Page 12 of Feathers From the Sky

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes softening as one hand slides up and grips my jaw. “They find who did it?” he asks, and my stomach tightens. It is one of the first questions people ask, so it shouldn’t surprise me. But every time, my heart races.

“No.” I clear my throat. “What about you? Tell me about your family.”

He studies me for a second longer, his eyes dipping to my throat.

“Mom died when I was young. Cancer. My dad’s an asshole who I avoid when I can. That’s it.”

“Only child? No brothers? Sisters?” I ask, and I realize I’m still sitting mostly naked in his lap. I wonder how I went from wanting to go so much further than that to genuinely wanting to hear the answers to our questions.

“Only child,” he grunts.

“I was too for a while. Until my dad met my mom,” I say. “I got a mom and a sister on the same day.” He smiles and slides his hands down my sides, his thumbs gently caressing the creases my stomach forms.

“And you’re close with your sister?” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. It is intimate, and I don’t hate it.

It’s unsettling.

I wipe the sappy smile off my mouth before mumbling, “Yeah.” I put my hands on his shoulders and press him back into the sofa. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to his lips, trying to return to where we left off, but he stops me. One of his hands grips my hip tightly, and he forces me to sit back as his eyes roam over me.

“Christ,” he whispers, dragging his free hand over his jaw, and I mistake it for reverence. “Aphrodite.”

“What?”

“A goddess. Look at you.”

I scoff. “You don’t have to do that. I’m already half-naked. You’ve done the wooing.”

He chuckles as his hand cups my breast before sliding it down over the hills and valleys of my rolled stomach. “I’m serious. The painters and the sculptors were only trying to prepare us for you,” he says.

His expression is brutal, daring me to fight him. His seriousness seems intimidating, but I’m tempted to argue with him, anyway. I know I’m attractive, but calling me a goddess is a stretch. But as I look at him, I realize something that makes me smile.

“Goddess.” I roll my eyes and chuckle. “Well, you look like what would happen if Zeus fucked a motorcycle—which he totally would, by the way.”

Roman throws his head back and laughs. At this angle, I can see the strong column of his throat, and I am desperate to lick it.

“There’s a joke about chasing tailpipe here,” he says. I snort, unable to help it, and when he grins at me, I’m enthralled. God, he’s handsome.

Annoyed with myself for my dreamy distraction, I push off of him. But in a swift motion, my wrists are in his grasp, and as he pulls them behind me, it causes me to arch my back.

“I don’t think so,” he says, dipping forward and licking a path upward from between my breasts. His nose drags along my skin, and he inhales me as if he can’t get enough. He transfers my wrists into one large hand and slides the other between us, tracing the swell of my lower stomach.

“We only did one question,” I pant, forcing myself to sit still as his fingertip slides beneath my waistband once more and inches lower.

“You want to do another?”

“I think we should, shouldn’t we?”

“One more, and then you’ll let me ask the rest on a real date,” he demands as he lets go of my wrists. I straighten and look down at him. His hand is still in my underwear, and he looks up at me with eyes made of autumn leaves, and I know I’m not going to deny him.

My resolve has fractured so brutally, I don’t know what to do with myself.

“I haven’t been on a real date in over a year,” I say, not sure what possesses me to tell him this. “I’m out of practice.”

“Then I’d say you’re overdue for one. Let me see you again, sweetheart.” His voice trails off into a whisper, and his sincerity is hypnotizing. I get lost in it for a moment and find myself nodding. He tilts his head, a small smile spreading on his face as he passes me the paper Clarke left.

“Worst thing an ex has done to you?” I ask, swallowing hard. I know I’ll need to answer this question too.

“I don’t want to talk about that while I’m touching you,” he says, his hand in my underwear finally moving again, and he slides lower until his fingertips stop at my clit. They press down, offering nothing more in the way of friction, and I rock my hips. “But she fucked my dad.”

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