Rooted (Pagano Family #3)(40)
Rosa needed someone who saw her as Rosa first and Pagano second.
In the process of looping her thick mop of hair into an elastic high on her head when that new thought struck her, Carmen stopped. Sabina had said more than once that Rosa was disconnected from the family. Carlo said he’d come to see it, too. Carmen had seen their point, but mainly she’d rolled her eyes and thought they were engaging in yet another excuse for Rosa to be a vapid twit. But maybe the problem was that she was trapped along the edge of the family—too distant to be fully in the bosom, too close to be free to do her thing. She was the only of them—now—who had aspirations beyond Rhode Island.
Jesus. They were trying to do to her what had been done to Carmen. Something like it, anyway. Trying to reel her in, get her under control. Carmen had dragged her across the ocean with that very goal in mind. And Rosa was pushing against it, braver than Carmen ever had been. The fight was taking so much out of her, though, she was spending so much energy trying to be different, that she couldn’t legitimately grow into her own self. So what they all got was the plastic shell.
“Carm? Okay?” Theo came up behind her, and she realized she’d been standing there with her hands on her head for who knew how long. Long enough for her fingers to get tingly. She finished putting her hair up. She had time to think those alarming thoughts later.
“Yeah—got lost in thought for a sec. We ready?”
“Steamy hot and relaxing.” He handed her a flute full of champagne. She took a long drink, enjoying the way the bubbles moved down her throat, into her belly and then through to her arms and legs. More tingly. Nice. The French knew what they were doing with the grapes.
“It’s good.” She noticed that he had a glass, too. “You’re drinking champagne?”
He shrugged. “When in Avignon…” He tipped the glass to his mouth. “Come on.”
He’d lit the candles, and Carmen stepped carefully over them to get into the tub. As advertised, the water was steaming hot and felt amazing. He handed her her glass, refilled, and then stood at the side of the tub, staring down at her.
“Are you coming in, too?” She sipped the champagne, feeling warm inside and out, the water and drink buffering her mind, quieting her thoughts. Rosa was a big girl. She could figure her own shit out. Carmen wasn’t her mother. Even if she had abandoned her own dreams to take care of her.
She took another long sip and shut all that noise down completely.
“I am. First, I want to stand here and watch you. You are a beautiful, beautiful woman.”
She made a face. “Meh. Skin deep.”
“No.” He squatted at the side of the tub, his robe opening to show his considerable assets and his considerable interest in her. She found herself transfixed, watching his erect cock bob as he moved, leaning over to push his hand through the water. “No, not skin deep. You’re beautiful on the inside, too. Strong and smart and fascinating.” He traced the outline of her nipple with one finger, making the skin pucker. “You know that. It’s not like you to fish for compliments, Carmen.”
“How do you know what I’m like?” She smiled as she said it; she was only playing. She felt relaxed and mischievous.
“I’ve been paying attention this summer.” He flicked his finger back and forth over her painfully hard nipple, and then pinched and plucked. Her back arched as if he’d physically lifted her out of the water by that single point.
“Fuck, Theo. Get in here.” She drank her glass empty and set it on the ledge while he finished his, too, and then shed his robe in a heap and climbed in behind her.
He slid in gracefully and settled her between his legs, against his chest, and then his hands were immediately on her again. They’d never bathed together before—or showered together, for that matter. Usually, they were busily getting ready to go somewhere, and showers were practical matters. Carmen tried to think when she’d last had a sensual bath with a lover. Then Theo took her breasts in his hands, her nipples between his fingers, and she didn’t care when the last time was. She only cared about this time.
She kept her eyes open as long as she could, watching his hands on her. His cock was like an iron pole against her back. She clutched his knees and tried to squirm against him, but she couldn’t get leverage in the tub, and he wasn’t helping, so finally she simply gave in and focused entirely on what he was doing to her. The candles were the only lights in the windowless room and made a flickering, golden glow that suited the warmth she felt everywhere.
His hands were gentle at first, his fingers massaging and teasing, but as the need built in her, making her moan and writhe, he altered his touch and left gentleness behind. Catching her nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, he pulled briskly, and each time the intensity of the pleasurepain made her bow sharply upward with a cry. The water sloshed, covering his hands.
His head was tucked in the crook of her left shoulder, his teeth nipping at her skin. In a fleeting lucid moment, she gasped, “Don’t mark me too much.”
“Not too much, no.” He chuckled and bit down.
Feeling like she’d go nuts if she didn’t get off, she let go of his right knee and put her hand between her legs. But he released her right breast and grabbed her hand. “Ah-ah-ah. That’s for me.”
“Then f*cking do it. Please.”