Page 125 of Dance of Defiance
I groan, stepping under the spray of the hot water and shoving my hands through my hair, slicking it back. Roman ogles me in that way I fucking love but stays right where he is. I’d tell him there’s plenty of room for both of us, but he’s made it pretty damn clear the last three times I’ve dragged him to the shower with me that he’d rather wait than squeeze against me and rinse off together.
I mean, he hasn’tsaidthat in so many words, but I’m not blind.
Almost to test my theory, I shove my hair back again and suddenly close the distance between us. He tenses up as I grab his face and kiss him deeply, letting my tongue probe his mouth.
Roman’s mouth shuts, forcing me out. I pull away, a slight frown pinching my brows which he obviously sees. I go to kiss him again. But this time, he actually puts his hand on my chest to stop me.
“Since when do you have a problem with kissing?” I mutter.
But I already know the answer: the sex part is over, and when it is, Roman becomes averse toanyintimacy at all.
No cuddling. No touching. No closeness.
Nokissing.
“I don’t,” he shrugs. “I'm just…waiting for you to finish so I can clean up.”
“Be my guest,” I say with a flourish, stepping aside and gesturing to the water sluicing down.
“Thanks,” he grunts, slipping past me and ducking under the water.
“So, really. What’s your deal with kissing?”
He frowns as he glances back at me. “I don’t have a problem with kissing. We’ve been kissing for the last forty minutes.”
“So, you don’t have a problem with kissing when I'm fucking your sweet ass, is what you’re saying.”
Roman’s face turns as red as you’d think it would after me saying something like that. It’s seriously cute, even if I’m annoyed.
“Obviously not,” he mutters, rinsing the soap off his grooved, perfect body.
“And when I’mnotfucking you?”
“Huh?” He shoots me a look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sure.
“You’re fine getting deepthroated andfuckedby a man. Butkissingone is way too gay for ultra-straight Roman?—”
“C’mon—”
“Who comes like a firehose when he takes it up the ass?—”
“The fuck is your problem?”
I shrug, letting it go—for now.
“Nothing.”
I’ve known guys like this before. Hell, Iwasthat guy at one point. “Down low” or “straight buds”…guys who’ll fuck another guy, but then shy away from any sort of intimacy that comes after, as ifthat’sthe “gay line” they can’t or won’t cross. The mental gymnastics required to tell yourself that fucking another guy or getting fucked yourselfisn’tgay, but that snuggling with and kissing that guy afterisare…well, a real thing, even if they’re fucking stupid.
I step out of the shower without another word, toweling off as Roman finishes up. When the water shuts off and the door swings open again, I test another theory. I stand there waiting for him with a clean towel, the one I just used hanging on a hook next to the shower door.
Roman’s face heats as his eyes drop to the clean, dry towel in my hands. Then he turns and pulls the other one off the hook and wraps it around his waist.
Jesus fuck.
“So, dinner will be here in twenty,” I shrug. “Why don’t you grab a pair of my sweats and make yourself comfy on the couch.”
