Page 38 of From Rome, With Hate

“It’s fucking freezing out here, Lark,” I whisper, anxiously darting my eyes to her bedroom. I’m terrified we’ll get caught.

If anyone were to find us here, I’m certain I would meet my death. But what would happen to Julianna?

“Oh.” She weaves her hands in front of her, looking down at her feet. “The tile is heated.”

I stare at her bare feet. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she giggles lightly. “I’m okay.”

The sound propels me. I close the space between us, unable to hold back any longer. I crash my mouth to hers, breathing her in. She sinks her warm body against mine. Her hands press to my chest before sliding along my shoulders and under my jaw. The tips of her fingers weave into my hair. A groan rumbles from my chest when she slips her tongue inside my mouth. I jerk my hips forward, wishing we weren’t standing. It’s impossible to satiate the hunger inside me when we’re standing like this.

After walking her backward until her back lands against the stone wall, I press my hips to hers, sending her the message loud and clear. A message to tell her exactly what kind of reaction she draws out of me. My dick is hard as stone, pressing at the sweet spot between her thighs. She moans a sound that shoots straight through me.

My mouth breaks from hers, and I hold the rose up between us. “This is for you.”

She eyes the flower, her beautiful mouth spreading into a grin. “Is this one of mine?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have picked it, but I had to.”

“It’s the middle of winter. I thought they were all dead.”

“Not this one.”

“My mom planted those a few weeks before she died.”

My heart drops into my stomach, remembering when I heard about Julianna’s mother’s death. She was murdered in cold blood by two strangers while waiting for the subway with Julianna and Holt. I only heard about it from my father, whodelighted in her murder. He couldn’t help laughing, thinking of the pain he knew it would cause Kingsten.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, uncertain what I’m apologizing for exactly. Picking the flower, or my father’s reaction to her death, even though Julianna doesn’t know that part.

“Don’t be.” She shakes her head and holds the rose to her chest. “I love it.”

I give her a tiny smile before kissing her again.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against my mouth.

The sadness of our conversation disappears. I keep kissing her as my finger hooks under one of her tank straps. I pull it down, revealing her bare shoulder. “Is this what you sleep in?”

Goosebumps rise along her skin from my touch.

“Yes,” she whispers, her breathing heavy. “Do you not like it?”

I pause, searching her face. We haven’t tossed any insults at one another. It’s a strange sensation but one I hadn’t noticed until now. Could we finally be breaking the habits instilled in us since birth? Has my love for her broken the bonds of hatred?

“I love everything you wear,” I tell her.

She starts giggling, covering her face with her hands.

“What?” I ask, chuckling.

She lowers her hands and looks at me with disbelief shining in her eyes. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“You talking about me as if you’re in love with me.”

“I am.”

Her smiles fades, then it disappears completely.