Page 68 of Stick Fight

So what if we stepped through the next door? What if it was even better? What if I’ve been wrong about everything?

But what if I’ve been right?

Her body wraps around me, and I push those questions to the back of my brain. I release her wrists and slide my hands down to cup her ass, squeezing tight. She claws at my back, her nipples hard against my chest, her heat dragging me closer to the edge.

I kiss her again, savor her taste before I move to her neck, licking, tasting, inhaling the scent of her skin like I’m starving for it. And maybe I am. Maybe I always have been.

“Roman,” she breathes, a whisper laced with need and pleasure.

I pull back just enough to watch her unravel beneath me. Her lids flutter, breath hitching, her body trembling as her orgasm takes over. Her muscles clench tight around my cock, pulling me deeper into her heat, into her heart.

My own release slams into me, white-hot and blinding. I groan into her mouth, lips crashing over hers as I spill inside her, her name a prayer in my throat. She pulses around me, still riding every wave, and I hold tight, so lost in her I’ll need a compass, a map, and a miracle to find my way out.

But here’s the thing. I don’t want out. Not ever.

My body jerks, wringing every last drop of sensation from my core. Gabby holds me tight, her body absorbing each spasm, her warmth sinking into my bones like she was made to heal the broken parts of me. We’re tangled, breathless, giving and taking in equal measure.

And then, slowly, our bodies stop spasming and I roll to the side, slipping free from her body. I immediately pull her close again, needing her skin against mine.

“Gabby…” I whisper, brushing damp strands of hair off her face. I kiss her—chin, nose, forehead, cheeks—soft, lingering presses that say everything I’m still too much of a coward to speak aloud.

But she doesn’t answer.

I pull back, instantly alert, and freeze when I catch the look on her face. Stricken. Frozen. Eyes wide and unblinking.

“Gabs?” I murmur, voice tight.

She blinks rapidly, lips parting. “We didn’t…”

She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t need to. My stomach drops. Fuck. No condom. I was so caught up in this—her—that I completely forgot.

And I never forget.

Except now. With her.

“Baby, I’m so fucking sorry,” I say, dragging a shaky hand through my hair, heat prickling beneath my skin. “Shit, we’ll go to the drugstore right now.”

I start to move, already disgusted with myself. When mistakes get made, consequences happen. Babies happen. And here I am, completely incapable of telling the woman I love how I feel, too fucking afraid of destroying what we have.

But her hand grips my arm to stop me. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, tapping her arm. “I have Nexplanon.”

I blink. “Right. The implant.” Relief floods me and I exhale hard. “Jesus. Thank God.”

“Yeah,” she echoes, but her voice doesn’t match the words. There’s an ache behind them, something buried deep.

I study her face. “Gabs…”

“I’m clean,” she blurts out, like that’s what she’s been holding back. That’s when understanding hits. She’s worried about me, about what I might’ve brought into her body.

I swallow against a tight throat. “I’m clean too,” I say. “I used to get tested all the time.”

“Used to?” she asks quietly.

I frown. “Well… yeah. I haven’t needed to lately.”

“Why not?”

“No reason to.” I meet her eyes, unease stirring inside me. “Why would I? I haven’t been with anyone since… you.”

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