MIA
The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock said it was just after three.
I yanked the pillow from under my head, threw it over my face, and groaned.
I was dead tired. But I couldn’t fall asleep.
My mind kept spinning, replaying a highlight reel of moments from today.
Romolo cornering me at the party.
Romolo on his knees in the rain.
Romolo in the steaming bathroom, towel slung low, voice dripping with amusement—See something you like?
Worst of all was the awareness that he was still here, just one floor below me. The image of him lying in bed, black boxer briefs hugging two sculpted thighs, one arm tucked behind his head… It sent heat pooling low in my belly.
He was the last person I should be thirsting after given everything that had happened.
The absolute. Dead. Last.
I kicked the sheet off and sat up, covering my face with my hands. I wished he’d never had the panic attack. It would have been easier to hate him for everything shitty that he’d done. It would have kept things simple.
Nothing felt simple anymore.
Seeing him so vulnerable had softened my anger toward him. And that attraction, the one that had been there from the very beginning, still burned just as brightly.
I climbed out of bed. My throat was dry and scratchy. I’d grab a glass of water from the kitchen and then get serious about sleeping—counting sheep, meditating, maybe even popping the Ambien I’d found in one of the bathroom drawers.
My palm slid over the wooden banister as I crept downstairs, careful not to make a sound. Nothing less than a bomb would wake Fabi and Zo, but Nina was another matter. I already felt bad for making her worry. I didn’t want to worry her more.
The kitchen was silent except for the ticking clock above the gas stove. I filled a glass at the sink and was halfway through drinking it when I saw him.
Romolo.
He was outside on the back deck, hands braced against the railing as he stared out at the ocean. The black shirt I’d found for him was stretched taut across his shoulders.
I folded my lips over my teeth. Since we were both up, maybe this was the best time to bring up the photo on his phone.
Just get it over with and move on.
Unease danced inside my throat as I crossed the living room and slid the glass door open.
The sound pulled his attention. He turned, just enough for his gaze to land on me. It slid from my face to the messy ponytail atop my head, then down to where the hem of my pajama shorts kissed my thighs.
The night air was cooler than I’d expected, and my skin pebbled with goosebumps. Regret whispered in the back of my head. I should have brought a sweater.
“Mia.”
He sounded tired. And frustrated. His black hair was tousled, like he’d been running his hand through it over and over again. A tumbler with liquor—whiskey, probably—sat half empty on the railing.
My bare feet stepped across the still-wet deck until I stood at his side. “You raided Fabi’s mom’s stash?”
“I doubt she’ll mind.” He pushed the tumbler a few inches toward me. “Want some?”
I shook my head and took a sip of my water. The waves crashed in the distance. It was too dark to see them—the moon was hidden behind the thick clouds—but their song filled the air.
Romolo tapped his fingers against the railing, slowly and rhythmically, the only other sound apart from the ocean. “You told them.”
It was a statement, not a question. Tension marred his jaw as he stared—no, glared at the water.
That’s when it dawned on me.
He had never actually thought I’d keep his secret. He probably didn’t trust people. Not unless they’d been bribed, forced, or otherwise coerced into doing what he wanted.
And here I was, about to confirm his sad, depressing worldview.
An ache pulsed inside my chest.
If I used this against him, if I turned this into a negotiation to get that photo deleted, I’d be giving him one more reason to believe the world worked exactly the way he thought it did.
I…couldn’t do that to him.
Maybe if I was colder. More ruthless. More driven by logic.
But I wasn’t. My heart was placed firmly on my sleeve, which meant it got hurt. Often.
But I could live with my own pain. It was the pain of others I didn’t know how to handle.
I bit on the inside of my cheek. One day, I’d might regret this. But today wasn’t that day.
“I didn’t,” I said softly. “And I won’t.”
Silence stretched between us. His gaze skimmed my face, suspicion dancing at the edges. “How did you explain what happened? Why we showered as soon as we got home?”
“I said I had a panic attack and forced you to let me out of the car. They know my history. They believed it.”
He frowned. “You lied on my behalf?”
“I don’t feel great about it. I don’t like lying to my friends.”
“And yet you did.”
“I made you a promise.”
Something flickered across his face—doubt, disbelief. Like promises didn’t mean anything to him anymore. Like every promise ever made to him had been broken.
The ache inside me spread until it took up my entire ribcage.
Men weren’t born hardened. They were made that way by someone’s heavy hand until nothing soft remained.
Who was Romolo’s maker?
I placed my hand over his. It was warm. Solid. “I won’t break it.”
Another few seconds passed before his shoulders lowered. His breath escaped his lungs in a slow exhale, and then his whole face changed in a million tiny ways.
For the first time since I’d met him, I could read him. I could see exactly what he was thinking.
He was grateful.
Profoundly so. In ways I suspected he didn’t even fully understand, and the knowledge that I’d given this moment to him made my heart churn.
His fingers twitched beneath my hand as he held my gaze. “You’re not…like who I thought you’d be.”
“Really?” I asked softly. He wasn’t either, but out of the two of us, he was the one who hid behind a mask.
The wind picked up, sinking its cold teeth into my skin. I began to shiver. Maybe it was time to go in—
Romolo moved. A second later, large hands appeared on the railing, bracketing mine.
A bump against my shoulder blades.
Then warmth. So much warmth. His heat blanketed my back, seeping through my clothes, caressing my flesh.
“Better?” The word came from somewhere very close to my ear.
My eyes were wide. “Uh— Yeah. Better.” His huge, muscled body was practically wrapped around me.
This was us crossing another line. I knew it. He knew it.
But something kept me standing still instead of running away like I told myself I would if he ever got too close again.
Each second ticked by in slow motion as I basked in his warmth and his clean, male scent.
Thwomp… Shhhh… Thwomp…. Shhhh…
The whispers of the waves followed a hypnotic rhythm, lulling me into a relaxed state, despite my best intentions to stay on my guard.
“I thought behind that good girl act you were just like the rest of them.” His voice was rough, but the way his lips brushed the shell of my ear softened the edge. “But you’re the real thing, aren’t you? Good all the way through. You went from hating me to helping me in seconds. Didn’t even hesitate.”
I didn’t hate him.
“That’s what anyone would’ve done,” I whispered.
“No.” His warm breath grazed the side of my neck, making my toes curl. “It’s not.”
I didn’t know what this was. What we were doing. Another game?
His hands fell from the railing to my hips.
We stood still, unmoving, but I felt every single place we touched. Each point of contact burned—hotter than the flashes that warned me I was about to lose consciousness. Hotter than anything I’d ever felt.
Don’t let this go any further, a voice whispered, threaded with desperation.
But my body had other plans.
I leaned back, letting my head fall against his shoulder.
He made a sound of satisfaction, low and deep, the kind a person makes when a puzzle piece fits. Then he pulled my hips back against his.
He was hard.
“Your fucking scent.” The words rumbled in his chest. “It drives me crazy.”
Every nerve ending lit up. He was like a drug. Toxic, addictive, bad for me, but at the same time, oh so good.
His thumb slipped under the hem of my shirt, grazing the bare skin above my hip. He stroked it, back and forth—each pass sending shivers through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
I pushed my butt against his erection.
That low groan. God, it made my thighs clench.
His hand moved, over my belly, then down into my shorts.
I didn’t stop him.
I welcomed it.
Until it hit me—if he found out how wet I was…
My eyes flew open. “Wait—”
“Jesus, Mia.”
Too late. His fingers were already dragging over the soaked fabric of my panties, and judging by the way his cock twitched against me, he was pleased.
Shit. He knew. I was so hot for him, and now he knew.
“What’s got you like this?” His tone was pure tease. “Was it when I called you a good girl?” His palm cupped me with firm pressure. “I bet this pussy loves to be praised.”
My cheeks burned. Did it?
“I bet it craves being told how wet and warm and fucking perfect it is.”
Judging by the way I clenched around nothing—yeah, it did.
A whimper clawed up my throat as he dipped inside my panties, sliding lower, teasing my opening before gliding back up to my clit.
I gasped, hands gripping the railing as sparks raced through my body.
He was too good, too skilled. Every stroke was just right. It was like he’d mapped my body before tonight and knew exactly how to break me apart.
A moan slipped past my lips.
“Shhh.” His breath coasted over my ear. “You wouldn’t want your friends to know how good I am at making you come.”
I bit on my tongue, my eyes watering. I was so far gone, not even the risk of being caught could pull me back.
His fingers moved in circles now. Every few of them punctuated with a gentle pinch. I bucked my hips, silently begging for more.
“That’s it.” His voice was pure gravel.
“Oh. Oh God.” I was already unraveling, breaths coming in sharp, needy gasps.
Cool wind tickled against my bare hip as he slid his other hand under my shirt, lifting it a few inches on his way to cup my breast.
He pinched my nipple, rolling it between rough fingers, and the sensation shot straight down to my clit. I writhed against him, pressure coiling tighter and tighter inside me.
“Take it, Mia,” he growled, thrusting two fingers inside. The heel of his palm replaced the rhythm on my clit. “Come all over my hand.”
Thwomp… Shhhh…
He clamped a hand over my mouth just in time.
The orgasm crashed into me like a wave, stealing my breath, tearing me apart. I moaned against his palm and clenched around his fingers. He kept moving, stroking me from the inside out, wet and slick and relentless.
Oh. My. God.
I was still coming down, mind in shards, when he pulled his hand from my shorts.
I looked down and—Christ.
My wetness practically dripped off his fingers.
I whirled around, pressing my back against the railing, face on fire. He needed something to clean them with. I’d grab a napkin, a towel, anything.
“I’ll get—”
He cut me off with a look. Dark. Hooded. Turned on. And then he brought those fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
With a groan.
Like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
I slumped against the railing. My legs feel like jelly. My core felt like it’d been liquefied. And still, a gnawing hunger pulsed low inside my belly.
More. More. More.
The voice in my head shouting ABORT ABORT turned frantic.
If there was ever a time to listen to it, it was now.
Instead, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his lips. If I kissed him now, I’d probably taste myself on his tongue.
The thought drove me wild.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
He took a step forward, crowding me against the railing.
“We should stop,” I all but whispered.
His hand cupped my cheek, thumb grazing my skin. “You telling me to stop?”
“Rom…” His name broke on my lips. Indecision choked the rest of the sentence. My heart hammered, torn between reason and want.
His lips hovered over mine. So close. Every breath he exhaled mingled with mine in the space between us.
Thwomp… Shhhh…
The waves crashed in the distance. I barely heard them over the rush of my own pulse.
The heat in his gaze bled into me, soaking through my veins and settling in the pit of my belly.
Just a peck.
That was all I needed. I’d simmer down once I satisfied this aching need to feel his lips against mine.
I licked my lips. “No.”
And then I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him.
He responded with a low groan, curling his palm around my waist while his other hand tilted my head back.
Just a peck, just a peck, just a—
Somehow, my fingers were in his hair. Somehow, my tongue was inside his mouth. Somehow, we were biting on each other’s lips like we were both starved.
With a whine, I tugged him closer, deepening the kiss that was definitely not a peck.
I felt possessed. I wasn’t sure anything less than an exorcism would help me.
The kiss was rough. Messy. Unrestrained.
When we finally broke apart, we were both panting. Romolo’s chest heaved, and his entire body was vibrating with tension, like he was barely holding himself together.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his forehead against mine.
We stood there for a moment, suspended in the aftershock.
Then came his sigh. Heavy. Final. “Four. One. Nine. Nine. Seven. Three.”
I pulled away and blinked, confused. “What?”
There was a sudden shift in his expression. It sent a flicker of unease through me.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and held it out.
I stared at the device. It took me an embarrassingly long time to piece it all together.
The numbers were his passcode.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said flatly. His voice had gone cold. Distant. Like a door slamming shut inside him.
My heart stilled.
I hadn’t kissed him because of the deal. I hadn’t even thought about it. But I guess for him, this was all another game.
My prize was six muttered numbers, but I still felt like I’d lost.
Refusing to look at him—I didn’t want him to see the hurt in my expression—I took the phone and unlocked it.
The last photo in his camera roll was of me. I deleted it.
The next one slid into view before I could look away. It was a photo of him and a beautiful woman glued to his side in what appeared to be a nightclub.
My stomach sank.
I didn’t know when it was taken. I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting away from him as quickly as I could.
Expression blank, I shoved the phone back into his hand and walked inside the house without another word.
The next morning, he was gone before I woke up.
