she lifted her hips to meet him and the rhythm of her arousal beat
more, more, again, more
. “Not kidding,” she said. “Jesus, keep doing that. Keep—”
When she squeezed him again, Roman released that grunting, groaning noise.
“I love making you sound like an animal.”
His smile was pained. “I’m not going to last.”
One more squeeze, and his eyes closed, eyebrows drawn into an expression that would have looked like agony if it weren’t for that sound he made. That expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure, foolishly beautiful. His face. This connection. This man inside her.
His frantic haste tripped her switch, focusing her own pleasure down to one intense point of concentration and sending it out to spread through her whole body. Ashley tucked her head against his neck, closed her eyes, and hung on tight, tight,
God
, everything tightened around Roman and he gasped and went still, panting into her hair, coming with her and into her, both of them clinging like survivors, desperate and needy and sated, fulfilled, happy.
Happy, together, in the moment. In this night.
Even if she didn’t have all the answers, she had this one affirmative answer. Yes.
Yes to the two of them, heavy and weary.
Yes to Roman rolling his weight off her and pulling her into his arms, kissing her neck and her shoulder and the back of her head before he got up to take care of the condom and then returned, pulling the covers over them.
Yes to not needing words or making plans for the morning, because they both wanted the same thing tonight. They wanted to fall asleep in this cold room, huddled under the covers of a cozy bed that smelled like soap and deodorant and excellent sex. His chest against her back. Tucked up together, safe and warm, with all their problems set aside.
Yes to Roman
, she thought as she drifted off.
Yes
.
Maybe when the sun came up, all the rest of the answers would be as obvious as this one.
Episode 7:
Renounced
CHAPTER ONE
Carmen squirmed.
She writhed.
She lifted and twisted and moaned.
How did this man make her so
loose
? So voluptuously loose, as if he’d oiled her joints or threaded through her veins with winding vitality. She had no choice but to move restlessly beneath his mouth. No choice at all.
It was because, she thought, he had so many tools. He used the bristles of his beard against her. He used his lips, his tongue, his smile, his teeth, his crinkling kind eyes, his giant ridiculous rodeo belt buckle and humongous burly arms. His hands, worst of all. Distracting. Knowledgeable.
Attentive
.
All of these safe-cracking tools, every one devastatingly effective despite being unsuitable. Despite
his
being unsuitable.
She did the most unsuitable things for him, too.
It was unsuitable, for instance, to be wearing her skirt right now, allowing it to become rumpled simply because he’d asked her to keep it on. He had, in fact, told her to keep it on, along with her shoes, right before he’d shoved it up her hips with those huge, expressive,
sexy
hands and buried his face between her legs.
Unsuitable, at seven in the morning of the day she was supposed to be supervising the demolition of Sunnyvale, to be in Noah’s bed, squirming on top of sheets that probably weren’t even all that clean.
Unsuitable to be wet, red-faced, sweating,
again
.
“You like that, baby?” he asked.
He threw out these statements that weren’t really questions. They only sounded like questions so he’d have an excuse to crinkle up into a grin, rub and pat her belly as though she were a puppy, a woman to be called baby.
Because he was having such a grand time, he wanted to
share
it with her.
His questions were a form of wasted speech, like a greeting or a goodbye—verbalcaresses with no purpose unless it was to make her smile. Which she’d started doing. Smiling and saying silly, juvenile things back to him, like “Yeah. Yeah, you know I do. It’s so good. You make it so good.”
He made her murmur
more, more, again, more
. “Not kidding,” she said. “Jesus, keep doing that. Keep—”
When she squeezed him again, Roman released that grunting, groaning noise.
“I love making you sound like an animal.”
His smile was pained. “I’m not going to last.”
One more squeeze, and his eyes closed, eyebrows drawn into an expression that would have looked like agony if it weren’t for that sound he made. That expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure, foolishly beautiful. His face. This connection. This man inside her.
His frantic haste tripped her switch, focusing her own pleasure down to one intense point of concentration and sending it out to spread through her whole body. Ashley tucked her head against his neck, closed her eyes, and hung on tight, tight,
God
, everything tightened around Roman and he gasped and went still, panting into her hair, coming with her and into her, both of them clinging like survivors, desperate and needy and sated, fulfilled, happy.
Happy, together, in the moment. In this night.
Even if she didn’t have all the answers, she had this one affirmative answer. Yes.
Yes to the two of them, heavy and weary.
Yes to Roman rolling his weight off her and pulling her into his arms, kissing her neck and her shoulder and the back of her head before he got up to take care of the condom and then returned, pulling the covers over them.
Yes to not needing words or making plans for the morning, because they both wanted the same thing tonight. They wanted to fall asleep in this cold room, huddled under the covers of a cozy bed that smelled like soap and deodorant and excellent sex. His chest against her back. Tucked up together, safe and warm, with all their problems set aside.
Yes to Roman
, she thought as she drifted off.
Yes
.
Maybe when the sun came up, all the rest of the answers would be as obvious as this one.
Episode 7:
Renounced
CHAPTER ONE
Carmen squirmed.
She writhed.
She lifted and twisted and moaned.
How did this man make her so
loose
? So voluptuously loose, as if he’d oiled her joints or threaded through her veins with winding vitality. She had no choice but to move restlessly beneath his mouth. No choice at all.
It was because, she thought, he had so many tools. He used the bristles of his beard against her. He used his lips, his tongue, his smile, his teeth, his crinkling kind eyes, his giant ridiculous rodeo belt buckle and humongous burly arms. His hands, worst of all. Distracting. Knowledgeable.
Attentive
.
All of these safe-cracking tools, every one devastatingly effective despite being unsuitable. Despite
his
being unsuitable.
She did the most unsuitable things for him, too.
It was unsuitable, for instance, to be wearing her skirt right now, allowing it to become rumpled simply because he’d asked her to keep it on. He had, in fact, told her to keep it on, along with her shoes, right before he’d shoved it up her hips with those huge, expressive,
sexy
hands and buried his face between her legs.
Unsuitable, at seven in the morning of the day she was supposed to be supervising the demolition of Sunnyvale, to be in Noah’s bed, squirming on top of sheets that probably weren’t even all that clean.
Unsuitable to be wet, red-faced, sweating,
again
.
“You like that, baby?” he asked.
He threw out these statements that weren’t really questions. They only sounded like questions so he’d have an excuse to crinkle up into a grin, rub and pat her belly as though she were a puppy, a woman to be called baby.
Because he was having such a grand time, he wanted to
share
it with her.
His questions were a form of wasted speech, like a greeting or a goodbye—verbalcaresses with no purpose unless it was to make her smile. Which she’d started doing. Smiling and saying silly, juvenile things back to him, like “Yeah. Yeah, you know I do. It’s so good. You make it so good.”
He made her murmur
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