We eat in silence as the movie starts to play, and like a typical guy, he inhales his food and manages to eat two in the time it’s taken me to eat half. He artfully organizes the pillows and blankets and drags me by the waist and into his arms the second I finish eating.
I try to focus on the movie, but I can only focus on Mickey: The way his body is perfectly molded to mine, the kisses he plants on the top of my head every so often, and how he doesn’t stop touching me. He’s constantly moving, rubbing circles with his palms and writing love letters with his fingers along my back.
He laughs at the movie on cue and blurts out whatever random thing he thinks of as he watches. With the countless layers of blankets hiding our intertwined bodies and nothing but the fairy lights and the projector to light our surroundings, I’ve never felt so content.
We’ve both lost our jackets, leaving us in our shirts and pants. He keeps running his hand up and down my arm like he can’t get enough of the feel of me. With each touch, the crappiness of everything that happened today floats away.
The credits roll, and I stretch my neck up to find he’s already looking at me. I shiver when his hand follows the curve of my waist, leaving a path of fire up along my collarbones to trace every contour of my face.
Warmth unfurls in my chest as the butterflies that have been quiet all night explode in a flurry of short breaths and fluttering lashes. Those gunmetal eyes of his pierce mine, and I can’t look away, lost in his scent and the way the shadows enhance his cheekbones and run along his nose. I could live in this moment forever and die happy, never seeing the sun again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Bella.”
His gaze drops to my lips, where his fingers brush them over and over. His eyelids grow heavier with each move, hiding his darkening stare. Inch by inch, his other hand crawls up the back of my thigh, slowing over the arch of my back, eliciting a deep desire in me unlike anything I’ve ever known. My core tightens as an ache forms between my legs, but I’m too scared to shift my hips in case the movement causes Roman to snap out of his trance.
My pigtails loosen as his fingers move into my hair, threading through the strands as if he owns them. He doesn’t need to ask; he can take anything he wants from me. I’m his. It’s the only thing I’m certain about in this life.
Roman’s eyes glaze over as if he’s mesmerized, but he licks his lips like a starved animal, never once moving his attention away from my mouth.
He’s looking at me as if I’m the only person in this world who matters.
Like I’m his everything.
Like he’s about to kiss me.
“Mickey.”
Chapter 11
ISABELLA
3 Years Ago
Roman: 19 years old – Isabella: 17 years old.
His lips crash into mine, cutting off my words as he drags me to him by his grip on my hair. The entire world lights up on contact. Every bulb grows brighter, every smell becomes stronger, and I can feel the kiss in my soul. The stars could fall, and I wouldn’t notice. The room could be set ablaze, and I would be helpless to his possession.
His lips move without waiting for me to catch up. Mickey pulls me beneath him, settling himself between my legs as he dominates every inch of me. Choosing where my legs are curled around him, we become a battle of tongue and teeth that I already know I will lose.
A low growl rattles through his throat as my back arches and my legs tighten around his waist, pulling his hips closer to mine. When he takes my bottom lip between his teeth like he’s marking his territory, I can’t help but whimper.
It isn’t just a kiss. Our lips aren’t just touching. He’s claiming me, body, mind, and soul, and there is nothing I can do to get away from it. Because I want him, too, more than anything else in the world.
Not want.
Need.
I need him more than I need air. If he leaves, I won’t survive. There’s nothing else in this world that could compare to him.
I’m his, and there’s a Roman-shaped hole in my heart that is perfectly made to fit him.
As he pushes his hard length against the part of me that aches for him the most, fireworks dance behind my vision. My body takes over at the sensation, and I grind my hips along him. A guttural moan makes it past our lips, and I try to chase that high again.
But then he stops.
“Fuck,” he groans, pulling away from me, and I whimper when his touch vanishes completely.
He leans to the side. One hand disappears beneath the covers to adjust himself. Then he throws his head back and laughs at the ceiling. Looking back down at me, he beams from ear to ear. “God, that was better than I ever imagined. You taste so damn good.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m going to survive another year,” he says, more to himself than to me.