My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(110)

“I do intend to eat here. Your pussy.”

“I thought you were mad at me.” I propped myself on my elbows, watching him, fascinated.

He tugged down my jeans and panties, burying his face between my legs, eating me out with the urgency of a man starved. His hot, wet tongue stroked my insides, his nose massaging my clit.

“Why would I be mad at you?” The words were murmured into my core.

“Because of the stock…Madis—”

“Do not speak his name when my tongue is deep enough in your cunt to reach your uterus.”

The familiar burn of a blush crept up my neck. “I worried you thought I had something to do with it.”

With much reluctance, he tugged his eyes up, understanding words needed to be exchanged between us.

He sighed, kissed the inside of my thigh, and straightened, staring me in the eye. “I know you’re not seeing him anymore.”

“How do you know?”

Somehow, I was sure as the morning sun that he’d stopped having me followed. Romeo kept his word. He always did.

“Because you and I both know that I would exile you from Potomac and file for divorce if you betray me after everything that’s been said between us.” Fire ignited his glacial gray eyes.

Despite the malice inside them, his gaze showered me like sunshine, warming me down to my fingertips.

He now cared enough to get hurt. It wasn’t much—but it was enough to make my head spin with joy.

“Now.” He dipped two fingers into me, curling them as the sound of my juices clinging to him filled the air. “May I kindly eat out my wife, then fuck her, then eat her out again? I canceled all of my meetings for today, just so I can do that.”

He withdrew his fingers and sucked them clean of my desire for him.

I grinned. “You may.”





I was so satisfied and exhausted, every muscle in my body ached. Romeo stood at the stove, heating milk for my hot cocoa. White drinking chocolate from L.A. Burdick, which he’d specifically instructed Hettie to order for me ahead of winter.

It marked his first time doing anything semi-romantic for me.

It means nothing, Dal.

Still, I couldn’t heed my own warning.

Romeo sifted two scoops of shaved Burdick blend into the pot. “I used to take a cup to class every time the temperature dropped. Even while at MIT where the closest locations are all the way in Harvard Square or across the bridge.”

I pretended to gasp. “You mean, there exists something beyond Brussel sprouts and chicken breasts that you eat?”

My eyes glued to his sinewy forearm as he whisked the mixture. Good Lord.

“You’ll understand when you try it.”

To be honest, it could taste like liquid manure and I’d still demand seconds if only for the first-row seat to his forearm porn as he assembled it.

I feasted on the sight of him. Shirtless, gloriously powerful, and almost mine.

His taut muscles flexed every time he made the lightest move. A thin coat of sweat still clung to his tan body.

I watched him with pleasure from my spot on the chair Hettie had occupied only an hour ago.

“I ordered replicas of your engagement and wedding rings.” Romeo poured the drinking chocolate into my cauldron-shaped mug, littered with Henry Plotkin spells. “They should arrive late next week.”

My stupid heart fluttered in my chest. It was so hard to keep my feelings at bay when all I wanted to do was let them loose. Watch them grow, develop, and evolve.

I feigned boredom. “And what about your ring?”

He sucked his thumb of milk residue, setting the mug in front of me. Fresh whipped cream and peppermint shavings. Just as I liked it.

Had he been paying attention?

Romeo sat across from me. “My wedding band should arrive around the same time.”

I was hearing everything I wanted to hear. Why wasn’t I satisfied?

Was it the rose that was slowly dying before Romeo had time to fall in love with me? Was I just being moody? Hormonal? Homesick?

I spun the teaspoon in my hot chocolate, channeling all my concentration into it.

“Shortbread?”

My eyes snapped up. “Yes?”

He frowned. “Why do you look so glum?”

Because you still feel nothing toward me. You simply accept me as yours. As one accepts a new colleague or neighbor. Someone random who entered your life and was here to stay.

I tried to swallow my frustration, but I couldn’t.

The idea of slipping into bed with him tonight—of sharing my body with him without sharing a single thought—haunted me.

I motioned between us. “Because this isn’t real.”

“Elaborate.”

“This. Us.” I sighed, pushing the cocoa away from me. Things were serious when I wasn’t in the mood for something sweet. “We share so much together, yet nothing at all. You don’t know me. Not really. You haven’t even attempted to learn more about me. You’ve opened up to me, and for that, I am grateful. But you know nothing about me. No enticing bits and pieces that would make me more endearing in your eyes. You don’t know what my favorite color is. My favorite food. What my dreams are—”

“Your favorite color is blue.”

Lord, could he sound any more disinterested?