Page 65 of Born for Silk
When I feel his hands on my shoulders, I inhale quickly. His knuckles caress the skin at my collarbone as he slides my cloak off my shoulders. He lays it to the side.
Vulnerable like this, I hug myself. The material of my white night gown is thin and slightly translucent. It’s the same one that every Silk Girl wears to sleep in.
Rome lifts me to sit on the island bench, my legs dangling, toes just free of the hem of my skirting.
Warmth pools in my belly and makes me squirm.
He moves close.
My mind blurs as he stands, an intimidating wall of muscles, only a head taller than me now.
And I’m not sure I like it. I’m scared of being this close to his lips. Lips that snarl and hurt me, but that I want to touch with mine.
I look at him. Study him.
It’s bright in here so I can identify the different blues in his gaze and understand his state of mind from his deliciously dishevelled hair and large black irises— he is wearing all his remorse on the outside right now.
I like seeing him.
The real him—Rome.
Concerned eyes move over me, stopping at my shoulder. He lifts my arm, inspecting the entire length, then the other. He brushes his finger over a small grass wound from when he dropped me. “My temper is a problem. My sister…” He sighs roughly, changing the course of his sentence. “This will not happen again.”
His stare is paralysing when he lifts his hand to my lips and traces the curves. I part my mouth to let him explore the flesh. His fingers are warm, firm, demanding.
“I like your lips,” he states, then sweeps my hair over my shoulders, exposing my bare neck. “And your throat.”
“Because you want to strangle it?” I ask, sad, throwing his own nasty threats back at him before he can do it himself. Warn me. How awful he is. I know. I saw.
He drops his hand.
Picks up mine and places them on his bare abdomen.
Shit.
He’s like a rock—course and unforgiving.
I stroke the rippling muscles as they respond to my touch as if his inner beast presses back, demanding more gentle attention. He grips the counter on either side of my hips, his knuckles turning white as he leans in. Caging me. It feels intimate in an emotional way—a wholesome way.
Like he just wants to be stroked in privacy with me.
“No,” he says, his voice deep. “Not because I want to strangle it.” He leans down and presses his lips to my pulse.
And. I. Almost. Explode.
The warmth from his mouth currents across my skin, rising hairs and tightening my nipples.
He groans at my response to his soft, barely-there kiss.
I close my eyes.
More.
Touch me.
Touch me.
My body starts to vibrate, burn, and my core pulses.