Page 48 of Deceptive Desires (The Syndicate #2)

Cecilia

I wake up in an unfamiliar room. As I look around, I remember where I am, in Roman’s penthouse. I remember the events of yesterday that led me here.

Here, to this warm, homey bedroom.

Yesterday, when I got here, Roman gave me a tour. I wasn’t surprised by how welcoming and comforting the place feels. It’s just like him. There’s warm wooden furniture all throughout with accents of olive green and rustic orange. There are even plants here. I couldn’t have designed a better home.

A chest rises under me as Roman inhales. I’m draped over him, my head resting on his chest, my arm thrown over his shoulder, and my leg thrown over his. His arm curls over my back, keeping me glued to him.

It’s not the first time we’ve shared a bed, but it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt so complete. So… homey. I could see us waking up like this every morning.

I feel his hardness press into my thigh, and when I put weight on it, a low groan emerges from his throat.

He’s just waking up, and something comes over me. A mix of gratitude and lust. A desire to do something special for my hero.

I kiss his chest lightly, once, then twice. I start kissing my way up his neck, until I reach his chin. He’s letting out sounds of pleasure, and when I reach his lips, he beats me to it, closing the distance between us, trapping me to him.

We kiss slowly as I try to convey my gratitude towards him.

This time it’s my tongue slipping into his mouth. He allows me to take control, letting me lead the kiss.

When we finally pull back, desperate for oxygen, he grumbles.

“What a way to wake up,” he sighs, with a sleepy grin.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me. For always being my hero. Well, I still want to thank you,” I explain in a sultry voice.

His brows furrow in confusion, only to shoot up when my palm makes contact with his hardness over his boxers.

“Sunshine, what are you doing?” he groans.

“I want to thank you in a special way. I want to make you feel good. I want… I want to take you in my mouth,” I explain, trying to not make it sound crude.

“Fuuuck, sunshine. You don’t have to do that.” The struggle in his voice is evident.

“Please, héroe. I want to do this for you,” I beg. “And I’m curious. I’ve never done this before.”

“If you’re sure, then I’ll guide you through it. But know you don’t have to.” His voice is strained.

I get off of him and crawl down the bed until I’m situated between his legs. I go to pull down his boxer briefs, and he helps me by lifting his hips. When his length springs forward, I gulp through my anxiety and grip it with my hand.

I can do this.

He slides up the bed until he’s sitting against the headboard.

I try to rub up and down, but despite my inexperience, I know it’s too dry.

“It needs to be wet, right?” I ask him, blushing at my greenness.

“Yes, sunshine. You can spit on it, or I can spit on my hand,” he offers.

“No, not you. I want to be the one to do it,” I say fiercely.

I need to be the one. I want to do this for him. On my own.

I look up and see his eyes widen.

“Okay, sunshine. That’d be great.” He swallows hard and stares at me.

I move until I hover over him. I look down at his large size, open my mouth, and spit.

I watch as it drips onto him and see him tighten.

“Fuck, Cecilia. You’re going to be the death of me,” he says through gritted teeth.

I look up and smile, knowing I feel the same.