She did, too. She pressed little kisses to his neck, and when she wanted to lick him, she licked him, tasting his warm, tanned skin. He had a tattoo of a raven on his neck, and she lightly bit at that, too, just because he seemed so utterly biteable. Her br**sts pressed against his chest and she continued to roll her hips, pressing down against his c**k with every little movement and enjoying the way his breath seemed to hitch and relax in juxtaposition to her movements.
Her hands moved to his neck and she laced her fingers behind his head, feeling the soft buzz of the short hair at the base of his neck. She pressed a small kiss to his chin, then brushed her lips over his mouth . . . and took his lower lip between her teeth and tugged gently, mindful of the ring there.
He groaned, the sound rough, and then his hands were pressing to her thighs, her hips, and he began to push against her urgently, with more force. She followed his lead, returning his movements with a rolling of her hips. His eyes slid open, just a crack, and she was entranced by the hot desire she saw there, the raw need on his face. And she kissed him again, her tongue sliding into his mouth.
Rome sucked on it, even as he pushed her harder and harder, until she was bouncing on his jeans-covered cock, and the thin cotton boxers she wore didn’t seem like much of a barrier, and she was getting excited all over again, the roll of her h*ps and the press of his need against her making her breathless.
But then his eyes squeezed shut, and his face contorted as if in agony, and she froze. His kiss became desperate, his breathing raspy, and she realized . . . he’d just come, too. Elise sucked in a breath, surprised.
Rome heaved a long, satisfied breath, holding her close against him. Then he kissed her mouth and said, “Now both of us have come in our pants tonight.”
And what could she do but laugh?
SEVEN
Well, damn.
Rome held a sleeping Elise against his chest and stared up at the ceiling of his small log cabin. Despite the late hour, he was wide awake. His mind was whirling with all kinds of thoughts about that evening, and most of them were about the woman at his side.
There was no doubt in his mind that Elise was just as sheltered as she claimed—maybe even more so. The way she’d reacted when she’d come told him she wasn’t as familiar with her body as she thought.
Of course, he’d been f**king elated. When she’d confessed that she was a virgin, he thought he’d have to go extra slow. Elise was skittish as hell, and when she got intimidated or scared—which was often—she shut down. But when he’d felt how wet she was, how totally turned on, the game had changed. This wasn’t a woman terrified of sex who he’d have to gently ease into lovemaking. This was an erotic woman just waiting to be freed from her own restraints.
And she was completely into his touch; she couldn’t fake that kind of wetness coming from her pu**y, nor could she fake the way she’d squirted when she came.
He’d never had a squirter before. Hell, he hated the term because it sounded disgusting, and he’d been as shocked as she was when it had happened . . . but damn if it hadn’t been amazing. He’d made her squirt.
That did amazing things for his ego, he had to admit. And more than that, he wanted to see if he could get her to do it again. To see if she lost control so totally every time she had sex, or if that was just a lot of pent-up arousal breaking free. He was willing to bet that she went wild every time she was touched.
It was like Elise Markham was a gift, wrapped in a pretty, incredibly shy package.
He didn’t get it, either. That cheek of hers was barely noticeable. Heck, he didn’t think he’d have seen it at all if she hadn’t pointed it out. He might have just attributed it to a trick of the light. He’d caught a glimpse of the long scar on her spine when she’d jumped from bed, and wondered about it, but he didn’t ask. She was clearly sensitive about that sort of thing.
He hadn’t teased her about the granny panties hanging on his shower bar, though he’d desperately wanted to. Elise wasn’t quite ready for teasing, he suspected. She was still sensitive and fragile.
And yet . . . she slept in his arms like a baby. Even now her cheek rested on his shoulder, her arm thrown over his waist as if she’d slept next to men all her life. Her bare leg was tangled with his, and he loved the press of her body against his own. Just the feel of her was reminding him of the way she’d ridden his c**k while sitting atop him, kissing him until he’d come in his pants.
That had been incredibly erotic, so erotic that his intentions on getting her off again had fallen to the wayside in lieu of his own pleasure. His hand stroked through her hair again, thinking about her. She deserved better than a guy like him.
Way better.
A girl like Elise was a treasure. She was smart, classy, and had wonderful sparks of humor under all that shyness. She was eager in bed, and starved for attention. Even now, she clung to him.
She’d make some guy a great girlfriend.
Unfortunately for him, it couldn’t be Rome. It wasn’t just the fact that her brother was just looking for an excuse to can his ass. Rome was pretty much living on borrowed time. It was a matter of days, maybe weeks, before someone got suspicious, ran a background check on him, and found out his past.
Then Grant wouldn’t need an excuse to fire him.
Then Elise would stop looking at him with those soft, reverent eyes.
He’d be nothing but shit beneath their feet, and it’d be time to move on once again.
Rome dragged his hand through Elise’s silky hair again, admiring the way it glided and fell through his fingers like water.
If he was a nice guy, he’d cut a nice girl like Elise loose before she got her feelings hurt. He’d tell her that it was wrong for him to fool around with her, and that she deserved someone better than him. She’d be wounded for a few days, but she’d get over it and they’d go their separate ways.
It was too bad he wasn’t a nice guy, because he wasn’t about to let her go. Right now, Elise Markham was the most fascinating thing in Rome’s life, and he intended to pursue her and monopolize her until she blew him off. She would, eventually. It was just a matter of time.
But until then? Ah, being with her would be sweet.
• • •
He woke her up early, before the sun rose in the skies. She was lovely in her sleep, her dark hair all tumbled and mussed, her eyelids heavy, and he hated to rouse her. In sleep, her expression was so open, so peaceful, completely unguarded. But he knew she’d want to be out of his cabin before the day began, so he gently ran a knuckle along her jaw, pleased when she turned toward the gesture.