Chapter 12

Ariana's POV

I woke up alone.

The side of the bed where Roman had been was empty. The sheets were rumpled, still warm, and carried the faint scent of him smoke, mint, and something darker, something him. My body ached, tender and spent, a reminder of everything that happened last night.

Or did it?

I blinked, staring up at the ceiling.

Had it all been some twisted dream? A product of my own desire and delusion? Had Roman really touched me like that—kissed me, fingered me, said those things in the dark with his voice all rough and low?

A dream wouldn’t have left my thighs this sore.

And yet he was gone.

No note. No sound. Just the emptiness and the memory of his mouth on my skin.

My heart squeezed. I sat up slowly, dragging the blanket over my chest even though I was alone. My sweater was bunched around my waist, my underwear damp and askew. Heat flushed through me as I peeled them off and stood on shaky legs. I didn’t know what I felt—ashamed, or hurt, or just hollow.

I wanted to believe it had meant something.

But how could it, if he didn’t even stay?

Anger flickered beneath the ache. I grabbed a towel and made my way into the bathroom, turning on the water hotter than usual. Maybe if I scrubbed hard enough, I could wash off the way his hands had felt. The way his eyes had burned when he looked at me.

I stepped under the spray, letting it rush over me, soak my hair, run down my back. My breath caught a little at the sting, the heat waking every inch of skin Roman had touched. The water couldn't erase him. If anything, it brought him closer.

I didn’t hear the door open.

But I felt him.

The air shifted.

My eyes flew open just as the glass shower door eased open and Roman stepped inside.

Naked.

He didn’t say a word. Just looked at me like he’d never seen anything more worthy of worship. His gaze traveled from my wet hair, to the curve of my breasts, to the way the water kissed the inside of my thighs.

He looked hungry. Not just for my body.

For me.

I covered myself with my hands on instinct, even though he’d already seen everything.

"You left," I whispered, my voice small, broken.

"I didn’t want to," he murmured, stepping closer. The water hit his shoulders, trailing over his chest. He was beautiful like this. Sharp lines, hard muscles, wet skin glistening with every drop.

"Why did you?"

"Because if I stayed, I would've taken it too far."

My heart thudded. He was inches away now, his voice like smoke and sin, curling into me. "And I want the first time I have you to be right. Not in the dark when you're unsure."

I trembled. Not from cold. Never from cold when he was this close.

He touched my hand. Gently moved it from where I covered my chest. Then he did the same with the other. Exposing me. Unveiling me.

His eyes darkened as he looked at me fully, openly. Like he was memorizing me. Like he was starving.

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was slow achingly, painfully slow. Like he had all the time in the world to taste me. His lips slid over mine, warm and wet, and I melted into him.

His hands ran down my sides, over my hips, pulling me closer until our bodies touched. Skin to skin. Chest to chest. I could feel his length against my stomach, already hard.

I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like it belonged to him.

"I couldn’t stop thinking about you," he said, pressing his forehead against mine. "I slept on the couch for an hour and couldn’t stand it. I wanted to be here. With you."

"Then stay."

That was all it took.

He kissed my jaw, then my neck, his lips trailing down to my collarbone, his hands never still. One wrapped around my waist, the other slid down and cupped my ass, squeezing gently, pressing me tighter against him.

His mouth found my nipple, sucking gently, teasing until I whimpered, my fingers tangled in his wet hair. He switched to the other, just as slow, just as deliberate.

The water kept running, hot and rushing between us, but I barely felt it anymore. All I felt was him.

"You're so fucking perfect," he muttered against my skin. "You always have been."

I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.

His hand moved down, slipping between my thighs again. He knew exactly where to touch, how to rub slow, how to tease faster just when I needed it. My head fell back against the tile, and he kissed my throat while his fingers circled me.

He didn't need to say anything.

His body spoke for him.

His eyes told me everything.

He wanted me. Cared about me. Burned for me.

And I wanted him, too.

When I came again, it was softer this time. Sweeter. My hips bucked, and I clung to him, whispering his name like a prayer.

He held me through it, arms around me, mouth against my hair.

We stayed under the water until it turned warm, then cool, but neither of us moved.

He kissed me one last time long and deep before pulling back slightly.

"Not yet," he said. "But soon. When you're ready."

I nodded, still breathless, still wrapped in his warmth.

He helped me rinse, helped me out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my shoulders like I was something fragile. Then he picked me up and carried me back to bed.

This time, he didn’t leave.

He pulled me into his chest, kissed my damp hair, and whispered, "Sleep. I’m not going anywhere."

And I believed him.