Page 60 of Roma King
“You’re wrong. He’s just protective.”
“Whatever you say, Firefly. I know what a broken-hearted man looks like, though, and there was just one standing in this hallway with us not three seconds ago.”
God. The contents of my stomach churn so violently that I know he’s speaking the truth. How could I have been so blind? How could I have refused to see something that now appears so fucking obvious? Guilt claws at me as I flatten out the piece of paper Garrett handed to me, my eyes skimming over the slanted, looped handwriting written on it in black ball point pen.
Zara,
I’ve gone to visit a friend in Long Island for a week. I think I deserve a break, and I have some thinking to do. I’ll be back soon, though, sweetheart. Please don’t worry about me. I’m going to come back a new woman.
Love you,
Sarah
“You okay?” Pasha asks. His impossibly deep, baritone reverberates down the hall.
Handing him the piece of paper, I take my keys from him and I open up the apartment, stepping inside. He follows behind me as he reads. “So she’s safe, then. Sarah. She’s not missing anymore?”
“Doesn’t appear that way.”
“You must be relieved.”
I am. I’m all kinds of relieved. It would have been easier to believe she was okay if she’d told me this information in person, though. The handwriting is hers, without a shadow of a doubt. And she does have a friend in Long Island—Marion, a woman she used to work with at the nail salon, who moved back home to take care of her mother when the elderly woman fell sick. I feel kind of stupid for being so worried about Sarah now. I’d nearly called out the fucking national guard to look for her.
My living room feels like the set of a sitcom—too small, too twee, too colorful—as Pasha removes his leather jacket and sinks down onto my sofa. Besides Garrett, Waylon and Andrew, I realize that Pasha is the only other man that’s ever sat on that couch, and he looks like he’s right at home. “Areyourelieved?” I ask.
“That the aunt I’ve thought was dead my entire life, who actually wasn’t dead, but who had gone missing is now okay?” He gives me a wry smile. “I am. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Especially if she hates Shelta anywhere near as much as I do right now. Maybe we can form avitsaof our own—former Rivin royalty turnedgadjemiscreants.”
My mind works overtime as it tries to place both Sarah and Pasha in a room together. They’re both such strong personalities, it seems to me that they’d cancel each other out merely by sharing the same oxygen. There’s no one sharing the oxygen in the room with us right now, though, and it feels as though Pasha has managed to suck the air right out of the entire apartment all by himself.
“Um. Do you…do you want a coffee? Or a tea?” Jesus. How the fuck am Ithisawkward?
Pasha runs his tongue over his teeth. “No.”
“Whiskey?”
He smirks. “You don’t have any whiskey, Firefly.”
“Ahh…hmm. Actually, no, I do not. What about something to eat?”
“Zara. Come here.”
Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is really happening.
I go to him, my body drawn to him, and Pasha sits forward, running his hands up the back of my legs. In two seconds flat, he’s pulled me forward, separated my legs, and I’m somehow straddling him on the couch. My palms are prickling like crazy. They’re going to start sweating soon. I haven’t been this nervous since I was about to go on stage to sing a solo in my high school choir performance.
His hands slide up my thighs, coming to a stop at my waist, and I let out a startled gasp and he tilts his hips up and I feel how hard he is beneath me. “Fuck, Pasha. How...”
“I’ve been hard since I walked through that door the first time three hours ago,” he growls. “All of my blood is basically in my dick at this point.”
I fasten my bottom lip between my teeth, and he does it again, grinding himself against me. “Ahh! Shit!” It feels so fucking good. His fingers dig into my skin, driving me downward, and the pressure between our bodies triples. My back arches without my consent, and my head tips back a little. I resist the urge to close my eyes as a wave of pleasure swells between my legs.
“Does that feel good?” Pasha asks through gritted teeth. “Is your pussy going to be wet for me by the time I put my hand between your thighs?”
Color explodes on my cheeks. Sweet fucking hell. “I—yeah. Yes.”
“Good.” He sits forward, away from the sofa, and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him. The next second, a dart of pain fires in a looping relay between my breasts and my clit, my body reacting violently as he grabs my right nipple between his teeth through the thin material of my shirt and my bra and he bites down hard enough to make me cry out. “Fuck! Ahh, Pasha. Oh my god! What thefuck?”
