Dangerously Big (5 page)

I pick up my phone and text him.
Any chance I can borrow a T-shirt to sleep in?

A few minutes later, I hear him in the hallway. One hand on the fluffy towel still wrapped around my torso, I open the door. Romeo disappears into a room at the far end of the hall.
 

A moment later, he comes out with three folded shirts.

I swear I’m not trying to ogle him, but the top of his dress shirt is unbuttoned and the sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms.
 

Watching him walk down the hall makes my entire body tremble. Despite his considerable size, he’s graceful. Romeo is physically perfect. He’s got the perfect body, the perfect face. That’s not to say that Slade and Hawthorne are lacking, because they’re not. It’s just that Romeo’s beauty is mesmerizing. He should be in Hollywood, letting the entire world gawk at his perfection.

He hands me the shirts, and his gaze drifts downward, then back up. As I stare into his dark eyes, I get wet.
 

Oh, I’d do anything to fuck him.
 

But thus far, my bosses have always initiated sex. They’re dominant, something they told me up front. It’s their company, their kinky sexual arrangements, and their rules. Anyway, I never know when it’s ok to take a break from work, and it’s clear that in the office, work comes first.

Right now, we’re not in the office.

“You know—” I start to say.

“Have a good night,” he says with a polite smile.

“Ouch,” I murmur.
 

But that doesn’t stop me from admiring the musculature of his ass and his broad shoulders as he walks away.

Chapter 7

I wake in a tangle of twisted sheets. Romeo’s T-shirt sits crumpled next to my knees, and I vaguely remember ripping it off.

It’s still dark out, and when I look at my phone, I realize I’ve only been asleep for about two hours.

A vivid flash of the nightmare comes back to me. It’s a replay of the last time I saw my parents, except in my dream they knew they were going to die, and they were telling me to grab my sister and run.

The knot in my stomach hurts, tightens like a vise. I know it’s just residual anxiety from the dream, but emotionally it feels like a gaping black hole has opened inside of me and is sucking away my soul.

My footsteps are unsteady as I make my way to the bathroom. I hold my hair back and bend over the faucet to drink a few mouthfuls of cool water. The pain in my gut slowly recedes.

Now I’m wide awake. I stare at the bed—way too large for one person—and just looking at it reminds me of my nightmare.
 

I grab the shirt. It’s a little damp, but I pull it over my head, then quietly slip into the hallway. Overhead, a skylight runs the length of the hall, and blue moonlight lights my path.

The house is dark, silent. I think that if I want to snoop through Romeo’s office, now would be a good time.
 

And I want to.
 

Romeo’s a cipher to me. He can be carefree and laid-back, but when it comes to work, he’s borderline obsessive. He doesn’t strike me as someone who has something to prove to the world, someone whose ambition jerks him around like a marionette. He’s too confident for that.

But something drives him.

And as I stand at the top of the stairs, my toes pressing into the cool wooden floor, I think about how Romeo is during sex. He has to control himself because of the size of his cock.
 

But when he’s orgasming, all that control yields to a fervor of staggering proportions.
 

His thrusts turn frenzied, and he gets loud. I would never want to be sucking him off at that point because I’m not sure he could control himself.
 

As it is, when he wraps his muscular arms around me and pounds me hard, when his deep growls and grunts vibrate through his chest, when his skin turns slick with sweat, when I’m the center of his undivided attention, I feel special and important.
 

Just thinking about it is enough to make my cheeks and chest flush.
 

It also makes me turn away from the steps. Instead, I walk quietly toward Romeo’s door. I want him. I think… I think I could love him. I’ve never been in love, which is pretty sad considering that I’m already twenty-three.

On the other hand, I’ve had lots of sex, some of it even great. I wonder if that’s better than a string of relationships that start with poetry and beauty but then go sour, turn into a string of disappointments, a heart held together with Scotch tape.

One thing I know is that sex with Romeo will be amazing.
 

I raise my hand to knock on his door, but at the last second I wimp out, and I end up with my palm flat on the door’s surface.

It’s weird. What’s the worst that can happen? He says no. So what?
 

I decide that being turned down would really suck after the day I’ve had, and I’m turning to leave when the door opens.

Romeo stands there wearing nothing but royal blue pajama bottoms. His dark hair is mussed, and he’s squinting at me.

For a moment, I’m speechless. I’ve never seen Romeo when he didn’t have a suit on, or partially on. Right now, he looks much younger than he is.
 

He looks like an underwear model, actually. I want to lick the ridges of his pecs, then continue down to his tight six pack. Even his messy hair seems like an enticement, a deliberate attempt to tease.

“Is something wrong?” he asks when I don’t say anything. His voice is husky but gentle, and heat surges through me.
 

Somehow, I pull courage out of thin air. “I’m here to fuck you.”

He looks past me. “Are Hawthorne and Slade hiding in the shadows?”

He doesn’t look awake enough to be sarcastic. My face heats as I realize he just turned me down. Maybe I deserve the gentle gibe; he’s always been clear about the “all of us or none of us” thing.
 

But still.

I don’t know what to say, so instead I try to smile. It comes off lopsided and probably not at all convincing.
 

As I turn to go back to my room, Romeo’s hand catches mine. If he’d grabbed my arm, that would be one thing, but this is almost intimate.

My eyes travel from where our hands are connected and up his brawny arm and hulking shoulder. I have to force myself to meet his intense gaze.

“I can’t fuck you,” he says, “but sleep with me.”

In the darkness, I don’t see much of Romeo’s bedroom. I will say that everything looks… large. I suppose that’s not a surprise because he’s a big guy. It’s not like he’d be sleeping in a Chippendale bed with legs slender as twigs.

His bed looks freshly made except for the side he was sleeping on. He pulls back the covers more, the bedroom equivalent of holding open a car door.

I get into the bed, which is still warm from his body heat. “Nice sheets,” I say. “Like angel kisses on my skin.”

He makes a low, male noise, then he slides into bed next to me.

It’s fun to watch Romeo—or the dark outline of him, rather—in this setting, and I can’t help but stare as he arranges the pillow under his head. He’s on his back, and he doesn’t pull the sheets up past his ribs.

I know I should get over into my side of the bed, but I’m rooted in place, wondering how long it’s been since a woman saw him like this, half naked, the masks he wears discarded.

The truth must be admitted: even though I know it could never happen, right now I’m having fantasies about running away with Romeo.

Heaven help us all.
 

He turns onto his side, toward me, then he pulls me against him, moving me so that we’re spooning, his front to my back.

The position gives me a delicious piece of information. Romeo is getting hard. I don’t dare breathe, let alone rock my hips into him.
 

His hand grazes the shirt’s hem where it touches my upper thigh. Slowly, patiently, he slides his fingers under the cotton and works his way up, onto my hip.

For a moment his grip starts to tighten, and I feel myself gushing wet. A brief instant of contact and I could get off. I’m
almost
already coming.
 

“Please,” I whisper so quietly that only the slight hiss of the “s” crossing my lips is audible. If I could have one wish, I’d make his pajamas disintegrate.

His grip tightens again as he pulls me into him. I feel his warm, humid breath through the hair on my neck, and his soft lips brush against my skin for a brief moment.

Then he’s pushing on my hip. Not shoving me away, but pressing me down, into the bed. It’s like he wants to push me away, but he can’t quite make himself do it.
 

His fingers relax, then he strokes down to where the caress started, a burning trail everywhere he touches.

His hands slowly go up again, cupping my hip, sliding into the dip of my waist, and I’m not sure if he intends to torment me or if he’s fighting himself and I’m the innocent victim.

I don’t know how long he strokes me. It feels timeless, like I came into existence in this room, in his bed, and there will be nothing after this, either.

No man has ever touched me like this. It’s so incredibly intimate that I’m glad he can’t see my face.
 

For some insane, inexplicable reason, soft tears leak from my eyes. I’m not sad. I don’t even think I’m actually crying. It’s more like when my bosses roughly fuck my mouth and it makes my eyes water. Maybe I’m still in shock from being kidnapped. That would make sense.

Romeo’s hand slides hotly over my stomach. I silently plead with him to go lower, to drag a finger over my heated pussy and make me orgasm. Instead, he cups my breast, and I almost die from the pleasure of his touch.
 

He roughly pulls me into him again, his forearm like a steel band, his embrace like the harness at an amusement park that will stop me from being flung into the great, wide nothingness.
 

His pajamas fight valiantly to control his erection, but men Romeo’s size can’t be controlled, can’t be contained.

The hot length of him is nestled between my legs. Part of him is covered in flannel, but part is exposed, bare skin hot against my buttock and wedged between my thighs, and I feel the slow, steady pulsing of his heartbeat.
 

As much as I crave him inside me, I won’t ruin this exquisite moment, so I just lie there, my pussy drenched and getting wetter, my blood pounding through my veins. My mouth is dry, and all I know is I want this to go on and on, forever, and I don’t even care if he never fucks me.

Romeo
. I knew it the first time I saw him. He could be my savior if he wanted… if I allow it.

If he asks about my past right now, I’ll tell him everything. I think… I think I want him to ask.

It’s not just sex that makes me tremble with desire. I need him to want me
.

Which is unrealistic because he has no idea who I really am. I guess some part of me wishes he could see through all my masks. But that’s ridiculous. Real life doesn’t work that way. If I want him to see me, I’ll have to pull back the layers between us and invite him in.

And I’m not capable of that.

I wipe my cheek on the pillow to dry the tears. I don’t want him to know I’m crying, so I breathe through my mouth so he can’t hear my nose is all stuffed up.
 

A few minutes later, I feel myself drifting off. All of my senses are wrapped in him, and I swear, if this isn’t love, then real love will probably tear me apart.

Chapter 8

When I wake, I’m alone in Romeo’s bed. My shirt is, sadly, still on. It’s amazing to me that I slept so deeply, but it was only a couple of hours.

I remember the press of Romeo’s broad chest against my back, and I shudder. There aren’t words to explain how safe I feel with him. It’s not just that he’s so physically strong that I know nothing can hurt me.
 

There’s something else. He’s trustworthy. He’s honest and honorable. Maybe that’s why deceiving him makes me feel so shitty.

But I don’t expect him to deliver breakfast in bed, so I get up, make my way back to the guest bedroom and put on my clothes from the day before.
 

Romeo’s T-shirt goes into my bag.

I look at my phone and realize the alarm didn’t go off like it should have. Then I realize that it’s been disabled.

Maybe I should have stayed in Romeo’s bed and waited for him to rouse me.

Too late now.

I find him downstairs at the dining room table. He’s dressed in an elegant dark suit that makes him seem a little mysterious. I feel my pulse flutter in the back of my throat as I stare at him. This is the man who caressed me last night and took my loneliness away. Hard to believe.
 

He’s already in work mode, and I feel like I’m intruding on his morning routine. He probably wishes I’d accepted the offer of a hotel instead. I try to stay out of the way while he finishes getting ready.

He looks at his phone. “The limo is here,” he says. “You can go out.”
 

“I took your shirt,” I say.

With a little shrug, he hands me his briefcase, which is surprisingly heavy.
 

The entire drive to my apartment building, Romeo is on the phone. To my surprise, he gets out when I do, and he walks me to the entrance, then to the elevator, to my front door. When I unlock it, he hangs up the phone and moves in front of me, blocking my view of the apartment.
 

I try to push through the doorway, but Romeo restrains me with one large hand.

“Wait here a moment,” he says.

It’s strange to watch Romeo like this. He’s big enough to be a bouncer, but he’s wearing that expensive suit. If Kidnapper Joe is in my apartment, waiting to jump out and get me, he’ll certainly be surprised by my well-dressed bodyguard.

After a few minutes, Romeo comes back out. “I’ll be right here,” he says.

“You might as well wait inside,” I say graciously.