He looks up at me from his crouching position, and he gently blows on my entrance. The warmth that hits me between my legs causes my hips to roll in an attempt to squirm, but Rome’s got a hold of my thighs, and I’m not going anywhere.
He does it again, and again until I’m shaking. My hands clawing at his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he doesn’t give in. Merely grins wolfishly before he presses his lips to my smooth, inner thigh.
“Are you needy for me, sweetheart?” His dark brow arches, his eyes burning with need. I’m tempted to say no, to tell him that I don’t want him, but I can’t. It would be a lie, so I nod. “Good,” he says with a satisfied grin. “You’ll stay that way until tonight when you come.”
“What happened to you making me come five times before lunch?”
He chuckles, rising to full height as he looms over me. “That was before you were sassy with me. Now you’ll just have to wait until I’m ready.” His gaze sparks with mischief, and I have a feeling I’m in deep shit.
Chapter 21
Rome
When the key unlocks the door, my anxiety spikes. I have never told anyone about this place except for Dom. My best friend knows about what happened, and even though I’ve brought women here afterward, I’ve never allowed them to peek into the darkness that kept me here for so long.
To prove to myself I wasn’t a bad man, I hid away behind the walls of a pristine penthouse. I ensured everyone saw the shiny parts, but not the dingy, broken pieces that left me heartbroken.
“This place is incredible.” Elisabet gasps as she heads straight for the balcony. My brain tells me to stop her, the urge burns through my veins, but I don’t. Shutting my eyes, I breathe, focusing on the way my lungs expand and contract. Then I pray. I motherfucking pray. “Are you okay?”
My eyes snap open when she speaks, and I realize she turned around. She’s looking at me instead of the breathtaking view. I should say no, but I nod quickly. Her eyes narrow, and I know she doesn’t believe my lie. I’m usually the mouthy one. I love to say what’s on my mind, but right now, I can’t.
“Rome,” she says, coming toward me, and I find it easier to pull in air again. Elisabet’s hand lands on my shoulder, and immediately, a calm comes over me. I don’t know how this woman does it, but she changes everything about me.
“It was a long time ago. I was young, stupid, and cocky,” I start, not looking at her. I can’t meet those beautiful eyes when I’m admitting to one of my biggest mistakes. “My father was still alive, I’d just hit my first million, and I was lost in the parties and drinking. I was high on coke every night, and enjoyed far too many . . .” I allow my words to filter into nothing because I don’t want to tell her about the sex.
“We were all young once, Rome. That’s how life works.”
“But I lost it. I thought money would flow and bring me the luck I needed to have a life without regret.” I shake my head, knowing that the words I’m about to utter will have her looking at me differently. And I wouldn’t blame her. Hell, I wouldn’t blame her if she walked out the door and never returned. “When I turned twenty-four, I got engaged.” My voice is husky, emotion drenching every word. “I thought I was in love, but at the time, it wasn’t her I wanted, it was the lifestyle. We had come back here after a night out clubbing, and I distinctly recall Marisol telling me she needed space. I thought she meant fresh air, or maybe even a swim on the rooftop. I was too high not to really see her.”
My chest tightens. Memories assault me with vigor. The violence in every image turns my stomach, and I feel like I’m about to pass out, but Elisabet cups my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her.
“Whatever you need to say, you can tell me,” Elisabet says, her voice calm as if she’s placating someone who’s about to leap over the edge. That’s what it feels like, as if I’m about to cliff dive without a safety net.
“By the time I finished the joint I’d lit and headed to the bedroom, she had already found her space. She had found it in the bathroom in this very fucking apartment. The empty pill bottle was lying on the floor, her body slumped against the bathtub, and I couldn’t save her.”
I look at Elisabet, and the realization dawns on her. Her face is a picture painted by the most graphic of artists. Every emotion flits across her beautiful features—pain, fear, sadness—and the last one hits me right in the gut like a fucking sucker punch—pity.