Page 65 of From Rome, With Hate

“Say it.” His whisper snaps what resolve I have left inside me.

Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep, steadying breath. The shit life has thrown my way has prepared me for this, to fight back when I feel most vulnerable. I snap my eyes open. “No.”

Rome doesn’t move. “Julianna.” His voice cracks, and my heart hammers as I tell myself not to give in to him again.

He places a soft, too-gentle kiss on my shoulder, but I can’t take it.

The gun slips from the ends of my fingers, and I step forward, forcing him to release my hair.

The twigs and leaves crunch beneath my feet as I sniff, wiping the tears away before turning around to face him. “If this is why you brought me out here, then you can go fuck yourself.”

“It’s not.” His eyes darken.

“I don’t believe you. Target practice is over.”

Rome calls me the snake disguised as a gentle bird, when the truth is, that’s him. It’s been him all along.

NINETEEN

JULIANNA

I’m on my hands and knees three times before I reach the house, determined to put as much distance between me and Rome as fast as possible. I’m practically coated in mud by the time I’m marching up the back steps and into the cabin.

Desire still lingers in my veins, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to turn around and go back to Rome. But I know if I do, I’ll only end up telling him the second reason I’ve built my life a certain way, and I can’t bring myself to do it. Speaking the words out loud makes them real.

Once I’m on the deck, I glance over my shoulder just as he’s emerging from the end of the trail, at the edge of the tree line. I pause, unable to move. Even from this distance, hundreds of feet away, I feel him. I’m hyperaware of him all the time. It’s as though his hands are already all over me, scorching every inch of my skin. I see his blue eyes staring me down, like a snake preparing to attack its prey.

He must have slipped in the mud, too, because streaks of brown coat the front of his sweatpants and the length of his bare arms.

Unable to handle the intense sight of him, I turn and head inside the house. I slam the French door behind me and it rattlesagainst the frame. Heading straight for the bathroom, I take the stairs two at a time, removing my shoes and socks along the way, leaving a trail behind me. Once I’ve reached the bathroom, with trembling hands, I turn the dial to the gold faucet. Hot water rushes out, filling the clawfoot tub.

Steam immediately starts to fill the room. Memories of Rome outside, his hands roaming over my thighs and hips has me aching with need. I whimper, hating how easily I bend for him, how easily he takes over my every thought.

I’m crossing my arms, ready to lift my tank over my head, when Rome suddenly appears in the doorway. His tall, towering frame fills the space. He’s vibrating with anger and streaks of mud coat his clenched jawline, with another streak above one eyebrow. With his fists clenched at his sides, my eyes finally meet his.

His glare sends electric volts through my veins. There’s a cackling energy charging the room that’s undeniable and powerful.

Inhaling a quick draw of air, I brush him off and roll my eyes, planting my hands on my hips as I look down the water filling the tub. I can’t look athimright now. If I do, I’m going to give in when all I need is to get this fucking mud off me.

“I don’t want to talk right now, Rome.”

“Good. Neither do I.”

His heavy footfalls pound across the floor as he races toward me, eating up the space between us. My face is soon cradled in his hands before a growl climbs out of his throat and he’s crushing me in a kiss. His lips are soft yet forceful, pressing against mine with all his strength. He kisses me like he hasn’t kissed me in years. I melt into him. Reluctantly, a moan falls from my mouth and my body alights like wildfire.

Wet heat meets my pussy. I’m aching and trembling with need.

I wrap a hand around his stiff cock. It’s as hard as steel. He groans, rocking his hips, rubbing himself into my touch.

“Rome,” I say against his mouth.

“No talking.” He moves his hand from my face to the base of my head. “Not now.” He keeps kissing me, this time slipping his tongue in my mouth, tasting me. He’s a feral animal, starving for me.

I grip his hard length, feeling his smooth skin and the ridges of his thick veins as I pump him from base to tip.

He breaks our kiss and pulls back, gasping against my mouth.

“How many times have you done this to yourself since you tasted my sweet cunt the other day?” I ask.