My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(49)

“Don’t tell me you’re actually considering being faithful.” She pulled a face like it was a bad thing.

Was her type cheating scumbags? That would explain why she still pined for Licht.

“A hole is a hole. Might as well be yours.”

Tipping her head back, she laughed joylessly. “No wonder your parents named you after the epitome of romantic heroes. They must’ve known what a dreamboat you’d be.”

“My parents named me Romeo after my father, who was named after his father.”

The buck stopped with me, though.

No more Romeo Costas.

The world could thank me later.

She bit her lip, still on the floor. “I have been wondering about…sex things.”

I rested the newspaper on my lap, sending her a leveled look. “Is that an invitation?”

“Will you…RSVP?” She bit down a grin.

Another laugh fizzed in my throat. When she wasn’t a waste of space, she was surprisingly bearable.

I arched a brow. “Is the host still under the influence?”

Her cheeks colored pink. “No.”

“Will you try to kill me?” I asked slowly, like a parent chiding a child.

“Not in this instance.”

A beat of silence passed between us.

I was highly aware of the stewardess busying herself in the kitchen, pretending like she wasn’t eavesdropping on our bizarre conversation.

I was no voyeur, but I wasn’t anxious about the middle-aged woman watching, either.

Tossing the newspaper aside, I patted my knee. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Manners,” she said, in the same tone I’d used for her toothbrush demand.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Dallas to learn about the pleasures of sex through Tumblr and a dildo. Then Zach’s words drifted into my memory.

Try to make an effort.

There was no reason to butt horns with this delectable, strong-headed, simple creature before me. Our short time spent together would be more pleasant if I humored her every once in a while.

“Please.” The word tasted foreign. I pulled both corners of my lips up, trying my hand at a smile.

“Ugh, stop making that face. It looks like you’re planning to eat me.”

I was planning to eat her, though not in the way her innocent head thought.

She peeked around, disoriented, completely missing the fact that there was a stewardess behind her.

“Oh, whatever. Life’s too short, and if anyone ever asks, I’ll deny ever getting close to you.” She stood and made her way to me. Shortbread draped herself across my lap, blinking up at me expectantly. “What now?”

There were a few options, all of them filthy and depraved, but I figured the safest route to take would be to leave her begging for more.

And that meant postponing my own release and prepping her for the future. She would have to adhere to my certain tastes and rules, some of them I had yet to explore myself.

My eyes dropped to the MIT hoodie. “Did I give you permission to wear my sweatshirt?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Take it off. Now.”

She opened her mouth, about to argue. I tipped an eyebrow up, daring her to.

“Right. Right.” She pursed her lips, catching the hem of my sweatshirt and pulling it off, remaining only in her bra. “I guess that’s…sexy talk, right?”

I couldn’t decide if she was adorable or pitiful. More than likely, she was both.

But as her magnificent breasts stared back at me, barely contained by her strapless bra and begging for attention, I forgot whom they were attached to altogether.

Seizing her by the ass, I pulled her to grind against my cock. She jerked forward, her face an inch from mine.

“This is what you do to me.” I lifted her up by the ass, then slammed her back down on my cock. She gasped, her eyes flaring. “I’ve run beyond the scope of disliking you, Shortbread. In fact, I should invent a new word altogether for what I feel for you. And still, I cannot, for the life of me, resist your temptation.”

Instead of quarreling, Shortbread seemed to get the hang of it and shut me up with a dirty, wet kiss.

It was all tongue and teeth. An amateur kiss, like a fawn trying its luck on its legs for the first time. Clumsy, yet magical.

She didn’t even draw back to take a single breath. Her tongue found mine, and she was no longer timid and unsure.

She wanted this.

Trembling, her hands roamed everywhere. My face, my hair, my shoulders, my pecs, my scars. They lingered over the jagged, pronounced skin, and I knew she wanted to know what happened.

My mouth moved south from her lips to her chin, then down to her throat and collarbone, leaving hot, wet kisses everywhere it landed.

She tipped her head back and groaned. Her fingers gripped my hair, tugging too hard, too desperately. I yanked her bra down to her waist, popping her tits free.

“We’re not alone.” She panted, gyrating on my cock.

I knew I would regret it when we landed and my balls turned the color of blueberries, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“She won’t breathe a word. She’s under contract.” I groaned into her skin, catching her nipple between my teeth and tugging at it until she held her breath.

I felt the airplane lower and knew we must have neared Paris. However, neither the stewardess nor the pilots were dumb enough to approach me while I was busy devouring Dallas’s tits like they were my very last meal.