it became clear he had no choice in the matter. He began to fuck her
much
harder.
    Knowing she could break him that way raised her core crotch temperature about seven thousand degrees. Watching his face, his eyes a little glazed, jaw loose. Every time he thrust into her,