Drunk on the promise of feeling him between my legs, I would have agreed to anything, but something he’d said required discussion.
Brazenly, I sat up and threaded a hand into the top of his hair, using it to pull him back to my mouth for a toe-curling kiss. When I released his mouth, I corrected him. “After you fuck me.”
“No,” he replied firmly.
I had no choice but to move my assault farther south. Dragging my tongue down the corded muscles of his neck, I pushed my argument. “We’ll talk after, Roman.”
His hand moved into the back of my hair again, and it wasn’t helping his case in the least. My entire nervous system lit up like the New York City power grid.
And then the most incredible thing happened.
For the first time since he’d come back into my life, Roman Leblanc didn’t argue.
“Okay. After,” he rumbled, thrusting a hand into my panties then pressing a single finger inside me.
“Yes,” I panted against his shoulder while spreading my legs wider.
“Take off your bra, baby,” he ordered, giving my hair a gentle pull and adding another finger.
“Oh God,” I cried at the beautiful bite at my scalp.
“Off,” he repeated, guiding my mouth back to his.
As his tongue stroked mine, I obeyed and unclasped the back of my bra, allowing it to fall from my arms.
I groaned in remorse when his hand left my hair, but then I groaned for a different reason as it landed on my breast. I rolled my shoulders back to encourage him to take more. I didn’t have the biggest breasts, and truth be told, they’d been fuller when we’d first met, but his large hand more than covered all of me. Yet, if there was even a millimeter he wasn’t touching, I wanted him to find it.
His hand disappeared from between my legs at the same time he released my mouth and roughly pushed me to the bed. I went down easily, knowing what was next: Roman’s order of operation.
First, he stripped my panties down my legs.
Second, he stripped his jeans down his legs and palmed his heavy cock as he stepped out of them.
Third, my personal favorite part, he dropped to his knees and sealed his hungry mouth over my clit.
A strangled cry escaped my lips, the pressure climbing high within me.
Fourth, one arm snaked up my chest, gripping my breast and sending the perfect balance of pain and pleasure searing through me.
And, lastly, when I was perilously close to falling over the edge, he thrust two fingers deep, coaxing the orgasm from the inside.
“Roman!” I moaned, fisting his hair as I rode my release out against his mouth.
When I stopped pulsing around his fingers, he lifted his head and rose to his feet.
“Back up,” he ordered, prowling toward me, his hand glistening with my release as it pumped his cock.
Still in a post-orgasm high, I sluggishly shimmied up the bed, dropping my legs open as he followed me up on his knees.
Using my thighs, he stopped my ascent and dragged me back toward him. “Far enough.”
“Condom,” I breathed as he hovered over me.
His response was fast and final. “No.”
“But—” I started.
He cut me off. “I’m not using a fucking condom with my wife.”
“I’m not—”
“I swear to God, Elisabeth. Do not fucking finish that sentence.”
And then the most incredible thing happened.
For the first time since Roman Leblanc had come back into my life, I didn’t argue.
“I’m clean,” I whispered.
“I know you are, baby, and so am I, okay?” he said, positioning himself at my opening.
“Okay.” My eyes fluttered closed with anticipation.
And then he drove in with a gentle dominance that spurred orgasm number two to mercilessly rear up. The feeling of finally being full again overwhelmed me. My body shook as I fought a second release back. I wanted to ride it out with him, but emotions were scrambling my resolve, leaving me unable to hold back.
“Roman,” I whispered, a single tear escaping the corner of my eye.
All at once, his arms slid under me and lifted me so he was on his knees, our chests smashed together, and my face tucked into his neck. “Shhh. Stay with me.”
I folded my legs around his back while he used his upper-body strength to lift me up and down, setting a relentless rhythm that would have us both finishing in seconds rather than minutes.
I finally lost the battle and came as he speared into me, his arms squeezing me painfully tight. His speed increased, and then he planted himself to the hilt, groaning, “Lis,” as he emptied inside me.
I clung to his shoulders as he lowered me back down to the mattress, our connection remaining until he shifted to my side. He was still holding me, but the loss was staggering.
He gathered me in his arms, tucked my face back into his neck, and brushed the hair off my neck.
We sat in silence for somewhere between a second and a century, his fingers lazily drawing patterns on my shoulder, before I finally found the courage to confess, “I miss you.”
He sighed. “You have no idea.”