“I talked to the kid,” he says, eyes narrowing. “He said you were in the army guy’s room a long time.”
He leans, and his breath brushes my cheek. “And he saw a radio in your hand.”
My heart slams once, hard. I freeze.
A slow burn starts in my chest. My mouth goes dry, and it hurts to swallow.
Fuck.The kidsawit?
I laugh in a dismissive way. “And you believe a kid who would still get carded for juice boxes?”
“I do,” he says flatly.
Then he turns and walks off like he didn’t just punch a hole through my plans.
He heads toward Max’s room. I watch him go, tilting my head slightly.
Then I breathe out.
Yeah. He’s gotta go.
I walk to Roman’s room and knock.
“Yes?” he calls out.
I push the door open. “Are you okay?”
He glances up, frowning. There’s tension in his jaw. He’s been spiraling since Dante escaped, paranoid, twitchy, calculating everything ten times over.
“You didn’t come to my room last night,” I say softly, stepping in and closing the door behind me.
His eyes flick to mine, then lower.
I’m wearing his favorite sundress. The yellow one with the thin straps. My hair’s up in a ponytail. The version of me he likes best.
His gaze darkens. His hands come to my thighs, rough and fast. He pushes the hem of the dress up, higher and higher, until my panties show. He groans, low and guttural.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,”
He stops. That pause? Feels like a knife. I can almost hear the“but”forming in his throat.
I move fast. Straddle him. Rub against the hard ridge straining beneath his jeans.
“I love when you compliment me,” I whisper, grinding slow. His hands clamp down on my hips, gripping bruisingly, and I welcome the sting. I lean into his neck, kiss his skin, bite just enough to leave a mark.
“Bryn,” he growls.
There’s menace in his tone but also hunger. A flicker of battle between wanting me and not trusting me.
I reach between us, unzipping his jeans, unbuttoning them, and sliding my hand inside.
He’s already hard, and when I pull him free, he grunts, hips twitching. His fingers dig deeper into my flesh. I shift just enough to position him where I want. With one hand, I tug my panties to the side and sink down slowly.
Not wet enough, and the stretch stings and burns, but I take it; I breathe through it, moving in shallow rolls until my body starts to open, to crave.
He’s watching me. Silent. Tense. Waiting for something to snap.
Then he thrusts up, hard, burying himself inside me all at once.
