My tank top lay strewn over the edge of the kitchen counter. His impeccably ironed shirt on the pathway to the bedroom. My straight leg jeans… well, they were here somewhere. And there was Roman above me, his slacks right by the foot of the bed, his muscled frame poised above my slick body.
The air took on a sweet, syrupy scent to it; I recognized it as the scents of my lubrication. Roman hadn't gone down there tonight—it seemed he wished to focus on my face and my face alone. When his hands found my breasts earlier, he tugged at my peaks and kissed them for a brief minute, then he positioned back to staring at every dip and curve of my face.
Now, he moved. Slowly, intentionally, almost lovingly.
Maybe that was what I wanted to think, but it couldn't be denied that his pulsing manhood pushed in and out at such a crawling pace. And it had to be on purpose. The way his eyes didn't stray, and the rhythmic dance of his muscled hips, it had to be on purpose.
His hips abruptly picked up speed, and I gasped my surprise at the switch in flow. He pushed further into me, leaving no room anywhere. I squirmed beneath him, my eyes bleary and unfocused as I dug my nails into his neck. This motion pulled him down, closer to my face. I felt his stare deepen more than I saw it, with all the writhing I occupied myself with. I could only gasp; moans weren't the go-to sound for my throat this eventful night.
Roman's hips rolled back and forth, the motion urging me into an ecstatic jerk.
"I…"
I almost missed the start of Roman's sentence, and chose, in fact, to ignore it. My climax slowly built and transcended the faster he went. Suddenly, he flipped me over and pinned me below him, my face turned to the side for air. No sooner had he temporarily pulled out than he had come back in, and I felt him so deep in me, his penis could've been pounding onto my uterine walls. A softer gasp escaped my lips as he ran through his climax and mine. Roman's final thrusts were laced with need so fluent, no mistakes were made in interpretation. He wanted me, badly, deeply, wholly.
Roman and I glued our sweaty bodies to one another's hours after we were done. Most times, I hated the cloying feeling of a man's sweat on my skin—because it was so much work cleansing and scrubbing the toxins out afterwards—but with Roman, I welcomed it. Not his sweat per se, but his proximity. When he began humming a tune from The Hunger Games series, I smiled as the low rumble of his voice echoed through all the arteries and veins and hollow, tubular structures in my body. Soon after, I hummed along with him, and the darkness and the breeze of the AC fan carried our mingled voices across my room's walls. His fingers twirled around the ends of my hair as we sang.
I felt… complete.
Roman turned to me as we stopped singing and gazed for what felt like an eternity. I gazed, lost in his blue sizzling eyes. His blinks seemed even more animated in the dark with his long, curled lashes framing his eyes with each minute open and close movement. Then he spoke.
"Ben thinks he can have me in your film."
My blood flow paused, if it could even do that. But it felt like it did. "He said that?"
"Mm hm."
"To you?" I sat up, my brows rising with each word I processed. Roman sat up too and chuckled.
"He said he'll have the Donahue boy as back-up, should I ever get too busy. But yeah. I think I could help with your unfortunate problem."
I didn't think before I did it. I just pounced onto Roman and engulfed him in my slender arms. He full-on laughed as I squeezed what was likely all the life out of him. The thought of not having to see Asher on set elated me greatly, no doubt, but what was even better was having to see Roman. If there were some other monumentally exciting news I could receive, I was more than open to hearing of it, because this already sounded like the winning forecast.
"Easy there, Rix. My neck might not be as thick as it looks."
"Oh God! This is really happening."
"It is, Rix. It is."
It registered a beat too late, the nickname. And when I tried it on like new slippers on my tongue, it almost sounded like music. The most intimate, vanilla-y kind.
Roman soothed my tresses and rocked me in big bear arms. Then, he abruptly pulled me away and worry etched itself deep in his forehead. I put my hands to my face and they came away wet. I scoffed my disgust at my tears and looked away, blinking furiously in attempt of warding the silly liquid onslaught off.
"Hey, it's okay. It'll be right as rain. It's okay."
"Don't do that."
"What? Shh you into solace and out of sadness?"
I laughed and so did Roman. I was going to star in this movie, it was going to be a success, and I didn't have to grit my teeth arm in arm with Asher Donahue. Liv and Anna should hear this news, but this seemed like inside info, the kind spoken behind closed doors and in hushed tones. We were here anyway, and I could not have been more grateful to Roman. Then something pinched at my merry thoughts, and I groaned.
"What?" Roman asked, leaning back against the headboard and pulling me under his arm. The silk sheets lay forgotten on the floor, and neither of us made any move to reach for it.
"Your mom, will she be okay with it? She didn't seem enthusiastic about the script. Or the film. Or Ben."
Roman chuckled deep into my hair, the echo reverberating into my core and working at my insides. I felt complete and alive, like I could take on anything and anyone. More so than the feeling of my gusto for activity was the overwhelming gratitude I had for Roman. This was no damsel in distress, knight in shining armor sort of move, but I felt princess-like in privilege.
Granddaddy's proposal struck like crackles of thunder in my head, and I stifled a jolt under Roman's arm. No way would I think of such a career-stopping offer. No matter how much gratitude I owed Roman, that specific proposal was off the table. And I never did get to telling him what we could possibly become. I didn't think I needed to. This, under his arm with the night as company, was perfect to me. Perfect as long as I kept myself under maximum control.
"My mom hardly displays enthusiasm for anything, really. Probably something about the English in her. But she trusts me, and I suggest you did the same."
Oh, you delectable Wilder. You don't know the spring of it.