Not My Romeo by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Chapter 25

ELENA

I don’t know what wakes me up. My eyes blink open in the darkness of a room that is vaguely familiar, and the pillow underneath my head is plush and soft. Jack’s bed. The clock next to my bed shows it’s ten o’clock at night, and I start. I must have fallen asleep, and he carried me in here. Clothes still on. I ease up to sitting, glad for the moonlight coming in from the window as I sweep my gaze over the room. Where’s Jack? My body warms at how sweet he was to me earlier, and his singing? Terrible. I smile. Has anyone ever seen this side of him? That softness? The care he takes when he’s worried?

I slip out of bed and pace the room, checking the master bathroom. Empty.

I pad out to the den and see him stretched out on the couch, one arm off the couch and on the floor. He put me to bed but didn’t join me, when it clearly would have been more comfortable. Yeah. He needs his distance just like I do. With a glance I see that he’s hung up my clothes on a hanger and draped them over the chair at his desk. My garment bag and purse sit on top of the surface. I don’t see the pie anywhere, and I figure maybe he put it in the fridge. He can keep it. He deserves it after doctoring my knees. I chew on my lips and head to the kitchen, moving quietly, to look for a pen and paper to leave him a note before I go.

I get it written, thanking him for everything, and walk back into the den, setting the note on the coffee table. I glance down at him, my eyes tracing the planes of his face, the full lips that are slightly parted, the mahogany hair that falls across his face. Damn. Just damn. All that hotness—right here. I exhale.

His eyes pop open, finding mine. “Elena.”

I grab my chest. “You’re awake! I thought you were asleep.”

“Hard to sleep when you’re staring at me.” He grins, easing up to a sitting position, rolling his shoulders.

“You couldn’t have been comfortable out here.”

“Nah, I was fine. You passed out during the show.”

“Sorry. This week caught up with me.”

He stretches as he stands, and I swallow at the fact that he’s removed his shirt at some point, the muscles of his chest flexing as he rolls his neck and pulls at his arms, as if he’s warming them up. His gaze flicks over me, lingering on my mouth before looking behind me. “You were just going to leave?”

I nod.

“You think I’d let you walk to your car this late? Hell no.”

I cross my arms. “I’m a big girl. Plus this is a safe neighborhood.”

“With pockets of bad. It is downtown.”

“I’ll be fine.” I take a step away from him, decidedly not looking at his taut muscles.

“Hmm, aren’t you forgetting something?” He gives me a heavy-lidded look.

I lick my lips. “No, all my stuff is on the desk. Thank you.”

His body moves closer, his hand reaching out to brush against my mouth. “You owe me a kiss, Elena. For the song.”

My chest rises.

“Give it to me.”

Shivers wash over me at that tinge of authority in his voice. I like it so much, that heat in his tone.

You got this, Elena. Just kiss the man, and be done with it—maybe on the cheek just to irk him—and that’s totally what I plan to do, but as soon as I ease closer to him and feel the heat of his chest under my hands, my body takes over. I slide my fingers up and wrap them around his nape, my eyes holding his. I have no self-control apparently when it comes to him, and no matter what my head says, that I shouldn’t get lost in his lips, I already know I want to. I’m dying for his mouth on mine again.

Just one, just one, just one.

I tug his head down and lick at his lips, and he parts them, letting me in as I kiss him softly. He sighs against me, his arms wrapping around my waist to pull me tightly against him. He lets me lead, and I do, exploring him, tasting him, groaning at the smell of his skin, at the brush of his chest against his shirt I’m still wearing.

He takes over, his fingers digging into my ass, his lips slanting across mine, harder, more insistent.

“Elena . . . ,” he murmurs. “I’ve never loved kissing this much.” His mouth takes mine again, and I melt into him, my leg hitching against his hips. My fingers tug on his hair as he runs his hand down my thigh, stroking and kneading. “Can’t resist this,” he rumbles against my neck. “I put you in bed and wanted to get in there with you so goddamn bad.”

Desire fires off inside every part of my body, and I tremble. It’s so fucking hot with us, an electric wire from me to him.

And I know, I know what this is. Sex. Just sex, but when will I ever feel like this again? This connection. This feeling as if I might die if I don’t have him. I should stop, I should.

Because he’s going to hurt me.

He’s going to—

He’s the one to break us apart, holding me, staring down at me, his throat working. His chest moves rapidly. “One kiss . . . shit . . . Elena. If you don’t go . . .”

“I don’t want to go.” I close my eyes. What am I doing? This is his fuck palace! “You once said you wanted me bent over this couch. I haven’t stopped wondering what I missed.”

He inhales a sharp breath. “Elena . . .”

“You actually said, ‘I’m going to fuck you from behind.’ I think. Maybe I’m missing the exact wording, but it was hot, that image you painted in my head.”

I remove his shirt I’m wearing, feeling nervous.

But I’m brave. And I hang on to that with tenacity.

This is what I want.

“Elena . . .” He bites his lip and meets my gaze. “Please don’t stop whatever you’re doing. Please.”

My fingers push down my shorts. I unsnap my bra, and my breasts sway as I tuck my thumbs in the waistband of my thong, teasing it down a little, then pulling it back up, enjoying that flare in his gaze. His chest heaves, and his eyes glitter.

Gah, I’m a madwoman. Crazy. I don’t know who I am right now—maybe my real self—it seems so easy with him. The freedom. This want.

“You gonna make good on that promise, Jack?”

He groans, watching me. “Yes, fuck yes. Leave the panties on. I want to take them off.”

My lower body clenches at his words. “Take your shorts off, Jack.”

He palms his cock. “You do it.” He pauses. “But no sucking me off. This is about you.”

“Hmm,” I say, stepping into him, sighing when my nipples press against his skin. I shove down his shorts, using my toes to push the fabric down. His arousal is hard and long, thick with veins that throb as I brush my fingers over his mushroom-shaped head.

He shudders and wraps his hands around me, our skin finally pressed together. “God. Elena . . .”

“No one’s ever said my name like you do.”

He pauses and cups my face. “Good.”

I smile at how breathless he is, the stillness of him, that hint of anxiousness on his face, as if he’s afraid I might disappear.

He stares down at me, an unsure look on his face.

“I’m not disappearing.”

His eyes close briefly. “I’d die if you leave.”

He kisses me, his fingers brushing at my nipples, then his mouth following, his tongue flicking across my breasts, sucking. Pushing them together, he massages me, his tongue and teeth wreaking havoc.

“Are you wet for me, Elena?” he says in my ear.

“Since the moment you walked in the bakery. What are you going to do about it? Maybe you should tell me all about it.”

He huffs out a laugh and slides his hand inside my panties, his thumb rotating against my nub. I sway on my feet, arching into his fingers as one slips inside me before coming back out.

Another deep kiss. More groans from him as he maps out my body.

“You’re being mean, and you’re not talking dirty,” I gasp after a few moments.

“Saving up for something good.” Another finger goes inside me, rotating and tantalizing my sweet spot.

I grasp his length, dancing over the wetness from his tip, stroking it down and back up.

He hisses and shoves my underwear down. “Do you have any clue how many times I’ve pictured you here with me?”

“How many?” I suck on his neck hard, wanting to leave my imprint on him so that when this is over, he’ll see my mark and want me all over again.

“A hundred at least. You spread out, me behind you . . . shit . . . you in my lap . . . you on the floor . . . you against the wall. You won’t get out of my head.”

He turns me to the back of the couch, placing my hands on the edge of the high back, and my body knows what to do, bending over, ready for him.

I gasp when his hands run down the curves of my back, his lips brushing over my shoulder blades, skimming down my spine, his mouth biting my ass.

I look over at the window at our reflection, and he’s on his knees behind me, hands palming me as he spreads me apart and licks down my body. His fingers seesaw inside me, stroking me, teasing me as I wiggle to get him back to that bundle of nerves.

“Jack,” I cry out as he flicks his tongue against my core, still not where I want him, his fingers and mouth dancing over me, spreading me and drifting over every inch, even those secret places no man has ever tread. My legs scissor, arching into him, moving closer, desire making me dizzy as I clutch the back of the couch.

“I like you like this,” he murmurs. “Weak. I don’t want you to come until I’m inside you.”

“Jack,” I grind out, pushing my body back against him. “I need . . .”

“Shhh, just a minute.” He stands and grips my hip with one hand, the other on his hard length as he slides his swollen cock along my cleft, teasing me, not quite entering me. Over and over, he grinds against me. “Baby, I want to fuck you without a condom so bad. Never done that in my life. Not once.” He reaches around and barely touches my clit, just a soft flick. Heat flashes over me, that spiral of need tightening. “Can I, Elena? Please . . .” His cock teases my entrance, then disappears, making me shudder.

He’s begging me, and I can’t breathe. And it’s him, all him, driving me insane. He’s never done this without protection. I don’t have time to ponder it, but it feels like an important moment. My words are ragged. “On pill. Recent gyn. Clean—”

He doesn’t wait for me to finish and slides inside me all the way to the hilt and holds still for two seconds before letting out a primal growl, pulling all the way out and then back, his thrusts slow and deep, swiveling his hips when he reaches the end, grinding against my ass. “Fuck,” he says. “Your pussy is so tight. So wet, baby, so wet.”

I mumble nonsense, lost in this feeling, his silky hard length thrusting inside me. I lay my head on the couch, keeping my eyes on the reflection of us in the glass, the need on his face, the concentration as he looks down at us joined together.

I lose myself in watching us, my body pliant and soft against his hard one. It’s beautiful, the way he wants me. And the beauty of it is that it’s not just about the sex between us; it’s about him, his awkwardness, how he gets me, how he carried me in the rain. Emotion tugs at my heart; it’s more than sex for me, and maybe I knew it from that first time with him on his knees in the kitchen, which is crazy and insane, but there it is. This, this, this is worth any anguish later. It is. What if I never meet anyone like him again? What if I never feel this feeling again in my lifetime? I’ll take it. I’ll take it a million times to have him. A zillion.

His fingers circle my clit, in tune to his thrusts, his breathing ragged. “Elena, harder?” There’s a plea in his voice.

“Harder.”

He leans over me, his mouth on my neck, sucking hard, sharp prickles erupting, delicious ones that make me inhale. “More,” I beg. I want him to lose control with me, to think back on this and wish he had me forever.

He grunts, pulling on my hair, making my throat arch up, those fingers never stopping their dance, precise and intoxicating. He stops to hold my hips with wild hands, his grip slipping over the sweat on my body. He twists inside me, his fingers leaving bruises when they land, and I gasp out my encouragement. “More, more, more,” I moan.

“Fuck . . .”

“I haven’t come yet,” I remind him breathlessly.

He growls. “I’m gonna fuck you all night, I swear. You’ll get there.”

“Now.” My hand goes to my clit, and he brushes it back.

“Mine.” He thrusts faster, leaning over me again, his finger swirling, faster and faster, his mouth on my neck, sucking, and my body stiffens, tingles building at my spine, skating up my body, seeping into my soul. Us, him. The sound of his breathing, the sweat that drips down his face, the slap of our bodies. My mouth opens for a cry that never comes, reaching higher, higher . . .

“Mine, mine, mine. This little pussy belongs to me, Elena. I make you come—you got that? None of that vibrator shit.”

A muffled laugh comes from me at the ownership in his voice.

“Are you disagreeing?” He pulls out of me.

I throw a look back at him, tossing my hair. “Why are you stopping? Are you crazy? Do you know how hard it is for me to orgasm?”

He teases my entrance. “Not with me.”

“Jack Hawke, I was almost there.” I swallow thickly. “If you don’t—”

He laughs and drives all the way in, and I groan, wiggling against him.

“Faster.”

He complies, moving wilder, the slide of him perfection as our eyes cling. It makes my neck ache to look back at him, but he’s beautiful, the way he moves, that desire low and heavy in his eyes. His mouth parts as he tugs at the hair on my mound, grinding down as he brushes maddening circles over me. He shifts our angle, going deeper, thrusting, a harsh male sound escaping his throat. The universe that’s us explodes, sparks raining down around us.

My lashes flutter as my release hits me like a waterfall, falling and falling into a ride of sensuous pleasure. I ride it out, my hands grasping the edge of the couch, tearing at it as my body clenches around him, spasming against him.

“Elena, yes, yes, like that, so sweet, so perfect . . .” He groans and pulls out of me, turning me around, lifting my face up. He stares down at me for a long time and then kisses me hard. It feels like ownership.

He picks me up, and my legs go around his waist.

“You didn’t get off,” I say, resting my head against his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

“Not done yet. Don’t go to sleep on me.”

“Pfft. As if.”

A lamp falls over from an end table as he walks me to the wall. Neither of us glance at it. “At least it didn’t break. Are you going to break me?” I tease.

“Only in the best way, baby.”

I shudder and grind my pelvis against him, my wetness sliding over his cock. “Promise?”

His eyes flutter. “Hmm.”

His hands cup my ass as he puts me against the wall. “Lock your legs.”

I do, and he adjusts my body, thrusting inside me, moving me as if it’s effortless, and I sigh at how strong he is.

I must have said it aloud, because he huffs out a laugh. “Fucking you is like breathing. So easy, so good.”

My back digs into the wall as he pins me there, his eyes on my face.

He slides inside me, and I groan. “Elena . . . ,” he pants. “You . . . you . . . make me . . .”

“I know.” And I do. I get what he means. This kind of sex, it . . . it can’t be normal. Can it? This consuming need and desire, this fire that licks at us, that makes his eyes burn for me, that puts that expression of emotion on his face . . .

Does he always look at me like that? As if he’ll never let me go? As if I’m . . . vital to him?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just his face with every girl—

No.

I let that go and focus on him and this moment. My walls tighten around him, and my kisses deepen. I murmur naughty things in his ear, my heels pressing into his ass. He roars his release, his body shuddering, his face buried in my neck with my hands in his hair.

With careful hands he carries me back to the bed, and we crash down on it together. Our chests rise rapidly, almost in sync, as we stare up at the ceiling. The only sounds in the room are us, soaking it in, our breaths loud. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but I wish he’d say something. I look over at him on the other pillow, and he turns his head at the same time.

I swallow.

He watches me.

I open my mouth to speak but chew on my lip instead.

He arches a brow. “Best you ever had, right?”

I pop him on the arm. “You’re supposed to tell me it was the best you ever had. That I am the queen of everything. That you can’t wait to do it again.”

He grins wider. “Better than that first night—which was hard to beat.”

True. I was a little drunk on Valentine’s and thought it was incredible, but this—this was me at full awareness.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe. My silver bullet isn’t nearly as arrogant as you are—”

He moves faster than I thought he could, rolling me on top of him. “Are you asking for another lesson in who owns your orgasms?”

I laugh down at him, tracing my finger over his eyebrows. “Maybe.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Slacker. My bullet has a battery.”

He growls. “You best toss that thing out. I’m here now.”

My lips land on his scar on his left shoulder. “How’s your shoulder doing?” I ask, rising up to take him in. “Hey, why are you frowning?”

He looks away from me, then back, his hands idly playing with my hair. “I’ve got to have surgery on it.”

There’s a pause as we study each other. I take in the seriousness of his face, that glint of worry in his eyes. “I’m sorry. That can’t be good for football, right? Can you still play?”

He sighs. “Maybe. Probably. We’ll see.” A furrow builds between his brows, and I rub it away.

“I’m still wrapping my head around it. If the surgery goes haywire or I don’t heal up right, it could mean the end of my career. And if people think I’m injured or not at the top of my game . . .” His voice drifts off. “Since the moment I knew I was talented, football has meant everything. It’s been the one stable thing in my life since I was fifteen. I can’t lose it.”

I nod, seeing and feeling his worry. “You need it.”

“I do.”

“What was it like for you . . . without your mom?”

“Like someone tore a limb from me. She was the kindest person, but she took shit from Harvey. She kept thinking he was going to change, I think. He didn’t.” He gets a faraway look on his face. “Sometimes I think I’m . . . uncertain around people . . . because of him. He scared me. I fucking walked on eggshells around him. Any little thing would set him off. Cold dinner, messy house, my face.”

I picture him as a little boy, frightened of the man his mom refused to leave. I don’t like it.

“And Lucy, your foster mom, she was good to you?” I’m hanging on his every word, aching to figure him out.

He nods. “I moved in with her when I was fourteen . . . after everything happened. She was widowed, a retired schoolteacher who had all these rules about behavior and exercise. She stuck by me, pushed me to try new things, or I might never have put a football in my hands, but when I did, it was like . . . home.”

He has known goodness. I want him to have had everything.

“What about you? You lost your dad young, right?”

“They think he fell asleep and ran into a tree. It’s just been me and Mama, Giselle, and Aunt Clara. My nana passed two years ago. It’s why I moved back home. For some reason, I haven’t left.” I pause. “And how did you know my dad was gone?”

He winces. “Lawrence looked you up after I asked him to. That’s how I knew your address, remember?” He exhales. “I was determined to see you again.”

“NDA.” My eyes narrow.

“Let’s not discuss the NDA. It wasn’t just that. It was you.”

“You wanted to teach me all your wicked ways.”

He laughs. “My wicked ways? You blew my mind. Glittery panties with unicorns. Please. How am I supposed to just let that slip away?” His hand strokes my leg, turning me so that we’re facing each other. He glances down at me. “How are your knees?”

“Hmm, my doctor was excellent. Very good bedside manner.”

His eyes hold mine. “How good?”

I ease on top of him. “Best I ever had.”

“Knew it.”

“Stop smiling like that.”

“Like what?” He shifts until his hard length is at my apex.

My breath stills. “All cocky.”

“You want this cock?” He picks my hips up and maneuvers so he glides inside me, slick and hard as he pushes deep. I moan as he slides back out and then in again.

“Hmm, I think you do . . .”

“The dirty talking is all I’m here for,” I murmur. “Maybe another orgasm. Maybe pie.”

“No pie until you come again.” He moves fast, flipping me over, hovering over me as he settles between my legs, hitching one over his arm.

“Promises, promises,” I pant as he holds my hands above my head and thrusts inside me. We move like it’s a perfectly choreographed dance, his strokes soft and unhurried, his mouth on mine, kissing me slow, savoring me.

“You’re all mine.”

His thumb arrives and drives me insane, circling as he takes his time. I lose myself again in the feel of him, the way he looks at me, the emotion that carries me away when I come apart and call his name.

He goes over with me, eyes honed in on mine, something . . . something there in the way he looks at me as we ride it out together.

I close my eyes, holding him. Does he feel this too? How good we are?

You’re mine,he said.

But . . .

For how long?