Page 69 of Illicit

Hand.

On.

My.

Ass.

That’s Rocco Monroe, just for clarification. The man who ran so hot two years ago, I thought he was going to tear my clothes off, and then turned to ice when he realized what was happening.

Did he beg me to speak to him after that?

Yes.

It didn’t matter how much I told him to stop or that I wanted to forget about the entire humiliating nightmare. He was relentless.

For three months.

Three whole months!

Rocco must be out for revenge. This morning he’s starfished in the middle of the bed, and I’m half sprawled on him. My bed is only a full size and he’s extra sized in all the best ways. I’m going to blame that on the reason I’m plastered to him for the second morning in a row.

With one hand cupping my ass cheek, his other arm is extended under my pillow. I’m not sure when we kicked the covers to the bottom of the bed, but I’m not cold.

Not at all.

In fact, I’m not only warm everywhere, I’m downright hot in certain places.

The tips of his fingers dig into my skin, and his voice is rough from sleep. “You’re awake.”

I turn my head to rest on my other cheek to look at him. I have no concept of time, other than the sun is rising. My one window is barely lit where the morning greets us through the drawn blinds.

I’ve always loved his eyes, but gazing into them this close is new. One more thing to consume me.

“Look who’s the bed hog now,” I say.

His grip on my bottom loosens only to stroke the skin where my cheek and thigh become one. “It’s called offense. I can’t let you push me off the bed. I’ll lose my man card.”

My bed might be small, but I have no trouble sleeping on one side. That’s where I was when we didn’t discuss the sleeping arrangements, but just fell into bed next to each other. I tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, when, in reality, it ranks high on life experiences I’ll never forget.

But the fact I migrated to Rocco while unconscious proves I’m no more over him than I was before the Hotel Monteleone. “The man club would have to know that I pushed you out to take your man card. If you keep it a secret, no one will know.”

“A secret,” he echoes as the tips of his fingers tease my ass under my sleep shorts. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“What’s the point of announcing it to the man club? It doesn’t matter how much you want to see where this goes. I’m moving to New York, and you finally got your ticket back to Miami. I know that’s where you want to be, close to Landyn and the agents. They’re your family.”

My heart skips a beat when his soft touch disappears. He snakes his hand fully beneath my sleep shorts where he palms my bare ass. “They’re your family, too, and they want you in Miami. Maybe it’s time we talk about the real reason for your plans to relocate.”

It’s all I can do to keep my defenses up and focus on my lie. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating. I was offered a dream job. Why should I pass that up just because my family isn’t happy about where it is? You can do your job anywhere in the US. It doesn’t hurt that Miami is the crème de la crème for the DEA, not to mention you’ll get to work with Brax, Micah, and King. That’s your dream. Why is my dream less important?”

He doesn’t waste a second punching a hole in my story. “Since when is anything more important to you than your family?”

“Please, Rocco. You know I love my family. But I don’t have to justify anything to you or anyone else.”

He inhales a deep breath, and since I’m still half lying on him, I feel it everywhere along with his intense gaze. “I need to convince you to stay.”

My eyes go wide. “Why would you do that?”

He leans in and nudges the tip of my nose with his. I think he’s going to kiss me—let me off the hook for making me beg for it—but he doesn’t. What he does do is blow my mind. “Because the idea of this has marinated in my fucking chest for almost two years. So much so, when I walked into that hotel lounge and laid eyes on you, I thought I was going to lose it.”

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