I gaze up at him as he straightens. His cock is still hard, jutting out over his pants, which hang low on his hips. It’s slick with his own cum and my sticky wetness, and as I watch, he finally reaches up with one hand and tugs his shirt off. His muscles are thick and well-defined, his arms bulging and his abs contracting as he reaches down to shove his pants off next.
Part of me wonders why he’s bothering to get naked after the sex, but another part of me already knows the answer. The part of me that can feel the thread of tension between us, still unbroken even after the intensity of our first fuck, knows the truth.
This isn’t over.
We’re not done.
As if summoned by my words, Rome crawls up onto the bed with me. I spread my legs for him immediately, and he braces himself over me, his hips between my thighs. He’s looking at me the same way he did when he had his hand around my throat earlier. Or… almost the same way. His gaze is just as intense as it was then, but there’s something else behind it now. As I’m trying to figure out what that is, he reaches down between us, fisting his wet cock and bringing it to my entrance. He drags the tip over my clit a few times, stoking the fire inside me and proving that it hasn’t burned away everything yet.
There’s still plenty of tinder to fuel this flame.
Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he presses into me.
Where the first time was fast and hard, this time is slow and so deliberate it feels like he’s claiming every inch of me as I stretch around him.
When he’s fully rooted inside me, he takes my hands, lacing our fingers together before pressing the backs of my hands to the mattress above my head. I can’t touch him like this, can’t stroke the broad muscles of his chest or shoulders or back, can’t grab his ass to pull him closer or run my fingers through the rich brown of his hair.
But I think there’s a reason for that. I don’t think he wants me to touch him like that, even though he obviously craves the closeness of our bodies. We’re rocking in unison, our sweaty skin pressed together, our lips so close that our inhales and exhales combine. His fingers are tight around mine as if he’s trying to weld our hands together, but that’s the only touch he allows me.
I take it, squeezing his hands back and locking my legs around his hips, undulating beneath him to match his rhythm.
I’m going to come again. I can feel it building in the base of my spine, as inevitable as death and fucking taxes. But I don’t let it come too fast, clenching my toes and taking deep, gasping breaths every time I’m almost at the peak. I wait until my body is shaking, so full of pleasure it feels like it might burst. I wait until every brush of his skin against mine feels like lightning.
I wait until Rome is right there with me.
Only when he lets out a deep groan, his cock swelling inside me as the first lashes of his hot cum fill me up, do I let myself go. I come with him, straining against his hold on my hands as I lift my head from the mattress and crush my lips to his, locking my ankles together and grinding against him as he spills inside me.
And as he slumps against me, his body warm and hard and heavy against mine, the thread of tension between us finally snaps.
Chapter Twenty-One
We lie like that for several long moments. My entire body is limp, except for my hands, which are still clutching Rome’s so hard I’m afraid it might take a crowbar to separate us.
Finally, he drags in a breath through his nose and lifts his head up. We both unpeel our fingers from the knotted tangle of digits, and then Rome rolls off me, settling onto the mattress at my side. He pulls me against him, and I lie cradled in his embrace, my head resting on his chest.
If he were human, I’d be listening to his heartbeat.
It should bother me that there’s nothing to hear, but for some reason, it doesn’t. Whatever else he is, he’s Rome—the honorable vampire. The vampire who somehow pissed off an entire nest and earned his way back into the fold. I don’t want to know how he did the latter, but somehow I don’t think any human paid unnecessarily for it.
He strokes my hair, and I close my eyes, relishing in the brief moment of calm and connection.
“Why did you come here?” he asks me after a while. His voice is quiet, almost soft.
I could lie to him, but I don’t want to. He already knows so much. If I don’t tell him, he’s going to come to his own conclusions. The idea that he’ll be murderously angry at whatever those conclusions may be doesn’t bother me as much as the thought of him assuming that I used him. Which, to a certain extent, I did—but I think he’ll understand why once he knows the truth. At least, I hope he will.
“Nathan is my brother,” I murmur. “The tall, skinny tribute with the prison tattoos.”
“Ah.” He sighs. “The one you asked me to protect. Is the other your sister? Cousin?”
I shake my head. “No. Just a woman who’s doing what she thinks is best to make sure that her mother never has to suffer.”
He tightens his arm around me, comforting me. I return the embrace, then pull away. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need to not be distracted by his touch. I tuck my knees up to my
