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"That's what you want?" I ask, tilting my head down until my lips almost touch hers. I can smell the wine on her breath. The scent is intoxicating. I want to lean a little closer and see if it tastes as sweet on her tongue as I imagine it does. But I don't. Not yet. "You want me on you for two weeks, baby? You want me to be your first?"
We both know that's what she's really asking for here. She wants me to be her first.
"Yes," she moans.
Goddamn, what man wouldn't agree to what she's offering? Two weeks of exploring her body. Two weeks of making her scream my name. Two weeks of doing whatever the fuck I want to her while she begs me for more. But I'm not sure she understands the ramifications of her choice.
With a bottle of wine pumping through her system, is it even possible for her to comprehend the things I want to do to her? There's nothing gentle about the way I want her. There's nothing sweet about the filthy shit I think about doing to her. Her first time shouldn't be with a motherfucker like me. The fact that I'm so willing to take what she's offering is proof enough of that.
"Kiss me, Roman," she whispers.
I shouldn't, but I pull her closer anyway. My lips find hers in the quasi-darkness.
I was right. Her mouth is sweet…so fucking sweet.
Her lips are soft as they move against mine, her breath warm. She tastes like peaches and wine. I tilt her head in my hands, deepening the kiss. A growl rumbles in my throat when her tongue touches mine, tentative, questioning…begging. Soft sounds whisper from her lips, little moans that leave my self-control in tatters.
Ripping the blanket away from her, I toss it to the side. My hands go back to her waist. The wine bottle and glass topple off the deck into the sand below as I lift her, placing her on the railing so I can get closer, deeper. Her legs immediately go around my waist, pulling me into her. Her hands are in my hair, tugging and pulling. She's not gentle, and I fucking love the little pinpricks of pain followed by pleasure.
"Roman," she moans, wriggling that sexy little ass so she grinds against me.
My dick presses hard against my zipper. Every single part of me wants to rip her shorts and panties down her legs and thrust into her. I knew…I fucking knew she'd go wild for me when I got my hands on her.
"Fuck," I snarl and then bite her bottom lip. My heart races, the desire to strip her bare pounding through me with each heavy beat. I want her right here and now, bent over the railing. I don't care who hears us. The entire damn planet could listen to her scream my name, and it wouldn't change a fucking thing for me.
What is she doing to me?
When she reaches between us, her hand grazing my cock, I know I have to slow this down. Regardless of what she said, I won't take her when she isn't sober. If we do this, I want to be fucking certain it's what she wants.
By some miracle, that reminder gives me a little control back. Just enough to pull my mouth from hers and catch her hand in mine.
Her eyes fly open, her gaze locking on my face. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks flushed. Her plump lips are swollen. She looks like an angry little cat, pissed because I took away her favorite meal. It's so fucking cute; I'm caught off guard by the feeling that look on her face sends bolting through me. It's warm and soft.
What the fuck?
Instead of trying to answer that question, I wrap my arms around her, tucking her into my chest. She comes willingly, laying her head against my pec with a contented little sigh.
I hold her there for a long moment.
"You stopped," she grumbles then, pouting. She sounds sleepy.
I fight the urge to smile, burying my face in her hair to hide my chuckle.
"Yeah," I mumble.
She sighs again but doesn't say anything else. Within minutes, she's asleep against my chest.
I stand there with her for a long time, staring out at the ocean, trying to fight back the unfamiliar feeling creeping through me. It's an ache in the center of my chest, a desire I've never felt before. She said I don't date, and she's right. I don't catch feelings. I don't fall in love. That kind of shit isn't for me. Keeping Tahani out of the crosshairs is hard enough. I don't want a family in the same position Brady put his in. But with Mila?
Well, shit is always different with her. And that's the problem. She's different. She's always been different.
I could easily see myself falling for her, building a future with her.
That shit can't happen.
"Two weeks," I remind myself. Two weeks is all I get, and then she's gone. The clock has barely even started, and already, I'm dreading the end.
Chapter Six
