Page 109 of Roman Blake
Not duckin’ the way he held me. Not shrinkin’ when he introduced me as “my girl.”
I used to think shit like that would make me feel trapped.
Instead, it felt like… home.
I shifted a little, and his arm tightened.
“Stop wigglin’,” he mumbled against my skin, voice rough with sleep. “You gon’ make me start somethin’.”
I smirked. “You already started enough last night.”
He laughed low, chest rumblin’ against my back.
“You didn’t complain,” he said.
“I’m complainin’ now,” I said, even though my body was already betraying me.
His hand slid up from my waist to my stomach, fingers spread.
“You good?” he asked, the question he never stopped askin’.
“Yeah,” I said. “Story of my life lately.”
He pressed a kiss to the crook of my neck. “You looked good last night.”
“You said that already,” I reminded him.
“I’m sayin’ it again,” he said. “I like remindin’ you.”
“You annoying,” I sassed, but I couldn’t stop the little smile on my face.
We laid there for a few minutes, just breathin’.
Then I rolled over to face him.
He was watchin’ me already, eyes half-open, lashes too damn long for a man.
“Stop starin’,” I said.
“Can’t,” he said simply.
I rolled my eyes, but my heart warmed up anyway.
His hand slid up to my jaw, thumb brushin’ my bottom lip.
“You know how long I wanted this?” he asked, voice soft. “You. Wakin’ up next to me without runnin’ off first thing.”
I sucked my teeth. “You act like I always ran.”
“You did,” he said. “Soon as it got quiet. That’s when you got spooked the most.”
I thought about that.
How many times I’d slipped out his bed before the sun came up, callin’ it “keepin’ it light” when really I was scared of what the stillness might make me feel.
“Well,” I said, reachin’ up to trace the scar on his jaw, “I’m still here.”
He caught my hand, kissed my palm.
