Rome (Marked Men #3)(75)
Author: Jay Crownover

He got his good arm around me and pulled me fully into the tub with him so that we were hugging but so much more.

“This, Cora … this is as perfect as two people can be.”

He was right; he was also aroused and sexually frustrated because the hug quickly turned from a sweet moment to something much hotter. The fingers of his hand snaked into the back of my damp shorts and his mouth latched on to the side of my neck and started to play with the sensitive skin there.

“You’re gonna have to do all the work, Half-Pint.”

That wouldn’t be a problem, not with his straining c**k practically calling my name and his questing fingers already working their way to the place where I needed them most.

“We’re going to flood the bathroom.” He pushed up and helped me get my shorts and panties off. A wave of water cascaded over the edge of the tub and soaked the floor.

“Who cares?” He was all impatient male and grabby hands. Rome was big, the bathtub was not. By the time he finagled me to where he wanted me, more water was on the floor than there was covering him and swirling around our hips. I made sure to keep most of my weight on my knees and braced myself, using my arms on the porcelain instead of on him like I typically did. His eyes flared up at me when all the best parts of me lined up with all the demanding parts of him. I was starting to rethink my stance on the beard when his mouth closed over the tip of one breast, making me gasp. It tickled, but not in a funny way, in an oh my God don’t stop ever kind of way.

It was a rough ride. Even with me trying to be as gentle and as careful as possible, there was no missing that mixed in with his grunts of pleasure there were gasps of pain. Trying to have sex with jacked-up ribs just wasn’t a good idea, but my guy wasn’t one to give up, and his determination and perseverance were two of the things I loved most about him, especially when it meant he had to get really creative and inventive with his one good hand in order to keep me distracted so that I didn’t call the entire episode off in order to save him unnecessary pain.

I dropped my forehead so that it was touching his and lifted my arms so that they were resting loosely across his shoulders. The water swirling around where we were so intimately joined was warm. Rome was warmer. On every glide up and every slide down, I made sure that he could see how I felt shining through our locked gaze. I didn’t just see him and all that he was: to me he was the only thing worth looking at. I knew by what was staring back at me in the endless depth of those blue eyes that he felt the exact same way, and that was undeniably precious.

We’d never had sex that was slow and agonizingly drawn out. There was something to be said for the anticipation, the heady throb between my legs, and the pulse at the base of my neck. There was reverence in the way we touched each other, like we both knew just how lucky we were to be able to touch each other like this still. Every brush of his mouth across my skin, every nip of teeth against a tender place, reminded me that I had almost lost him and this was life-changing and life-affirming. With each up-and-down drag and pull of aroused skin against pulsing flesh, I could see the vein in his neck and the muscle at the side of his mouth twitch. It was the best kind of torture and probably did more to make him feel better than any of the medication he was currently on. Even if he was normally a more hands-on-type lover, there was no mistaking the fact that he needed this right now.

In typical Rome fashion, all the sexy wait-for-it was only enough for a few minutes. Narrowing his eyes, he flashed me a wicked grin and drove those talented fingers between us so that they were hooked around my ring and pressing against my clit. There was no holding out against that kind of sensual assault and it had the desired effect. I forgot we were supposed to be taking it easy and went to work getting us both off in a matter of minutes. It was more of a sweet cresting than a brain-boggling explosion like it normally was, but it still made my limbs heavy and the rest of me flush with satisfied pleasure. Anything this man wanted to give me was going to end with both of us smiling, there was no doubt about it.

I giggled a little bit and rested my cheek on his shoulder. His thumb left the metal between my legs and skated up my ribs to stroke lovingly back and forth across my new tattoo. I could feel the edge of his blunt fingernail trace the outline of his name even though he couldn’t see it because I was lying entirely on top of him.

“You okay?”

He grunted and wiggled the fingers on his bad side so that he could stroke my thigh.

“Better than okay. Doctors don’t know what they’re talking about. Sex makes everything better.”

I sighed because it might have felt great, but his eyes were darker than normal with shadows of discomfort and those white lines of pain were back next to his eyes. I tried to disengage from him as carefully as possible, which only led to getting the rest of the bathwater on the floor. I just shook my head and wrapped myself up in a fluffy towel. He was cradling his injured side and his thick thigh muscle was clenching and unclenching involuntarily. He looked sated but not in any kind of hurry to move.

He stroked a hand over his still-furry face and looked up at me in question.

“Thought you wanted this gone?”

I considered him thoughtfully for a second, then reached down both hands to help him lever himself up. We almost ended up back in a tangled heap in the tub due to the wet floor and his unwieldy bulk, but somehow I got him to his feet and a towel wrapped around his trim waist.

“I think I might want you to keep it until you’re all the way healed up.”

I got him to the bed and scooted around the room, throwing on some stretchy yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt so I could clean up the tsunami we left in the bathroom. I could feel his eyes follow me as I bopped around.

“Why?”

I froze for a second and looked at him over my shoulder. Was he really going to make me spell it out for him? I could tell by the half grin dancing around his mouth that he already knew.

“Why what?”

“Why keep it if you don’t like it?”

He always had to have the last word, so I slid up next to his hip on the bed, yanked on the long hairs at the tip of his chin, looked him dead in the eye, and told him, “It tickles. I want to know what it feels like when you can get yourself back down between my legs. Can’t wait, big guy.”

The blue in his eyes blazed so bright and hot I was surprised steam didn’t start to come up off of the water droplets still clinging to his damp skin. I laughed and pushed up off the bed, only to be stopped with his hand on my wrist. His look was serious but his voice was soft when he told me: