Page 88 of Barristers & Bones

Roman threw his keys on the counter and turned to study me. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

While he showered, I snuck into our bedroom, grabbed some clothes, and went to the guest bedroom to shower. Laying my clothes on the bed, I showered quickly but stopped short when I walked back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me. Roman stood leaning against the door jamb. My heart thudded, and heat coursed through me as we stared at each other.

Clearing my throat, I tugged the towel around me and motioned to the pile of clothes on the bed. “Let me get dressed, and then we can talk.”

He closed the door, walked over to me, and slowly backed me against the wall. Then he rested his hands on either side of my head, effectively blocking me in. Leaning down, he murmured against my neck, “I want to fuck you against this wall, then in our bed, and after we eat and sleep for a few hours, take you again on the kitchen table.Thenwe can talk.”

“And I’d like to get paid to drink margaritas and read all day. We don’t always get what we want.” My voice grew soft. “You hate me because of my father, and you lied to me about why you wanted me as an intern.”

He leaned in and ran his mouth against my jaw, nipping and licking as he went. “Wecanhave what we want. I don’t hate you, and I never lied to you, Ms. Fowler.”

He bit my earlobe and gently kissed me, sliding his tongue across my lips. His touch sent lightning through my system, and my hand came up and wrapped around his neck before I knew what I’d done.

He groaned into my mouth and pushed me against the wall as he ground his length into my lower stomach. Then he slowly pulled back and laid his forehead on mine. “You still want to talk first?”

The bastard had gotten me hot and needy, then thought he could leave me like this. “No, damn you.” I rolled up on my toes and crashed my mouth against his.

He chuckled darkly and jerked the edge of my towel, pulling it out of my fingers and dropping it to the floor. Then Roman found my hands, slid his fingers through mine, and brought them over my head.

“You could have died yesterday, or been shot. I need to be inside you.”

My heart pounded, and heat rose in me. But doubt also crept in. Why would he care if I got hurt unless he wanted to be the one to inflict the pain? And why did Istillcrave him and think of his house as my home after knowing he wanted revenge against my father and planned to use me to get it?

“Stop thinking and worrying, Sweetness. We’ll get there.” He ripped his t-shirt off and rubbed his chest against mine, groaning as our skin connected. My nipples pebbled, and I broke out in goosebumps. He took my wrists in one hand and held them above my head, then palmed my pussy, working his fingers against my clit. When my hips started bucking against his hand, he shoved his fingers deep inside.

“Your cunt is soaking wet for me. Your body knows who you belong to, even if your brain hasn’t figured it out yet.”

My head arched back when he leaned down and sucked, then bit, on my nipples. “Oh, God. How can you do this to me, every single time?”

“You make me fucking crazy, so it’s only fair.” He let go of my wrists, then slid his gym shorts and briefs off, kicking them away and wrapping his hands around my waist. “Put your legs around me.”

I stared up at him, frozen in indecision and lust.

“Or I can bend you over the bed and fuck you hard from behind, with your hair wrapped around my fist. Either way works for me.”

My cheeks flushed with heat, and I moaned softly as I brought my leg up.

He palmed my ass, hoisted me up, then positioned his cock to my opening. “Open your eyes. Watch me take you against the wall.”

When I opened my eyes, he shoved inside, hissing in pleasure as he worked his thick, hard length into me. “Good Christ. Your cunt feels like tight liquid heat. When I’m done drilling you here, I’ll fuck you over the dresser next.”

My neck arched, and a crushing orgasm started building inside me at his dirty, unfiltered words. When he brought his hand around to work my clit, I cried out his name and came, pinned against the wall.

Two hours, a hasty meal, and two orgasms later, I passed out in his bed with our limbs tangled together. When I woke, it was still dark outside. Roman wasn’t in the bed, but he’d left a living room lamp on. I put on his dress shirt and found him out by the pool on a lounger, watching the Vegas skyline and smoking a joint.

Closing the patio door, I walked over as he held it up to me. “It’s an Indica-dominant, organic strain. Good for PTSD and whatever ails you.”

My heart squeezed when he mentioned PTSD–we both knew a little about that. Marijuana might be legal in Nevada, but my drug of choice was usually tequila shots or white wine. I extracted the joint from his fingers and took a hit, coughing a little. Without thinking, I sat on his oversized lounger and swung my legs up, curling into him. Handing the joint back, I put my head on his chest.

He wrapped an arm around me, and we lay there for a few minutes, listening to crickets chirping in the bushes and smelling the scent of sagebrush and marijuana drift on the breeze. I gazed up at the night sky, spotting the quarter moon and a few planets blinking brightly overhead.

He took a slow hit, then handed me the joint again. I took another hit, then gave it back to him. “Two is my limit. I don’t have a tolerance, and we’ve postponed our talk long enough.” I exhaled and gazed up at him. “I need to know why.”

Melancholy and sorrow swirled through me. I tried to be angry at him for systematically shoving through my barriers and suspicions, and making me care for him when there were so many red flags that didn’t make sense at the time. I could only blame myself for not heeding my own instincts.

Roman smashed the joint into an ashtray on the side table then wrapped his arms around me, drawing my body flush with his. “When my father sent me to the Ranch, I was grieving and angry, but what happened there made everything that came before seem small and insignificant. That place… It came straight from the darkest bowels of Hell. Most of the guards were sadists, and they’d beat one of us in front of the other boys and then throw us in solitary with just enough food and water–that was if we were lucky and they didn’t get creative with their torture. Some boys tried to run, and a few disappeared.”

He stopped talking and gazed out at the night. The two hits from his joint didn’t lessen the impact of his words. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

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