Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(45)
“Just thought God took one of mine when he made you.” I knew that sounded lame, but f*ck, I sucked at romance, and a girl like my Mol, well, she should have the best said to her, the most romantic words written about her. I didn’t have that in me, couldn’t give her what she deserved… but I was fortunate enough that she wanted me regardless, and finally, all them damn years at Sunday School were coming in useful. Hell, the way I was feeling right now, I’d stand dead center in Bryant-Denny and spout f*cking poetry if it made her smile.
“Romeo, at times you’re really sweet, you know that?”
Sweet? Fine, I’d take that. “Only for you.”
Molly took my hand in hers and, pressing lazy kisses on my palm, got lost in her thoughts. Her eyes glazed with worry and she licked along her bottom lip.
Something was definitely up.
“What you thinking?”
“When you say you like to order, just how far does that need to dominate go?” she blurted, her face flushing red with either nerves or embarrassment. I wasn’t sure.
I couldn’t help it, but I burst out laughing. Fuck! She thought I wanted to tie her to a damn bed and whip the shit out of her? Mmm… I could see how it would be enticing, but it wasn’t exactly my thing.
Facing Molly once again, her bastard teasing thumbnail back in her mouth, I assured her, “I’m not a sadist, so you can take that look off your pretty face. I just like to be in control… I don’t know… It’s how I am. There are some pretty shitty things in my life that I can’t have power over so I need it with the things I’m good at. I just need the assurance that I’m in charge. I’m a good QB because I like to lead, run the show. It’s the same with sex.”
Tipping my chin, I urged her to respond.
Swallowing hard, she whispered, “I liked how you took control. I’m so used to having to be independent and self-sufficient, always making the decisions, and I hate it. That felt… freeing to give myself over to you, to hand over the reins.”
Wrapping her in my arms, I jolted her right into my chest, my possessive desperation for her stronger than ever before. “You’re mine now, Mol. You know that, right? I’ve never had anyone respond to me like you do—every move, kiss, and stroke—full and complete surrender of yourself.” I worked a finger again, still inside her. I needed to see her come again. But this time she’d be coming as mine, full disclosure… I owned her now and she, in turn, me.
“Yes, I’m yours,” she panted, slamming her hips down, then rolling back and forth. I worked her good, and I almost came myself as she exploded with a loud scream, thighs tightening almost painfully against my hand with her orgasm, then slumping against my chest, completely spent.
After a few minutes of silence, her breathing evened out and I smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep in my arms. Staring at the blue creek, something happened. With Molly wrapped in my protective embrace, accepting me on every level, my issues, my need for control, my priorities shifted. Everything changed for me in that second, and my girl was now right at the top.
15
We watched the sunset together.
That’s right, me, Rome f*cking Prince, woke a girl up who was dozing in my arms to watch a damn sunset… and it was friggin’ incredible. I’d never known such peace before. I’d never known such happiness. I’d always known a rough life with my folks, but until Shakespeare came into my life, I’d never really stopped to think about just how f*cked up it all was.
How f*cked up I was.
My girl was tight in my arms, and I wanted to know more about her, about her family, wanted to know her more than anyone before. Shit. As far as I could tell, she’d had it bad in her twenty years. Where I had folks I wished would disappear, Molly would give anything to have hers back. She’d never told me how her daddy died, so not really thinking it through, I asked, and f*ck, but I didn’t expect the answer she gave.
“… I remember it like it was yesterday. I came home from school and my grandma was upset and sat in the front room. She told me that my daddy had been taken to heaven.” She laughed, but it wasn’t in amusement. I could feel her tense and knew it came from a place of real pain. “At the time I thought I was being punished for being a bad child. It soon became clear that he hadn’t died of an illness or because God was punishing me, but he got up as usual, saw me, his little girl, out of the door for school, got into the bath, and slit his wrists with a razorblade.”
Fuck. Me. I never expected that. What the hell do you say to a person whose father had killed himself in such a way?
“Shit, baby. I didn’t think… I’m so sorry.”
She went on to tell me how she struggled daily with his choice, why he did it. She told me about how she coped when her grandma died, and damn if I didn’t have to fight a lump in my throat at the thought of my girl alone, nursing her grandma on her own, then the only person she loved dying in her arms. I couldn’t help but picture the minutes that followed her grandma’s death—how she would’ve been feeling, the quiet, the slam of realization that she was on her own in the world.
Molly had been fourteen when she lost her last remaining relative—four-f*cking-teen. I knew I was gripping onto her too tightly, but looking up at me with those golden browns, she just smiled and laid a kiss on my mouth. She was so damn strong.