Page 62 of Roma King
A deep rumble comes out of him—a wolf’s growl, from the depths of his chest. Slowly, his hands move to the belt buckle at his waist. He doesn’t look away from me as he unfastens it and unzips his pants. A moment later and I can see the flesh in his hand; I can’t tear my gaze away from it. His cock fits his body, in proportion to the rest of him, neither too big nor too small for his frame. Formyframe, however… I shiver as I look down at him, wondering how on earth tall people and short people ever make their bodies fit together. “You sure you want it?” Pasha asks, his voice laced with suggestion. And desire. His words are dripping with need.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I reach out with confidence, taking hold of his rigid cock. His skin is warm in my hand, smooth and silken. He feels fucking amazing, solid and harder than concrete. Pasha locks up at my touch, his chest rises sharply.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “God, woman. That’s…”
I squeeze the length of him, thrilled by the response I get when he jolts. “What? You want me to stop?”
Pasha’s rolling laughter fills the living room. “Ask a man dying of thirst if he wants you to take away the glass of water you’ve just offered him. See what he says.”
In a slow, calculated, measured move, I gradually work my hand up the length of his shaft; Pasha stares down at himself, watching my hand as it glides up his cock, and a hazy look clouds his eyes. “If you don’t…stop…” The words sound like they’re being dragged out of him.
“If I don’t stop, will you lose yourself?” I ask.
Pasha glances up, and those astonishing eyes pin me from under his dark brows. “I’m already lost, Firefly. I’m alreadysofucking lost.” He’s a fury of motion, then. With strong, demanding hands, he lifts me at the waist, and the next thing I know I’m in the air, my stomach lurching as he twists, trading places with me so he can throw me down onto the sofa. I was going to take off the rest of my clothes, but Pasha is too impatient to wait. My boots thump on the wooden floorboards as he tosses them over his shoulder. He doesn’t say a word as he rips my jeans from me and drops them to the floor, my socks bundled up in the fabric with them. The sound of tearing lace fills the air as he rents the material of my panties, sheering them from my body with his teeth.
I would gasp if I had the ability to breathe. I’d cry out if I could remember how to make a single sound. I’d react if I knew how to tame my nerve endings and force my limbs to respond.
Pasha stands as he removes his own clothes, and I lie on the couch, my body thumping with the primal pounding of my own pulse as he unveils himself. His hair is mussed and ruffled as he tugs his t-shirt over his head with one hand. When I look down, I cover my mouth, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing. Not the breathtakingly intricate tattoos, which span the width of his chest, or the fact that his abs are so perfect, they look like they’ve been photoshopped. It’s thebruisesthat make no sense.
Purple. Blue. Yellow. Green. Angry, vivid and violent. They cover his ribs and his sides, a patchwork quilt of pain. “Oh my god,” I breathe. “What the fuck, Pasha? You look like someone used you as a punching bag.”
A reckless smile spreads across his face. “I fight sometimes. Cage fight. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Good. Because it looks really fuckingbad.” I don’t know why, I can’t seem to stop myself, but my eyes are burning. The sight of all those bruises…individual marks, layered one on top of another, each one a moment in time when someonehurthim. I can’t fucking take it.
“Don’t do it,” he warns. Naked, magnificent, the most impressive sight I’ve ever seen—Pasha Rivin climbs up onto the couch and lowers himself on top of me. “I’m fucking good, Firefly. I’m really fuckinggoodat what I do. Don’t worry about me. Stay with me. Here. Now. We’ve both waited for this long enough.”
He’s so right. But… “It’s kind of hard not to notice the fact that you’re black and blue, Pasha.God.”
Taking hold of me by the chin, he lifts my face so that I can’t look at his torso anymore. “There are far more interesting parts of my body than my bruises, Firefly. Pay attention to those.” As if to prove his point, he settles himself between my legs, grinding his hard cock against my pussy. I gasp, and Pasha’s mouth comes crashing down on mine; he swallows my surprise, consuming it with a kiss so hot and demanding that flashes of light burst behind my eyes.
His hands roam, finding my breast; he cups my skin, kneading my flesh, and then he’s dipping down, fastening my nipple between his teeth again. “Your tits are phenomenal. Your ass. Your pussy. Everything about you turns me on, Firefly. I’m fucking deranged because of you. The smell you’re giving off right now is making me lose my fucking shit.”
I’d laugh his comment off, dismissing it as dirty talk, but I’m feeling the same way. The scent ofhimis making it hard to even figure out which way is up, for fuck’s sake. I’ve never been driven out of my own mind by the way a guy smells before, but Pasha’s heavily inked, ridiculously muscular body smells so fucking amazing right now, I just want to crush my nose up against his chest and inhale until my lungs are about to explode.
Instead, I lie my hand flat on his chest, his warmth seeping into my fingers, and I feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. Strong. Even. Steady. His heart isn’t racing the way mine is, but itislaboring. It’s beatinghard. I find the thumping metronome of its rhythm under my hand to be reassuring beyond belief.
He’s feeling this. I’m affecting him. He’s confident, but he’s also aware of how prodigious this moment is. Pasha takes hold of my hand, and he moves it to his left, shifting it down a little bit. He releases it, and there, right next to my fingertips, I see the tattoo permanently inked into his skin. It’s small, but incredibly intricate. Beautiful. I run my fingers over it, my throat burning with emotion.
“Oh my god, Pasha,” I whisper. “It’s a…
“A firefly,” he confirms. “I didn’t know when you were going to show up, but I’ve been excited to meet you for a very long time, Zara.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t have the words to convey how I’m feeling right now. The artwork that stretches across Pasha’s chest and down his arms consists of many small pieces and symbols, all linked and blended together. But the firefly, just to the left of his heart, is all by itself, separate, as if he’s taken great care to give it more room than it needs.
“How long ago? When did you get that done?” I ask.
He looks momentarily rueful. “Seven years.”
Fuck. Seven years? He must have been so sure that I existed, if he was willing to mark his body with an image like this. For me. I run my hand over the other tattoos—icons, patterns and shapes, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re strange and beautiful, and I can’t take my eyes off them. “What do they mean?”
“Roma charms and symbols. They tell a story.”
“Will you tell it tome?”
Pasha flicks my upper lip with the tip of his tongue. “Yes. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll give you everything. Soon enough.” His hands move again, and I cry out as he slides his fingers between my legs. I’m so fucking wet, I’m almost embarrassed, but when Pasha snarls into my ear, his voice alive with lust, I cast my discomfort aside. “Fuck, Zara. Your body’s acting like I’ve made you come already.”
He finds my clit immediately and begins to rub me, using the pad of his thumb to draw tight circles on me as he uses his index and his middle finger to—
