Broken Little Melodies(59)

Excitement stirs in my belly—this is finally happening. Time and distance can no longer come between us. But he stops my wandering hand, pulling his lips away.

“We need to take this slow,” he insists. “As badly as I want to fuck you, it’s not happening in the back of this car.”

“At least let me show a little appreciation,” I purr, sliding a hand down his hard body to tug on his zipper. “The crowd loved you. Watching you up on that stage—hearing all those people screaming your name—it made me crazy wet for you. You killed it tonight, baby.”

A hiss pushes through his clenched teeth. “Dammit, Belle. I don’t—”

But I’ve already freed his heavy cock, and his protest is interrupted with a deep moan when I grip his warm shaft in my fist. I try to pretend his size and girth aren’t impressive, or that the sight of his smooth, pink dome doesn’t dampen my thong. But memories from camp come flooding back to me in a blinding flash, and I know without a doubt that he’s grown. Considerably.

Sinking to my knees down in the footwell, I swirl my tongue over the salty tip. He’s growling when I glance up at him through my lashes.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go down,” he insists, tugging at a handful of hair on the back of my head. But the burning passion behind his eyes tells a different story when he adds, “God, you’re so damn beautiful with my cock in your hand.”

So I continue, taking in as much of him as my gag-reflex will allow. My eyes water when his tip hits the back of my throat. He’s far bigger than any man I’ve been with, but I’ve learned how to make men come hard and fast so I’m not left to suffer for long. Roman pulls my hair by its roots when I hollow my cheeks and suck as furiously as I can, bobbing my head up and down his length.

“Goddamn, Belle,” he cheers on in a tight voice. “Goddamn that feels—oh—you’re so fucking good.”

Soon his hips are thrusting along with my bobbing motions, pushing his tip farther down my throat. Gagging, I pull away and Roman swears under his breath. As I’m catching my breath, his fingers curl around my elbow and he nudges me back up to sit at his side.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he whispers, smoothing my hair away from my watering eyes. “I was choking you like an asshole. It’s just—”

“I’m ‘so fucking good’?” I tease, laughing it off as I look away. “Don’t apologize for being exceptionally large. And don’t ever apologize for getting excited over a good blowjob. Women like that shit.”

He tips my head back with his fingers until I’m forced to meet his unrelenting gaze. “I’m not interested in what women like. I only care about making you feel good.”

My throat thickens, making it impossible to reply. After all this time, how does he still know exactly how to tear down the walls I’ve built and expose my vulnerability?

Nuzzling my neck, he tucks me under his arm for the remainder of the short ride to the hotel. We pull in behind the hotel beside a pair of black SUVs. A security guard opens the door to the car and my entire body tenses. I hadn’t prepared myself for the chaos that will follow us everywhere we go.

Roman grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb across the back. “No one other than the hotel staff knows we’re coming. It’s just a precaution.”

We make it to the penthouse without incident. The hotel manager seems leery before leaving us, like we’re going to trash the place. I don’t know Roman well enough anymore to say whether or not that’s something he’d do, but I’m pretty confident the only thing they need to worry about is the condition of the bed sheets once we’re through.

Roman bends to kiss the top of my head. “Make yourself at home. I’m going to hit the shower.”

Then he grabs a travel kit from his suitcase and slips his t-shirt over his head. My mouth goes dry with the sight of his toned body. As I had suspected, he’s twice as broad as he had been as a teenager, and he’s fucking ripped. Each stomach muscle is toned and well defined from diligent time spent at the gym. A barely visible smattering of blond hair makes a dark line from his bellybutton down into his jeans. Only one tattoo marks his magnificent chest, but it covers one breastbone and extends up his thick shoulder to the base of his neck. It appears to be a whimsical drawing of the Tahoe landscape mixed with words and musical notes. I suck in a sharp breath, wondering exactly what’s mentioned in the beautiful script.

As I’m trying to keep my desire in check, he heads for a set of double doors leading to what looks like a massive bedroom “I’m fucking starving!” he calls over his shoulder. “Go ahead and order whatever you want from room service!”