Rome’s fingers grip my body as if he is trying to hold himself back from devouring me whole. If vampires are thought of as monsters, then Rome is my monster, and I am his.
Though his kiss takes me off guard, my infatuation with him catches up easily. My fingers twine in his hair, not in the doting way I usually stroke him, but this time with a passion that’s akin to anger. I wanted to be able to say those things to him directly, not to my brother, and then have Rome accidentally overhear. I want to live with Rome, to make his family my own, but the sheer impossibilities of that are too many to ever surmount.
If all we have are secret trysts and private kisses, then I will not waste this one. I will cherish each one because they are mine. We belong to each other, no matter that the world demands we sit at separate tables.
Rome’s hand trills up my thigh under my skirt, thumbing the flesh because he knows there is no part of me I would not turn over right now. “I love you,” he admits, stirring my stammering heart into a frenzy. “I love you and I would move in here if it was up to me. You know I want more than a drawer. I want a life with you.”
Pressure builds behind my eyelids. Emotion threatens to kill the mood that’s swept us completely from our melancholy. “Don’t say it,” I warn him as I nip at his lower lip. “Don’t make me want this more than I already do. I’m mad for you, Rome.”
He kisses me and fists his fingers in my hair, yanking my head back so my face is angled to his. “I fitted you with a tracker when I gave you that necklace, so I think it’s safe to say I lost my grip on sanity weeks ago. I’m crazy for you, Coletta. Let me… Please, tré-sur. Let me talk to your family. I don’t want to pretend with them.”
My eyes squinch shut to fend off the bad idea. “No. I won’t make you a target any more than you already are. You and my father are finally getting along and making real progress. We can’t jeopardize that.”
Rome steps forward with his hands still around me. His face burrows in the crook of my neck, kissing and sucking as only the best vampires know how to do. He backs me up until my legs hit the edge of my bed.
And suddenly, I’m falling.
I knew that if I ever did truly fall for someone, it would have to be a crush that crashed my will to die alone. That was the plan all along.
But as Rome’s lips make sweet love to my throat while I mewl atop the mattress, I know all my protests that would have me cling to sanity and decorum are dead on arrival. They are the last vestiges of a barrier that soon will come crumbling down.
“I love you,” I tell him at the exact same moment he utters a breathy “I love you.”
I feel something shift in the air, as if our simultaneous declaration of love has cracked open a mystical force that the universe reserves only for lunatics who love as recklessly as us.
My back arches for him. My lashes flutter because, of all the things Rome knows about me, my vulnerable spots are up at the top of the list. I am only helpless for him. I waste no time or energy regretting my surrender. I have no desire to be anywhere but with this incredible man. It’s an addiction, I am learning, but each hit of him only increases my need for more of whatever this is.
Rome takes my bare leg and hooks it around his hips. My fluttery navy skirt slips up my thigh as if scandal is a thing we do not fear in the least. His weight atop my body is the comfort I need to keep me warm at night, so I tighten my leg around him, eliminating any gap between us. He is firm against the heated parts of me, driving me all the more wild when his hips press to mine. Each breath we take is done together, even though I am gasping through my desire.
My fingers make quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and tearing it down his arms. “I need you,” I whisper.
Did we close the door?
Do we have enough time indulge in all that I crave?
All other questions fly out of my mind to make room for the lust that is taking me over.
His fingers are magic, slipping between us where they easily find their mark. Rome is a man who has never had to question his prowess.
My hips jerk against his while we kiss and caress, grab and gasp. “More,” I beg.
Rome does not deny me when I reach for his belt buckle. My fingers are clumsy yet certain that this is what I want, and only with him.
He tears my shirt over my head because even the slightest scrap of fabric is too much a barrier between us. He pauses only the briefest of moments to admire me with a reverent expression before his features are taken over by an animalistic lust.
We see no need to be gentle with each other.
Heat coils in my belly as he lowers himself onto me, drawing energy in like a spring ready to burst through my ribcage.
Then suddenly, something booms. I hear the sound and feel it in my brain. Like fireworks being blasted inside my ear canal, the sound makes me jump.
“What was that?” I ask him, barely pausing our kiss for him to work in a response.
“No idea.”
This has happened before when our trysts grew heated. Each time, we pulled away, unsure what the foreign sound meant.
But this morning, neither of us has the self-control to pull away. I tighten my legs around Rome’s waist, letting him play with the edges of my lacy underwear while I slide his trousers down his muscular thighs.
His tongue plunders my mouth as his hips move against mine. His breath is coming in heavier now, while my chest moves unevenly to keep up with our erratic rhythm of more, always more.
Suddenly Rome’s gasps turn harried, his chest heaving like a runner on a cold day. “Coletta,” he rasps, though the sound of my name on his lips is more a plea for help than an indication of pleasure. “No! Stop! No, we can’t! It’s not happening! It’s not possible!”
The romance twists into something grim and terrifying when I can’t hold air in my lungs. My breath syncopates without my permission, not like it should, but like it shouldn’t unless there is a shortage of oxygen in the room.
Suddenly my grip on Rome turns to a panicked pawing. My lungs won’t expand enough to let in more than a fraction of the breath I need.
Terror courses through my bones. “Rome!” I cry out, though even that sound is choked. “Can’t… breathe!”
Rome jerks his head up, breathless and confused as he clutches at his own chest. But the clear picture of his face blurs before my eyes, like someone brushed their hands over an oil painting that wasn’t quite dry. His movements, though blurred, mirror mine—short of breath to the point of panic.
Rome rolls off me clumsily, his spine hitting the mattress while we both stare up at the ceiling, writhing as we gasp for breath, which slowly begins to come back to us.
I can barely put purpose to the many questions that tumble through my mind while my chest jumps. I’m fighting for clarity, for reason, but it comes slowly. Nearly a minute passes before my breathing settles back into a bearable rhythm.
Rome threads his fingers through mine. “Are you alright?”
“What was that?”
He doesn’t answer, which does nothing to assure me. He merely runs his thumb over mine.
“Rome, what happened? There was a booming sound. I couldn’t breathe, then I couldn’t see straight.”
“That’s not what happened. Nothing happened. It was a few kisses, is all. You’re overreacting.” My boyfriend drops my hand so abruptly that it almost feels like I am repellant to him.
I’m projecting. That can’t be true.
“Rome, I…”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Imagining suffocating? Do you understand what my seizures can do if they go too far? I can stop breathing! But I didn’t have a seizure, I don’t think. Is that what’s happening?” I examine my hands and then touch my face. “My meds. I need another pill.”
“You’re not… It’s fine, but we can’t do this ever again. I take it back. You’re imagining…” He motions to the bed, as if to imply I invented our entire relationship out of my daydreams. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again. This was a mistake.”
I sit up halfway, leaning back on my elbows. “What?”
Rome’s eyes are wide with fright. “All of it. I don’t need a drawer. I can’t stay here.”
Rome rebuttons his shirt and pulls up his pants, turning his back on me. He trips over his own two feet as he parts from my side.
Serves him right.
He fists the door’s handle. “I have somewhere I need to be. I just remembered. You’ll need to meet with the mayor and the governor without me. Orlando can take you.”
My mouth falls open as shock hits my system.
Did I miss a step?
Did I say something mean by mistake?
“Rome, wait!”
“I’ll be out of town for a while.” His words crash over my head like a ton of concrete.
I reach down and snatch up my shirt from the floor, tugging it over my head. “Are you serious? We have a meeting to go to right now.”
“You can handle it without me. Or cancel and I’ll deal with it when I get back. I have to go. We can’t… I need space. That shouldn’t have happened. I let things go too far.”
“Wait! Rome, I…”
“No!”
It is the first time Rome has ever raised his voice at me.
The first and the last. I can see the fear in his eyes that mirrors my own. I am a wreck in the wake of his abruptly cold demeanor.
Before I can say another word, Rome turns his back on me. He doesn’t leave, but stands in the doorway, taking his time catching his breath.
His body doesn’t look strong right now, but like he is trying to force it to muscle through whatever we just endured together.
What is happening? My limbs aren’t quaking, like they would if I was low on my meds; it’s more that everything feels weighted and clumsy. It’s like I am moving through gelatin.
Drunk. I don’t drink often because alcohol mixes poorly with my medication, but I can imagine this is what it would feel like to have had three too many cocktails.
My voice embarrasses me almost as much as the plea that escapes my lips. “Rome, please. I don’t understand.”
But he doesn’t give me the chance to make sense of any of this. His torso is tense, I can tell from his stilted gait. “You need to leave. Orlando doesn’t like to be late.”
And just like that, Rome exits my bedroom without looking over his shoulder.
As if I mean nothing.
As if we mean nothing.
Emotions, the likes of which I never dreamed I would aim at Rome, fill my soul. I am angry that he would dismiss me so thoroughly when it’s clear something physiologically odd just took place. I told him I couldn’t breathe, yet he is acting like I called him a hateful slur. I’m confused, unable to conjure up a reason why he might behave this way.
But beneath the anger and confusion is a hurt that horrifies me. I counted on us. I assumed we would be together through thick and thin. But there is no way I would tolerate linking myself to someone who gets up and leaves when I tell him I am having trouble breathing.
When I tell him I love him.
When I tell him I wish we could be married.
My skin feels cool now, the heat from our bodies dissipating into nothing, as if it never existed. I didn’t realize just how fragile our connection was, that it could be brushed away in a breath.
Reality bears down on my shoulders, threatening to flatten all that I hold dear.
The front door shuts, letting me know Rome has left my home, and possibly my life.