Page 5

Roman

She’s asleep beside me, soft and still and fucking perfect, and I’m ruined.

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet. There’s just a hint of light slipping through the blinds, golden and quiet.

The room is hushed, holding its breath, like even the world knows not to interrupt this moment.

Callie lies curled on her side, facing me, lips parted slightly as she dreams. Her lips still look red and swollen from all my hungry kisses, and all I can think is that she is mine now.

I should sleep. I haven’t closed my eyes all night. Not once. Not after the first time I took her. Not after the second. Not after the third, when she fell asleep with her hand still wrapped weakly around my wrist like she needed to tether herself to me even when she was unconscious.

But I can’t sleep.

Not when I have her story in my hands. Her heart bleeding across the glowing screen of my phone.

I’m halfway through it when it hits me, when the first real crack appears in the armor I’ve been dragging around my whole goddamn life. Because I expected it to be good. I expected passion, heat, wild imagination. Maybe some rough edges, maybe something young and a little raw.

What I didn’t expect was this.

It’s beautiful.

Every sentence is like a thread tugging directly on my ribs. Her prose is lyrical, intimate, fucking fearless. Her characters bleed the way real people do. Her heroine is soft, smart, stubborn, and is a clear reflection of her, even if she doesn’t realize it. And the way she writes about love?

Christ.

It’s not na?ve. It’s not cutesy. It’s aching. Slow and bruising and devotional in a way that grabs me by the throat and doesn’t let go.

I feel her in every line.

Not just her talent. Not just her voice. Her.

The way she aches. The way she dreams. The way she wants to be seen, to be chosen, to be claimed.

And not just in the bedroom, though that part is there too, thick and molten between the lines.

She writes about love like it’s a holy thing. Like it ruins you. Like it demands every piece of who you are and gives you something even more terrifying in return.

I’ve never read anything like it.

I’ve never felt anything like this.

I look over at her again, still sleeping, lashes fanned across her cheeks, hair tangled over my pillow. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve to have her in my bed. Don’t know how I’m supposed to let her walk out that door when morning comes.

Because something’s shifted inside me. Something massive and irreversible.

I can’t live without her. Her heart. Her mind. Her body. Her brilliance.

It’s that simple. That terrifying.

She stirs beside me, soft and slow, and the sound she makes punches the air right out of my lungs.

“Mmm… Roman?”

Just a breath. Just my name. But my whole body locks up like she whispered a spell.

She stretches, lashes fluttering as she wakes, her arm sliding across my stomach like it belongs there. Her cheek nuzzles into the pillow for a second before she blinks up at me, eyes hazy and wide, and then she smiles.

That sleepy smile. Sweet and rumpled and a little shy.

I can’t take it.

I toss my phone aside without looking, without thinking, and lean in to kiss her. I don’t even give myself the space to say good morning. My mouth finds hers like it’s been waiting its whole life for the chance.

It’s not rough. Not demanding.

It’s reverent.

Thank you , I want to whisper into her skin. Thank you for existing. For dreaming. For writing that story and then sleeping in my bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I read the whole thing,” I murmur when I finally pull back, just enough to breathe. My hand cradles her jaw, thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheek. My voice comes out rough, wrecked. “Your book. I couldn’t stop.”

Her brows lift slightly, lashes fluttering as she blinks up at me. “Really? All of it?”

Her voice is thick with sleep, warm and raspy. There’s surprise there, and something like wonder, and I feel her body shift closer, instinctively seeking mine.

“Every word. You...” I can barely get the words out. I don’t even know where to start. I press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, then to her temple, then to her shoulder as I pull her closer, tangle her up in me. My palm rests over the curve of her hip like I need it there to breathe.

“You’re brilliant, Callie,” I murmur. “I don’t even have the words. Your voice… it’s so clear. So true. And the way you write about love... fuck. You’ve got something real. Something people are going to feel in their bones.”

She flushes instantly. I feel the heat of it under my fingertips, blooming across her chest, up her neck. She tucks her face against my throat, like she needs to hide.

“I… wow. Thank you. I don’t...” she laughs a little, soft and disbelieving. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, baby,” I whisper, threading my fingers through her hair and stroking it back from her face. I shift so her body fits more snugly against mine, my hand dragging down her back, splaying across her spine. I can’t stop touching her.

She tilts her chin, just enough for our eyes to meet, and I swear to God I could drown in her.

“I’ve wanted this since I was a kid,” she says suddenly, quietly. “Being a writer. Seeing a real book with my name on the cover. I used to draw little covers on construction paper and staple the pages together. My mom still has them.”

My heart fucking aches.

Of course she did. Of course she dreamed this deeply, this earnestly. She’s full of dreams, and I’d give everything I have to make them come true.

And I’m not even just talking about the filthy ones anymore.

“You’re going to get there,” I tell her, fierce and certain. I press my lips to her knuckles, one by one. “Not just a book. Not just published. I’m talking book tours. Bestseller lists. Movie deals. You’re going to blow them all away.”

Her eyes shimmer with something soft and stunned. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” I say, my voice rough with it. “And anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot or a coward.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound barely a whisper between us, and tucks her head beneath my chin. Her fingers glide over my chest in slow, absent circles, like she needs to keep touching me the same way I need to touch her. Like she needs to prove we’re real.

“I, um…” Her voice is muffled, but I feel the shift in her breathing. A small flutter of nerves. “I actually already have an agent.”

I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. Of course she does.

Her head tilts up. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything yet. I mean, I don’t even know if it’ll work out, but… he really seemed to believe in it.”

“That’s incredible, Callie,” I say, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

She nods, the smile on her face blooming like morning light. “I sent it out to a few agents a couple of months ago, just on a whim. He got back to me almost immediately. Said it’s the most exciting debut he’s read in years.”

A beat of silence stretches between us as I keep my expression soft, open. I stroke slow lines down her spine, and she melts even further against me, totally unaware of the tension beginning to twist low in my gut.

She heard back from him almost immediately?

“I’ve got a meeting with him tonight, actually,” she adds. “He made a reservation at Ardelle’s. You know, that super fancy place downtown?”

I nod, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Sounds like he’s serious.”

“He is. He said he’s pretty confident he can land me a deal with one of the Big Five.”

My jaw flexes before I can stop it. Something about all of this feels off.

Her manuscript is stunning. There’s no question about it.

But I’ve been in this industry too long to ignore the details.

Manuscripts don’t usually get picked up within days.

Weeks, maybe. More often, months. And even then, this kind of confidence?

From a real agent? They know better than to make promises they can’t keep, no matter how good a manuscript is.

“Hey,” I murmur, playing it off like an afterthought, “what’s his name?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Gideon Marks.”

I nod slowly, lips brushing her temple. “Nice.”

But I’ve never heard that name in my life, and I’ve heard of all the agents worth working with.

I don’t say it out loud. Not yet. She’s glowing. Hopeful. So fucking happy. And I won’t be the one to dim that. Not unless I have to.

But I’ll be looking him up later. And if I find out this man turns out to be anything less than what she deserves, I’ll make sure he regrets ever reaching out to my girl.

She sighs against my chest, like she could stay there forever. God, I want her to. I want to lock the door and keep her in this bed for days. To feed her, touch her, make her smile, make her whimper, make her forget the rest of the world even exists.

But then she shifts slightly, stretching with a sleepy groan, and murmurs, “I’ve got to get ready. I’ve got an early lecture.”

I stiffen. Just for a second. Then I bury my face in her hair, dragging in the scent of her like I can breathe it into my bloodstream. “No,” I mumble. “Don’t go.”

She laughs, and the sound is sweet, breathless, a little apologetic. “I have to...”

But before she can say anything else, I flip her onto her back and kiss her like I’m starving.

Because I am.

Because I know I won’t be able to touch her again for hours and it physically hurts to imagine being apart from her for that long.

She gasps, then melts. Her fingers dive into my hair, her lips part beneath mine, and she’s kissing me back like she feels the same desperate ache. Like leaving this bed is just as hard for her as it is for me.

I slow it down only when I feel her heart pounding against my chest. I rest my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “I’m going to miss you today.”

Her eyes soften. “I’ll miss you too.”

“I want you back here tonight,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “After your meeting. Come straight here.”

She smiles, so bright it punches the air from my lungs. “I can’t wait.”

She slides out of bed, naked and flushed, with marks I left scattered over her skin last night. She looks like mine.

She is mine.

And as she disappears into the bathroom with a sleepy smile tossed over her shoulder, I grab my phone again.

Gideon Marks.

I’m going to find out exactly who the hell this man is.